Out in the End Zone (Out in College 2)

My mind was suddenly on fire. Say something. Do something. Be brave. Act now.

But I couldn’t. I was paralyzed by fear. And every second that passed with questioning glances and uncomfortable laughter weighed on me heavily. I had to do something or I’d pass out.

So I threw my towel at Jonesie’s head and chuckled when he draped it over his ears like a scarf. “I just farted on that. You’re welcome,” I said with a wink.

He whipped the towel off and snapped it at my ass and as a new round of silliness broke over the room, I felt myself inch closer to an invisible edge. Any moment now, I’d lose my footing and everything around me would change. I had to be ready for it.

The next few days were weird as hell. I went to practice but skipped a couple of classes to minimize my time on campus. I felt exposed in a way I didn’t like. Maybe it was my imagination, but I sensed stares and whispers reminiscent of my high school days after the accident. I downplayed the sudden interest when Mitch asked if I’d noticed anything new. I claimed everything was the same, and maybe it was. Maybe I was different. Not stronger, braver, or smarter, though. Just…different. I felt like I was stuck on a fourth down, inches from the goal line, waiting for the coach to call the play that would drive me into the end zone. It was becoming clear that I couldn’t rely on instruction. The move was mine to make, I mused as I pulled into a parking space near the gymnasium.

On a whim, I’d decided to catch the last half of the volleyball game Mitch was cheering and watch him in action. I’d made excellent time on the drive from our team dinner, and I wasn’t ready to go home yet. The busier I stayed, the better. When my schedule slowed, I had more time to think and at the moment, that was kind of dangerous.

The attendant checking IDs and collecting money from non-students at the door waved me in free of charge and instructed me to sit wherever I wanted. The later hour and under-capacity crowd probably saved me five bucks. I sat three rows back on the home bleachers and searched the floor for Mitch.

My heart flipped against my rib cage when I spotted him on the sidelines in his black-and-gold cheer squad uniform. He stood tall and proud, with his chin tilted toward the rafters as though he were performing to a sellout crowd instead of a few parents and friends. I felt a surge of awe and adoration for him. And gratitude that he was mine.

I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees just as a perky blonde with freckles sat beside me.

She bounced excitedly and widened her eyes. “Oh, my gosh. I’ve totally been watching your IG and YouTube channel. You and Mitch are the cutest! Please tell me you’re real! You must be. You wouldn’t come to one of these games unless you were a couple. You don’t even go to school here, right?”

“Uh…no, but—”

“Can I get a selfie with you?”

“Well, um…okay.”

She put her arm around me and snapped a photo before I had a chance to smile. “Would you be willing to do another one with my friends? It’ll only take a sec,” she pleaded.

I complied. She was a fast picture-taker and other than causing a mini-sensation in a half-empty gym, I honestly didn’t see the harm in appeasing a gaggle of freshman girls. This was becoming a regular thing. I’d been stopped a few times this week alone by random people who wanted me to know they thought our videos were funny and entertaining.

The bubbly girl took the photo, then hollered Mitch’s name, announcing my presence to my mystified-looking lover before returning to her seat with her friends. Mitch smiled at me and got back to work, revving up the meager crowd from the sidelines. He was good at this. His enthusiasm was contagious but a little lost on a small audience.

I glanced around the gym again then did a double take when I noticed someone filming me from the opposite side of the court. A young woman with long brown hair turned her phone to Mitch and then back to me shamelessly. She clearly didn’t care that I knew she was watching me. In fact, she probably liked it. I might understand if I was famous. But I wasn’t. I was just me. Maybe it was a good thing Mitch hadn’t used his real name until recently. The near constant attention and prying eyes freaked me out.

I pulled my cell out and lowered my head to avoid unwanted scrutiny as I scrolled through missed messages. The first was from Nicole.

There’s a cocktail party on campus before the fundraiser Saturday. Can’t wait to see you!