Abby Ryan has her whole life planned out, up until graduation that is. As a journalism student at the University of Southern Washington, she has one goal in mind for her last semester of senior year: secure a scholarship for graduate school. But whe...
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I take a long sip of my coffee and readjust myself on the ice-cold stool in the chemistry classroom. I was one of the last students to file into the lab this morning, and not having the full fifteen minutes I always give myself before class to get settled and go over the lecture notes from the previous class is starting to stress me out. That, and the fact that thanks to the mortifying conversation with my roommates, I could barely sleep last night.
The stool beside me is still empty, and I glance to the classroom entrance between sips of coffee and reading my notes, praying that Beck isn't planning on skipping class today because the small stack of papers sitting on each table labeled LAB 001 will be almost impossible to complete on my own. I've already flipped through the lab packet and spotted most of the keywords and concepts from the reading listed throughout, but the execution is the part I'm worried about.
I push the lab papers back to the center of the table and grab my planner from my bag. Scanning the monthly layout for today's date, I read over the to-do list I made yesterday. My day is planned out by the hour today since I have more than usual on my list. I'll be in classes from eight to two, and then I need to go to the newspaper room to get everything organized for our first staff meeting of the semester, then find time to call my mom back before she has a heart attack since I've missed the last two times she's tried to call. And somehow, I have to get all of this done before five, when my first shift back at the diner starts.
I pencil in my mom's phone call for four-thirty. It's enough time to catch her up while also giving me the perfect excuse to get off the phone when my shift starts. If gone unchecked, my mother could lecture me on pretty much anything for hours.
I stare down at the bold letters highlighted at the bottom of the page, reminding me that I'm running out of time to start my scholarship article. The one good thing that came from my inability to sleep last night was the embarrassing amount of time I spent scrolling through Beck's Instagram. Admittedly, at first, it was simply for the shirtless pictures, though, after stopping to look at some of his basketball action shots, the realization of how good of a basketball player he actually is had started to dawn on me. It didn't take long before I was typing away on my computer, drafting up different article ideas, keeping in mind the USASN audience and which kind of article would be the most interesting to read.
Growing up with a stay-at-home dad and two older brothers, most of my evenings were spent sitting with my dad in the bleachers at basketball practices. He even tried to get me to sign up for my own team, but after throwing a big enough tantrum, he agreed to let me skip that humiliation. My hand-eye coordination is less than stellar, a fact that's been proven time and time again whenever my brothers coerced me into playing with them on the half-court we have in the backyard. After getting nailed in the face one too many times because I wasn't fast enough to catch the ball, it became apparent that I didn't inherit the same athletic gene they did.
While I wasn't meant to be on the court, I couldn't deny my interest in it. I always seemed to end up on USASN whenever I would watch TV, knowing it wouldn't take long for my dad to find his way onto the couch next to me so we could debate about the latest game or player to get traded. After he passed away during my junior year of high school, I haven't been able to watch USASN or any sports network without inevitably spiraling into a full-blown meltdown. I've avoided it ever since.
