Her reply is instant.
Collins:The Mountain is still in bed, and shirtless no less. I guess I’ve been bested.
My lips pull again, and this time I don’t try to stop it. Even if I don’t realize it until after it happens.
Collins:Though I’m inclined to say it doesn’t count since you’re reviewing Westover footage. That’s technically working.
Bryden:I disagree. I’d say it’s closer to a study session. And I’m impressed that you knew who was on the screen.
Collins:It’s kind of hard not to when you guys have damn near drilled all things hockey into my brain.
Collins:I even dream about blade measurements now.
Collins:
I smile harder. Sam’s been working with us for over a month now and I can’t say that I’m surprised at all. She’s smart, probably too smart. And the way her brain works, how she’s always thinking ahead, is intriguing. She’s disciplined, taking everything she does seriously. We’re alike in that way, eyes on the prize and not letting up until we achieve it. I sense that about her, just from watching her master her tasks as our equipment manager.
Collins:Still on for the supply run for our project? I just finished at the library with Gracie, and I could use the distraction.
Instantly, I’m curious.
Bryden:Yeah. I’ll drive.
She sends back a thumbs-up emoji, then a meme of a little boy resting his chin on his palm while tapping his other hand on the table—waiting. It’s one of those black-and-white shots from an old-timey show. I don’t laugh out loud, but my mouth pulls at the corners.
I send one back, the one of Forrest Gump running. Sam hearts it, and I find myself sitting there with my hand on my chest before climbing out of bed, quickly brushing my teeth, and then getting dressed.
The boys are gone now. I heard their cars pull out of the graveled drive just a few minutes ago. Which is good because that means I get to avoid explaining why I’m in civilian clothes and not my practice gear or toting my backpack. I also wouldn’t even begin to know how to explain that I’m going to pick up the girl they both hate.
It’s simple enough. We’re physics partners, and I have no choice.
Only that no longer feels entirely true. I’ve started to look forward to our messages, to seeing her at practice. There’s still so much I don’t know about her, but the more time we spend together, the more I realize how refreshing she is.
Sam couldn’t care less about status, about the game, or about us. She does her time and moves on.
I like that about her.
By the time we pull away from the school, she’s already scrolling through a Pinterest board on her phone. I know because every time she adds something, I get an alert from the app she made me download.
I smile inwardly, appreciating how thorough she is. It’s funny really. She teases me about being so anal, so particular about things, but doesn’t even realize she’s the same way.
It’s so subtle that if you aren’t paying attention, you’ll miss it.
The Pinterest board, notebook full of ideas, the iCloud photo album she shared with me the other day, even down to theprocess she’s created for the team. Checking everything four times before calling it done, memorizing all of our preferences and setting up a system to keep it all organized.
I keep my eyes on the road, not because I have to, but because it’s better than staring too long.
“I think we should hit up the art supply store first. We should be able to get most of what we need there,” Sam says while still scrolling on her phone.
I brave a quick glance, letting my eyes fall over her face, lingering a little longer than intended on her mouth.
“Sounds good,” I add, forcing myself to look forward again, but not before reaching over and turning on the radio.
A sound plays through the speaker system, and she immediately starts to bob her head to the rhythm. I cock a lopsided smile, and adjust in my seat, one hand on the wheel and the other resting along my chin.
The drive to the nearest shopping center isn’t a long one. We pull into the parking lot, just as a car shoots out in front of us. I slam on the brakes, my arm instinctively flying out to brace her.
Sam pushes up onto the seat, leaning forward to scream at the driver. “Why are you speeding through a parking lot, asshole?”
