The Silicon Valley Connection

31 | aidan: print ('semifinals')

Of all the games this season, it had to be the semifinals where the coach pulled a fast one on me. Usually, I'm switched out during sets since I'm a well-rounded player no matter what position; however, Baylor mentioned that they wanted to try something different this season and have me as the setter for the entire game instead of Jaeson. If we somehow won this game, then it would be the school's third appearance at Nationals.

Even though students have to live on campus all four years, I brought it up to my mother about how it would actually be better for me to have a backup place for my own mental health reasons and she agreed, so for my 18th birthday, one of the condos in her name became mine. Normally, I'd be hanging with Marcus and the rest of my teammates pre-game, but with this wave of unprecedented pressure to do well, I'm sitting out of the rituals this time around.

I glance at the clock above the entrance to my door, its ticking sound seeming louder and more irritating than usual in my quiet living space.

The bus leaves campus in less than sixteen hours. As I blankly stared at my half-packed bag, thoughts whirled around in my mind. What if my legs suddenly didn't move? What if I'm not able to pull off an emergency set?

My teammates noticed that I was out of sorts during our practice yesterday, and the student-athlete study hall wasn't much better either, considering that Faith realized something was off. I wasn't too enthusiastic about explaining the full details then, and I am glad she didn't ask, although I sensed her concerned glances every so often.

I gathered my tangled thoughts into a comprehensive pile and shoved the last of my clothes into my duffle when my phone lit up on the kitchen island next to me.

FAITH: hey! I'm in the neighborhood. can I stop by?

AIDAN: of course.

I set down my phone and rub my face with my hands, elbows resting on the counter. My hair routinely flops in front of my face, but I can care less at this point. Seven minutes pass, and I perk up to hear a faint knocking. Propping myself back up, I walk to the door, hastily opening it. Faith stands in the doorway, her curls in a low ponytail, with my grey volleyball sweatshirt covering half of her light blue leggings. Cookies and cream Pocky and barbecue Lays chips were in one hand and a ginger ale in the other.

She remembered my favorite snacks. I fucking love this woman.

Faith: 10, Aidan: 11

"Hey," she says with a slight smile. She takes a sidestep and gives me a quick hug after closing the door behind her. We migrate to the kitchen, and she sets the snacks down before turning back to me, arms crossed and an analytical crinkle in her brows. "You still look no better from earlier," she points out bluntly.

A scoff escapes my lips. "Thanks for stating the obvious."

She laughs and leans against the table. "But in all seriousness, though. It's about the semis, isn't it?"

I look away and nod. "That..." my voice falters, "...among other things."

She sighs and takes a hesitant step toward me, bringing me into her arms again. I cave in and return the hug, my arms enclosed around her shoulders and hers around my waist. As we stood there, I hadn't realized how much her presence really calmed me. The tension gripping my muscles withers away to an easy, comforting feeling. She pulls from me a bit, gently takes off my glasses, and gazes into my eyes as if she was looking for something.

"Where's the carefree and passionate Aidan I know and love?" she asks, a hint of hurt in her voice.

I close my eyes and lean my forehead against hers. "I'm stressed."