Page 51 of Your Kiss Is On My List

The first round of the NCAA championship for ice hockey are next weekend and it also happens to be the same weekend that SPU is in the sweet sixteen for March Madness, the NCAA tournament for women’s basketball. And I have to go because I’ve been assigned to get fresh original footage of Emily in action and an interview win or lose, after the game. Summer was supposed to do it, but she needed the time off to finish her project and she insisted to Craig that I should be the one to take her place.

“Craig, I have the project to finish too. I’m in the same competition as Emily.” I’m standing in his office, ragged and unwashed with the same clothes I’ve worn for two days and I don’t remember the last thing I age besides grabbing a random donut as I passed through the outer office of the studio.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but Summer has seniority. You know that. You’re low sweetheart on the totem pole.”

“And stop calling me sweetheart. We’re not all sweethearts. We’re gosh darn adult women with brains and sass.”

“I can see that.” He sighs. “Sorry. But we need you to cover the basketball game and you know the rules. If you don’t do it, you’re out of the line-up. Off air for the rest of the semester.”

I squeeze my eyes shut because I know he’s right and I’m taking my own mistake out on him. I let my guard down against Summer, let her take advantage of me and the situation and her seniority. But I can’t exactly get mad at her because I feel sorry for her, even true empathy.

Because she lost Trey and she’s heartbroken and I know what that feels like. She doesn’t like me because I have him and I get that. Only problem is I’m not so sure if I have him or if I’ve blown it. I know I have some work to do to make things right, so I spin on my heels, quit my whining and resign myself to the fact that I’ll miss Trey’s most important game of the season up until now. Frack. I should text him to let him know that I won’t be there and why, but I don’t.

If I leave immediately after Emily’s basketball game, because it’s a matinee, I might make it back in time to be at the rink at the end of Trey’s game at SPU. But I won’t be able to go out because I’ll be back at the studio for another all-nighter. I need to get my project to Dooley on Sunday morning for a look before I need to submit it for the competition. I’m cutting it close.

I figure having it the edits, a fait accompli, was the best way to handle Trey’s story. I cut out the last part where he broke down, cutting away and showing his back and then splicing in shots of Corey’s grave and a mock-up of blood on ice. It was fake blood and I owe Heather for helping me get it from the theater department on the sly because I don’t want Dooley to know it was fake blood lest he think I’m cheating. But it’s part theatrical, dramatizing past events, isn’t it?

I’ll submit my entry in the competition and let the chips fall. Someone should tell the butterflies in my gut that I have this under control.

It’s four pm and I know this is the last chance I’ll have to let Trey know I might not be at the game. I should text him or call him—because I’m too chicken to visit him at BMOC House uninvited—to tell him because just not showing up and letting him guess seems too… gauche. But I might make it. I need to try. And if I do, he won’t have a moment’s disappointment.

But if I don’t make it, he’ll feel betrayed.

Though I’m not sure who’s betrayed who exactly. I taste the bile of betrayal in my mouth too.

Did he betray me by forcing me to make massive changes to my profile project? Is it me who betrayed him for making the profile too gritty? Is it him for ghosting me again? Or is it me for ghosting him right back? Classic chicken and the egg.

We’re both chicken shoots. And it tastes worse than real poop in my mouth. A dark cloud hovers over me, metaphorically speaking, preventing any sunshine or joy from hitting me. Melodramatic? Maybe. It’s my biggest flaw—ask Trey if you don’t believe me. He accused me of being a drama queen approximately six million times growing up.

* * *

Grit, determination and a heavy foot on the gas pedal win me the race against time as I park the car wildly in the lot behind the rink reserved for players, coaches and media. I rush inside to the hallway outside the locker rooms, out of breath and excited and worried. I heard about the game on the radio, that they won four-to-two, that Trey scored two goals and Nate was killer in net. But I still haven’t figured what I’m going to tell him, or rather how and when.

As I melt into the crowd around the locker room, I end up close to the door and look around for him, hoping that I didn’t miss him, my heart pounding. When the door swings open and the coach and Trey walk out, I heave a big breath and I have to hold myself back from going to him because he’s talking to the media. I’m shocked to see Summer covering for SPUTV because she was supposed to be busy.

As I stand and watch, Lou finds me and we watch together. Her mom and dad left right after the game to get home at a decent hour. When Trey’s finally finished with the reporters and Summer finally lets him go, her hand lingering on his arm and her smile more flirtatious than friendly, he finally turns to see us. His face lights up instantly and I meet him halfway.

He hugs me briefly and after a quick exchange of hugs and hellos with Lou, she takes off to find Nate.

“That second goal was for you,” he says. “But when I looked up to see you in the arena, I missed you. I hope you didn’t miss the goal?”

“Who was the first goal for?” I joke, stalling. He laughs.

“For mom, but don’t tell the team because they think all the goals are for them.” I laugh, hating to ruin his super mood. But I put my arm through his and we walk toward the exit.

“I have a confession,” I say quietly. He stops at the exit door and he waits, his eyes intense, his face still so happy. “I didn’t see the game. I just got here.” His face clouds in confusion and then goes cool as he fully faces me. I rush the rest of my words to fill his silence.

“I had a last-minute assignment that I had to take and it was important—the women’s basketball team in the thick of the playoffs and they won—but it was in Albany and I knew I could make it back, so I didn’t want to disappoint you and didn’t tell you I wouldn’t be here.” I take a deep breath. “I didn’t want to distract your focus, so I kept it to myself, knowing—hoping I could get back in time to see you after the game.” I spread my arms, not quite smiling. “And here I am.” His face is stony and he blows out a breath.

“Let’s go. Let’s take a walk under the stars.” I hold my breath when he takes my hand and start wishing the minute we push through the doors. We walk down the back path leading towards our street and my heart pounds. The stars aren’t going to save me. I need to do it myself, to make things work out like an adult, to do what I need to do for myself and Trey and for us.

“It’s time to stop playing games, Dani.”

“I know. We have some unresolved issues between us,” I say in spite of the roll in my gut. He nods. And I continue, braver than my fighting weight, or foolish, I’m not sure.

“I don’t want to lose you, Trey. I want us to work so bad.” I take a deep breath and he waits for me to continue without interrupting, his silence heavy on my heart. “But you’re leaving at the end of the semester and I’m willing to wait, but I don’t know where I stand. Because there’ll be a million Summer Philbins out there ready to jump you whether you want them or not.”

“Why don’t you ask me what I want? Whether all the Summer Philbins in the world mean a god damn fuck to me?” He pushes a hand through his hair