I haven’t had these types of butterflies in years—it’s kind of nice that they are still there. Rusty, a few in need of a warm-up or an extra stretch of their wings. They move around my stomach and work their way up my spine—not since my last game. I used to get them before every game, no matter what.
Just like then, I pull out a pair of headphones and slip on the same playlist I’ve listened to since high school. The volume is low enough that if my name is called, I’m ready—we already did a group interview, now it’s individual.
The trio passes by me again. The brunette—with a familiar bow pulling half her hair up—stays back. Tells the other two she’ll catch up with them in a bit.
“Sutton?” Izzy, my former high school friend, asks. “Oh my gosh! It is you.” Her tone doesn’t match her body language.
“Hi, Izzy.” I pull out a headphone from my ear, confused why she’s here.
“Is this seat taken? Can I sit?” She’s already sliding into the booth before I can answer.
I haven’t seen Izzy Adams since the summer going into my senior year of high school. Her mom accepted a Cardiothoracic Surgeon position in California, and they moved at the end of our junior year.
We had a falling out shortly after. It was slow at first. Less communication—she was busy making new friends; I was busy with injury recovery. Then over the summer, Izzy was visiting our hometown, which I didn’t know till I saw her out, holding hands with my ex-boyfriend.
I pretended I didn’t seem them. Pretended there wasn’t this weird buzz within me that something wasn’t right about the picture. Pretended to not see her few texts that next year.
Did it hurt losing her as a friend? Naturally. Friendship breakups suck even as a kid. It took me till I became friends with Elliot to realize that I didn’t miss Izzy though.
“How have you been?” we both ask at the same time. “You first,” I follow-up with.
“Great!” she tells me, more like brags about attending the University of Minnesota—my dream team to have played hockey for—and the sorority she’s in.
“And your parents?” Izzy is an only child.
“Divorced. Mom’s already remarried to this steamy doctor from the hospital. Dad’s back in Minnesota. I was actually visiting the other week, and I heard alittle rumor.”
I internally cringe at the way she says rumor. It transports me back to high school. Back to the name calling, whispers, and stares. Boiling to the surface my insecurities of being wanted and being enough. I tamper them down, and think about the people in my life who do care for me.
“You’re dating Cooper Carmichael.”
“I am.”
“Interesting.”
“How’s that interesting?”
She shrugs casually. “Just is.” Izzy pulls out lip gloss and reapplies. “You know I thought after everything in high school?—”
“He didn’t start the rumor,” I cut her off defensively.
Izzy lets out a dull laugh. “He said that?” I nod demurely. “Of course, he did. And did he say who did?” When I shake my head no, she hmms. “And you’re sure he didn’t? Seems like another tactic to get what he wants. What other extremes did he go to?” There’s another dull laugh. “Always a game with him.”
Manicured nails tap on the table as silence stretches between us.
I go tight, whatever nerve she was aiming at, she hit it. My body rigid as I fight off the second-guessing. Would he tell me that just to earn my trust back? Are him and I a game? Why won’t he or can’t he say who did start the rumor?
“Anyways. What is your time slot for the solo interview?”
I cough, clearing my throat. “Four.”
“That’s right after me. I thought I was last, but now that I know I’m not, I’m so relieved.” Her body visibly shows that relief, slouching into the seat. It’s a little dramatic, almost fake. “But don’t worry, I bet you’ll still do okay. You were always better at studying and finding ways to make people like you.” She nods to my notecards, and I try not to take offense to hersubtle jab. I think in these years not being friends, my Izzy-colored glasses have been removed.
“I didn’t realize you wanted to be a sports psychologist?” Or any interest in sports. When we were friends, she never came to my games. Once even said she hated sports, didn’t get them. How do you go from that to wanting to intern with one of the biggest college conferences?
One of Izzy’s brows arches. Eye twitches and hands curl into fists. Something in her switches.
Izzy can be mean, but I’d never been at the end of it…at least I think, but now I’m not positive.
