All in on You

Chapter Fourteen

I've been staring at this blank document for the past ten minutes.

As part of our internship assignments, Dr. Wennberg is requiring us to record periodic reflections about our experience. Challenges we're facing, how we're applying our knowledge to novel situations, new insights we're discovering—those sorts of things. I've written a few entries over the past several weeks, and the words have always flowed easily. But this time, the right words elude me.

The problem isn't that I don't know what to say. The problem is that what I want to say is incredibly inappropriate. What I want to say is this:

This week I met with Angelo Bradford and Keith Morgan after their Thursday night game. It went well, but then Angelo offered to walk me to my car, and I didn't oppose at all. I told him I think he's special and he told me that he couldn't respond professionally to that. Then he told me to text him when I got home. So I did, and he responded immediately that he had decided that if I didn't text him in two minutes, he was going to text me. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that. I have no reason to be feeling the way that I do, but I think I'm falling for Angelo Bradford. Hard.

Yeah. Somehow, I don't think Dr. Wennberg would appreciate reading that.

"Everything okay?" Scar asks. "That was a pretty heavy sigh you just let out."

I'm surprised she heard me, considering how loud it is in this sports bar. It's a Saturday late afternoon, and the lively crowd is due to this place's chicken tender special and the fact that they have several large, flat screen TVs broadcasting the Saints' away game in Buffalo.

"Yeah, I guess. Actually, I don't know."

Scar nibbles on the end of a golden, crispy French fry.

"Does this have anything to do with who they keep showing on the screen?"

"No, this has nothing to do with Keith."

She gives me a 'That's so not funny' look.

"I can't stop thinking about him," I admit, being serious this time. She knows who I'm referring to.

Scar's face softens and she reaches her hand across our table towards mine, dodging our platter of chicken tenders and fries.

"Maybe I shouldn't have suggested that we hang here, considering that his face is literally right there when you look up."

"Oh no, this is okay."

The plan was for Scar and me to catch up and do some work. I had my internship stuff, and Scar wanted to create some content for her Instagram. Even though she has a degree in Biology, she now runs a growing gourmet cupcake business, through social media orders. She told me that it was Keith who encouraged her to take the chance. An obvious perk of being uber financially stable is that you can pursue your passion.

"What's been going on, exactly?"

I take a lengthy sip of my Diet Coke to buy some time.

"As silly as this may sound, this is really good Diet Coke. Lots of ice but not too watery."

"You are a master deflector, you know that?"

I fold my hands on the table to show penance.

"I know, I'm sorry. Things between Angelo and I have gotten... messy."

"Oh god, do I want to know? Don't answer that, of course I do."

Am I about to do this? Am I about to admit aloud for the first time what transpired on that wintry Sunday night in my kitchen?

"Remember that day when we all went to JT's house?"

"Of course," Scar nods. "Then we went to The Louis after, and Angelo drove you home."