Page 69 of Colliding with Ten

A surge of excitement shot through me. For one night, she would be right there, not two time zones away. If she laughed, I might hear it through the wall.

Then reality caught up. She was still a Hawks cheerleader. The business of football didn’t care what we felt. I forced my expression to stay neutral, hiding the celebration in my chest.

“You look great. Way better without the brace.”

“Thanks. It’s in the room, just in case.”

“What’s in the bag?” I asked.

“Food. I missed dinner.”

“You just got here?”

“Not too long ago. I had a team meeting as well.”

“You cheering again?”

Her expression brightened. “No, I started a fellowship as a trainer working with the Hawks. AJ helped arrange an opportunity for me to shadow the Hawks’ sports medicine staff.”

I reared my head back, surprised. “That’s incredible. Is that what you want to do?”

She nodded, biting her lip. “I think it might be.”

“Good for you.”

Hearing the news, I felt pride disproportionate to the little claim I had on her life. I wanted details but wasn’t sure it was the right time to press her.

She shifted the paper bag to her other hand. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming how?”

“There are a lot of moving parts with practice schedules, treatment plans, player evaluations, and documentation. And everyone there already knows what they’re doing.”

I smiled. “I wanna hear more.”

She leaned back against her door. “They’re letting me observe the trainers during rehab sessions. Not everything, obviously. I’m not licensed, and there are privacy rules. But I can sit in on some of the planning meetings and watch how they assess things.”

“That sounds like a good experience.”

“It is. I thought they’d have me folding towels for three months before anyone let me near an actual session.”

“That would have sucked.”

“Yeah, but instead, one of the physical therapists said I could bring in some of the dance-based mobility work I’ve been researching. Not to use on anyone yet. Just to discuss.”

“That’s good.”

“It’s more than good.” She squealed with excitement, then quickly tried to rein herself in.

I smiled. She’d spent weeks wondering whether she’d ever dance the same again. Now her eyes lit up with a new opportunity. Maybe the injury had taken the possibility of her first dream, but it hadn’t taken her ability to dream again.

“I’m proud of you,” I said.

She looked at me. “You are?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” She looked down at the bag in her hand and shrugged. “I haven’t done anything yet.”