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Her eyes flicker and she sucks in her bottom lip before nodding.
“Yeah, I guess you can.” Her voice is caught between her normal tone and a whisper.
My head falls forward again, resting on hers, and I shut my eyes as I hold her to me. It’s cold out. We’ll be able to see our breath soon. But I can’t seem to will my legs to get us inside. I don’t want to leave this place, this moment.
This girl.
“So, are you going to tell me what exactly happened tofixthings?” I ask.
“Hmm,” she ponders.
I sway her in a slow circle, my lips tingling with the need to kiss her again.
“Do you trust me, James?” she finally asks.
It’s my turn to consider. I hold my breath and sway her in my arms as if we’re slow dancing. She’s so warm against me. I can feel her pulse against my chest, and the weight of her arms and legs around me, holding me. Loving me.
“You know, Morgan. I do trust you. Implicitly. And if you ever want to tell me the backstory of today, I’ll be here to hear it. But if you don’t think it matters or that I need to know, I’m good with that too. Because yes, I trust you. With my everything.”
Her hands slide to cradle my face and she leans back enough to meet my gaze.
“I trust you with my everything, too,” she says, bringing her lips to mine.
I rotate us so I’m sitting on the bench holding her, and we remain outside until we do in fact see our breath turn to fog in the air. And then we stick around a little longer, neither of us wanting to give in first to the bitter cold. It’s a little bit about being stubborn for sure. But also, it’s a lot about falling in love with someone you trust.
For me, it’s about chasing what my parents have, and for her, it might be about being as different from hers as possible.
For us? It’s about taking what we want. What we deserve.
What we’ve earned.
Epilogue
Morgan
Hi, everyone! Thank you so much for tuning it and watching me live today. I know a lot of you can’t be here to hang out in the middle of the day, so I promise I will force James to do another one of these with me later. But I thought you all would want to watch him officially sign his commitment to Penn State. I’m so proud of him. He’s the first Welles quarterback to go to a big Division I school where he may actually get to start.
And don’t worry. I will be at every game. I got into Penn, too! This is the official letter. It just came, and I’m going to tell James after his signing. Okay, I’m going to set this up on my tripod, so you don’t miss a thing. I’ll be back on later. Love you, stay positive, aim big, and if you are struggling and need someone to talk to, please reach out. I will be here. And if I’m asleep, well, that’s why I started my foundation and why we have hundreds of volunteers. Mwah!
“What do you think? Lame?” I always cringe when James watches my posts after they happen. It’s easier for him to see them live because then I don’t have to watch along with him.
He squeezes me as I sit on his lap.
“I’m so proud of you. That’s what I think of that,” he says.
“Proud of what? Of Penn? Because that’s a miracle. Daddy did not make any phone call for that to happen. That was all this girl’s persistence,” I say.
I am rather proud of my own media kit. I sent my entire revamped brand to Penn, figuring I would take James’s advice and leave it all on the field in my effort. It turns out I’m pretty good at this PR stuff. And Opal and Jayne have invited me to continue working with them while I get my degree.
I know what got my foot in the door for Penn, though. And I have Anika to thank for it. Sometime after the football season ended and my father was back on his feet and ignoring doctor’s orders so he could boss people around, I sat down and took a hard look at my social media business. I closed a few things, making sure to point everyone to one place before I did, promising something new and exciting. I wanted to simplify, but also, my life was worth too much to obsess over things that only gave me stress. If my stomach turned at the thought of opening an app, I deleted it. Then I focused on the content. It all started with that one photo—the one of the four of us. Brooklyn, me, Lily, and Anika. I remember when we took that photo, all of us happy and full of hope.
“You should make more posts like these,” Anika said.
At the time, I figured she meant of the four of us. But looking back, I see that’s not what she meant at all. She meantrealposts. Not pushing things for people to buy or places for them to be seen. Simply the real me and my real friends and our real challenges.
I took the photos I’d been saving for a few months and made them into an intro post, and then I recorded my first live video in months. I got real about depression, about my struggles and how so many of us are afraid to talk about it when we’re low. And I didn’t stop there.
I talked about my regrets for constantly pushing myself to look older—sexier. About the way I felt when men twice my age hugged me a little too long, or when their handshakes felt more like suggestions. I talked about the trolls who commented on my posts after my accident. I didn’t blame them for being cruel, but I did remind them of the outcome of their actions. I let their words bury me, but I was done hiding. I will get hurt, but when I do, I’m going to talk about it.
