My head is poundingwhen I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. I blindly reach out on the nightstand and pick it up, hoping it’s Rowan.
It’s not. It’s my sister.
“Hey, Andi,” I say, my voice raw from crying.
“Mags, what happened? Are you okay?” my older sister asks, concerned.
“No, I fucked everything up,” I say, the damn breaking once more as I cry into my pillow.
“Honey, where are you? I’ll come to you.”
“No, you’re pregnant, I’m not gonna make you fly for me,” I say, sitting up and wiping my tears away. “Can I come to you?”
“Of course. Come stay with us for a bit, we can talk through everything and find a solution.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say, starting to pack up my small suitcase. I didn’t bring much since we were only supposed to be here over the weekend. Yet, I still find some of Rowan’s clothes strewn around the room.
After debating it for far too long, I decide I want to face him again. Maybe apologize and tell him that I just need some time to sort it all out.
I knock three times on his door and wait, impatiently tapping my foot against the carpet. The door opens but it’s not Rowan I’m faced with.
“Elena?” I ask, frowning. “What are you?—”
“It’s not what it looks like,” she says in her thick Polish accent. Her face is more serious today, reminding me of how she usually is before our matches. Focused, locked in. On a mission.
“What are you doing in Rowan’s room?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“Oh, relax. I’m not into blondes,” she says, opening the door all the way in and I mindlessly step inside. “Rowan and Jacobgot shitfaced last night, passed out in Jacob’s room, and both of them left early this morning.”
“He left?” I ask numbly, dropping the bag I brought with me and sitting on the edge of a chair.
“Apparently they’ll spend some ‘bro time’ in London,” she says, adding air quotes. “Jacob’s words, not mine.” She sighs.
“Oh,” I say, sniffling.
“I’m just here to pick up some items they forgot,” Elena adds, picking up a T-shirt off the floor and holding it between a thumb and forefinger. “Men are gross,” she adds and I choke a laugh.
“Rowan’s actually cleaner than me,” I say, taking the shirt from her and adding it to my bag.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
“No, not really,” I say. When I notice the careful way she’s looking at me, I add, “But thank you. You’re not what I expected, you know?”
The smile she gives me is wicked. “Oh, I know.” Her expression softens again and she pulls me into a hug. “You’re not what I expected either. But I’m still going to crush you at the French Open,” she whispers in my ear.
“Good luck.” I laugh, making my way out of the room.
I spendmy entire trip to California agonizing between all the articles that are speculating on my relationship with Rowan and texting my group chat with the Athlala girls.
Blair
You need to get off the Internet.
Isla
Agreed. You know the articles are just speculation. There’s no point in worrying over it.
I know they’re right, but I can’t help the anxiety bubbling up in my chest. It brings me back to my high-school years and the last thing I want is to think about my parents right now.
