The Silicon Valley Connection

2 | aidan - print ('we meet...again')

I stare at my computer screen for another five minutes with the Google Sheets information on the left and my PyCharm IDE on the right, stumped on how to analyze the given information for my data science class. I run the code one final time, only to be expectedly disappointed.

Of course, I get another IndexError.

Yeah, this isn't going anywhere. I close my laptop and lean back in my chair. Riley's name pops up from my messages app.

RILEY: so, uh, did you forget about Ollie's birthday at the rink or what?

AIDAN: shit. I lost track of time doing this project for Professor Martin. I'm on my way soon. it's the rink near Kennedy Drive and 6th Avenue, right?

RILEY: dude. stop stressing. it's due in three weeks, and you're over 75% done. even the super-smart kids like you need a break too. you're gonna burn out again, and we both know how shitty you play when you're stressed--volleyball prodigy or not. and yeah, that one.

AIDAN: oh, shut up. I'll be there in 15 mins.

RILEY: love you too, man.

I roll my eyes at his message, pull my hair into a decent look, and rush out to the rink before I receive another angry text from him asking about my location for the millionth time.

———

I weave through the crowded rink to find Faith a couple of feet ahead of me--gliding effortlessly backward, might I add, with Marcus at her side. Her subtle but still noticeable curves hugged her figure in all the right places as she sinfully swayed with one-wheeled shoe crossing over the other; I began to casually pick up speed to say hello, but Riley's voice sounded from the upper deck near the arcade section. So I end up changing course, skating up the carpeted ramp to meet them instead, slightly annoyed at his sudden call.

When she finally comes back to the second level, I'm already swapping out of my own skates into my shoes. Her head turns with the rest of the people, girls mostly--after our senior volleyball captain, Baylor Hawthorne, does a horrible, dramatic rendition of the "Happy Birthday" song in Ollie's honor. Camera shutter sounds warn me of the tsunami that would soon crash into my life...again.

My eyes connected with hers for what seemed like forever, but in reality? Two seconds. A pastel yellow, lace, long-sleeve cropped tee showed parts of her music ribbon and planets tattoo again. Faded, acid-washed, blue jeans hugged her waist perfectly. Jet black curls gave a slight bounce or sway when she walked. Gorgeous, melanin-rich skin revealed golden undertones beneath the fluorescent lights of the skating rink. Only from a mere few feet away, she emanated an alluring presence that made me wish for the sketchbook I use in my art seminar.

I prop my glasses back up for the third time today and give her a weak smile which I'm pretty sure was awkward as hell from her perspective. She raises an eyebrow and holds my gaze for a while before heading back in the direction of her table.

It was kind of refreshing having a girl's eyes not dilate when they see me, but with Faith, her gaze felt mocked, which also irked me at the same time.

Faith Sommers, you have no idea what you have just started.