Miranda taught me that grounding trick in the immediate few days after my nudes went mega viral. It works surprisingly well. Miranda says it's the only thing that helps her clear her mind during a golf tournament.
I check the time: 10:47am. My entire panic attack lasted three whole minutes. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.
I double check that I have everything: headphones, coffees, keys, backpack and then head to class where Will is, no doubt, already waiting for me.
I walk into the lecture hall and look around for Will. I spot him in our usual spot with his backpack sitting on the seat next to him, laptop already out with a blank document open. His head is down and his phone is open in his hand, typing. I feel it vibrate in my pocket right before I start to shimmy my way down the aisle toward him.
I hold up both fists of coffee as a silent excuse for being nearly late, and hand him one of the lattes. His eyes go wide and he takes a sip. Will can pretend all day long that he doesn’t lovethe girly coffees and face masks and cute water bottles, but I know the truth. Will is basic.
I get out my notebook and pens and try to focus on the lecture, but can’t. I feel pent up and fidgety. I’m readjusting my skirt when Will leans over and whispers, “Are you good? You’re being weird.”
“I’m fine. This skirt is just itchy,” I lie.
OCTOBER
Chapter Ten
Will
Today sucks. I got my ass whopped during practice yesterday and today. We’ve been running speed and agility drills on the ice this week, and to no one’s surprise, I’m slow as fuck right now. My knee hurts, I’m sore, I haven’t had sex in seven months, I can’t stop thinking about Kennedy, and to top it all off, I’m at a team photoshoot right now.
I hate these fucking things, but I especially hate today’s. For one, it's happening during my astronomy class which has quickly become my favorite class. I’m more than a little disappointed that I’ll miss it today for something this stupid. And miss seeing Kennedy.
Plus, these photoshoots suck in general. I hate gearing up and posing for the camera. They make us do weird shit like growl to look fierce and intimidating. I feel like a circus monkey being told to do tricks. All I can think about is the cameraman saying “dance monkey, dance" when they tell me how to pose or what to do with my face.
If I was allowed to miss these photoshoots, I would. But this is an NCAA sanctioned event so I’m required to be here no matter what. Even if that means missing my favorite class.
To make matters worse, the team’s new social media manager is taking advantage of having us all together with a professional set and lighting by forcing us to take unofficial pictures for our team’s instagram page. She’s interviewing us with a tiny microphone and asking questions designed to get views. Questions like: who on the team would you not let date your sister or who’s the biggest player. She’ll even ask us if we’re single, making it a point to let the audience know our relationship status. I hate it.
Some guys on the team thrive with this kind of thing. For example, Adrian, the little attention whore, loves this. He loves interviewing with the social media girl, he loves posing with his shirt off, he loves winking at the camera, and letting everyone know he’s single and open to love.
I would rather shave my head than do any of this.
“William Taylor,” a voice calls from behind the camera. I grab my gear and go stand in front of the backdrop, ready to get this over with.
“Let me put my gloves on, give me a second.” I say. I do up my helmet and then pull on my gloves. I shake my shoulders and arms, mentally psyching myself up for the torture I’m about to endure.
“Ready?” The cameraman says. I take a breath and nod.
“First picture is for the composite. So go ahead and hold your stick like you normally would and look at the camera. Don’t smile. Look mean.”
I hold my stick to my side and look directly into the camera. I don’t do anything different than my normal face when I look into the camera. “Great job. Now turn to the side and pretend to slap a puck."
I whip my stick a few times forward and back, pretending to pass a puck. This feels so stupid.
“Now face the camera and yell or growl or snarl maybe while also pretending to skate.”What the hell?
I want to laugh. This is ridiculous.Snarl?I close my eyes and try to take a focusing breath, like an actor, before letting out a snarl and pretending to skate, which turns out looks like I’m jumping in the air. Fuck it, he wants me jumping in the air, he’ll get me jumping in the air. I full-send it and try to do a middle split in the air but I’m not able to get my legs very far apart. I can’t stop the laugh that comes out of me like a bark. I’m imagining what Kenny would say if she saw me snarling in the air while doing the splits. This only makes me start laughing more.
“William, this is serious. Please try again,” the cameraman snaps at me.
“Right, Of course, sorry.” I say. I again try to snarl, jump, fake pass, all at the same time. But every time I let out that snarl I can’t stop laughing. It's gotten so bad that several of the guys are standing in a huddle behind the camera guy’s back laughing too.
After a few more attempts, he ducks his head out from behind the camera and says, “Thanks, William. That will be all.”
Thank God that part is at least over. The jumping splits I was doing were kind of irritating my knee. I walk off the set and head toward the chairs where the social media girl is doing interviews. Not only am I required to be here, but I’m not allowed to leave so I might as well do some media interviews now so I’m not forced to do them later in the year. I take off my gloves and helmet, and unfortunately have to leave on my pads. I plop in a chair and pull out my phone to scroll social media.
I’m rubbing a palm over the inside of my knee when Adrian sits in the seat next to me, bumping me with his elbowand nodding his chin at the social media girl who’s currently interviewing Carter.
