On a Wednesday (One Week 2)

“It’s like some type of punishment.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s a way for you to gain some insight before you leave this university, and I expect you to watch every Wednesday performance and write a report on something new you learn each time.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to laugh, to tell me that he was just bullshitting, but he continued talking.

“I took the liberty of getting you a press pass for the event with The Pitt News, so you can’t claim that you forgot to buy one of your own.”

Fuck no. Tell him the truth about the girls. “Coach, look. With all due respect—”

“Once you learn what the word ‘respect’ actually means when it comes to women, I’ll let you finish that sentence, son.” He uncapped a pen and signed a disciplinary action form. Then he handed it to me. “If you don’t do this, in addition to the extra fitness shit that I’ll be adding later this week, you won’t play another game this season.”

“If I don’t play, then the team will lose.”

“Then everyone on campus will blame you.” He smiled. “Then again, I think Grayson Connors can make any receiver look as great as you out there. Don’t you think?”

“No.”

“Then don’t try me.”

I groaned and signed the paper. “Anything else, Coach?”

“Oh, yeah.” He stood to his feet and walked over to the door. “The neighbors on Childs Street expect you to clean up all the cups, wood planks, and papers that you and your teammates tossed into their backyards. Get it done by tonight.”

“How can you expect me to get that done tonight and see this play?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Courtney: Then

Senior Year

Pittsburgh

* * *

That night

“Marissa?” I knocked on the student art director’s door.

“Yeah, Courtney?” She looked up from a bowl of ramen.

“Can you email me that review of The Vagina Monologues before midnight?” I asked. “Even if it’s just a few lines and you have to adjust it later, I’ll take it.”

“That’s due today?”

“Yes.” I crossed my arms. “We went over this last week, and I left you a voicemail last night.”

“Oh … I was having sex with my boyfriend then,” she said. “I try not to check my phone whenever he comes over, because, the orgasms get pretty intense.”

I really didn’t need to know that. “Just send it by midnight so I can submit it to the layout team.”

“You know what?” She scarfed down a forkful of her noodles. “I’m going to send you the review I did for it two years ago, and then you can insert the new actors’ names. It’s not like anyone will know, right?”

I sighed. “Give me the ticket, Marissa.”

“Are you sure?” She raised her eyebrow. “My original review was amazing!”

I nodded, refusing to tell her that we never ran her review because she pieced together the words of popular YouTubers instead of penning her own.

“Here you go,” she said, handing me an envelope. “You know, I don’t care what anyone on this staff says. You’re not some dumb blonde who is trying too hard to come off smarter than you look. You’re passionate, and you more than deserve to be our editor-in-chief.”

“There are people here who think that I don’t deserve to be?”

She stuffed another forkful of noodles into her mouth. “The play starts in half an hour. May take you a while to get there in the rain, if you don’t hurry up and leave.”

Biting my tongue, I grabbed my umbrella and headed outside, taking my time to walk to the theater.

By the time I made it to the designated seat in the front row, the lights were flickering above the stage.

Flipping through the program’s brochure, I highlighted all of the leads’ names and wrote a few notes in the margins.

As I was summarizing the plot’s theme, someone to my left cleared a throat.

I looked up and saw Kyle Stanton dressed in a black T-shirt that hugged his abs in all the right ways and dark blue jeans.

“Well, hello there.” He showed off his perfect smile. “Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

I didn’t answer him. I was half caught off guard by how sexy he was, half trying to remember the exact reason why I vowed to never speak to him again.

As he tilted his head to the side in anticipation of an answer, the once fuzzy memory came flashing back with full clarity.

He left me hanging on purpose … Never even apologized.

I’d told him to meet me at Kiva Han so we could knock out our parts over a weekend, and he smiled and asked for my phone number.

Obviously, I refused.

Instead, I wrote down the address of the cafe and the meeting time.

I even sent him an email the night before.

He never showed up, and I was left to do eleven and a half hours of work alone.