AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yay!” Claire cheers when I appear. “Ready to go?”
I nod.
“Want anything?” Claire asks, nodding to the counter as she pours herself a cup. “We’ve got to leave soon.”
“I’m good with water,” I tell her, helping myself to a glass and grabbing a banana I quickly eat as I listen to Maggie and Sadie argue over how to smuggle alcohol into the basketball game we’re headed to.
Lauren, one of the other new pledges, bursts into the kitchen. “Let’s go, ladies,” she shouts. She’s like a stereo with one setting: loud.
We all shrug into our jackets and head outside, the chilly air hinting at winter. While still in California, Stanford is farther north, with a cooler climate than I’m used to. We pile into the SUV, cramming in as many people as possible to avoid having to take multiple cars.
I end up wedged in the middle row between the door and Sadie. We’ve only just pulled out of the driveway and out onto the street when my phone buzzes, startling me. The tight quarters mean my right leg is pressed tightly against Sadie’s, and she jumps at the vibration as well.
“Whose phone is that?” she asks.
“Mine,” I reply, shifting back and forth until I’m able to wiggle it out of my back pocket. Elliot’s name flashes across the screen. I unlock my phone to read his text.
Elliot:We’re playing Stanford tonight.
Fuck.I want to tell him I know, tell him I’ve had today’s date in my mind for weeks—months. I want to say how excited I am to see him play, make plans for after the game. I can’t do either of those things. That will undo any of the progress I’ve made over the past few months of short responses andspace.
Instead, I shove my phone right back into my pocket without replying. I lean my head against the cool glass of the window and listen to the happy chatter bouncing around me—until I sit up and realize Sadie is parking the car in front of Stanford’s hockey rink.
Shit.“I thought we were going to the basketball game.”
“Change of plans,” Lauren replies. “They’re playing the University of Boston tonight. The temptation to see my brother get his ass kicked is too much for me to resist.” I forgot—or rather blocked out—that her older brother is on Stanford’s hockey team, probably because any reminder of the sport is a reminder ofhim.
I went to one football game a month ago. That was well-attended, but I’m surprised by the number of students milling around the hockey arena. The perimeter of the massive dome-shaped building is a sea of green and white supporters. The colors become a blur as I spiral into a mixture of relief and panic. I want to be here almost as much as I was grateful that I would miss it. Elliot has always been excellent at stirring up confusing, contrary emotions within me.
We walk in through the main entrance and flash our student IDs at the box office window to get our tickets. The pandemonium grows louder and louder with each step forward. I hang toward the back of the group, taking in the masses of exuberant students filling the gigantic building.
We all follow Lauren up one of the center aisles, claiming two rows of available seats. I end up in the higher row, seated between Claire and Sadie, and our group grows quickly as more familiar faces show up. For such a large school, I’m surprised by how many strangers-turned-friends I randomly encounter on campus—but this isn’t a random encounter. I knew Sadie was inviting Pat tonight, because she didn’t buy my we-had-a-nice-time-but-I’m-not-looking-for-anything-right-now speech after our third date last week. I like Pat. A lot. I just don’t think it’s fair to date him while I’m in love with someone else.
Claire moves when the guys appear, and Pat takes the seat beside me with a smile.
“Hey, Auden.”
I smile back. “Hey.”
“Finish that paper?”
We share a class; that’s how we met. On the second day, he sat down beside me and struck up a conversation. He’s easy to talk to, easy on the eyes, and not on a sports team. Patshould beperfect.
“An hour ago,” I reply. “You?”
He gives me a sheepish smile. “I’ll finish it when I get back tonight.”
I laugh. “Uh-huh.”
“What number is he again?” a girl’s voice behind me ask.
“I forget,” another girl responds as I battle the urge to turn around. “I’ll text Andrea. She’s the one who’s was talking about him earlier.”
“You can just look up the roster online,” a third girl says. After a pause, she adds, “Okay, he’s number twelve.”
“Wait, that’shim?” one of the other girls chimes in again. “Andrea wasn’t exaggerating—he is HOT.”
“Wait, let me see,” the first girl insists. “Holy shit, yeah.”
