Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him, it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at lea...
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I somehow found myself talked into attending yet another game with Alyssa. This time taking my dad up on his offer of clubhouse seats. It's the only real way to escape the lingering humidity that is Ohio in September. My sudden willingness to immerse myself into the culture has absolutely nothing to do with Taylor, or the fact that he asked me what my favorite part of going to a game is.
It's a new tactic of his. He's apparently grown bored with finding ways to make me spaz/ Instead, he practically begged me to share information about myself. I'm usually a cold front, impenetrable, but something in the air shifted me. I blame it on the heatwave we've been experiencing. I thawed just a little. I engaged him in a little guessing game.
"Let me guess," he said with a finger to his lip, "Watching the band perform at halftime?"
I hate that he knew it wouldn't be anything related to the actual game of football. I hadn't shared much with him in our short time working together, he had at least respected that rule set in place. I hadn't exactly shied away from my dislike of people who voluntarily wear pads and tights, and tackle each other for fun.
At least he would never be able to guess my least favorite part. He's probably never even noticed the way my dad stops midfield before every game and points towards our family's box. Not unless he read the article that was printed a couple of seasons ago to celebrate my dad's fifth season with the Bulldogs. The reporter had to fake the glimmer in our dad's eye as he told her why.
Because everything I do and am is because of them.
He's always been known as the upstanding family man who just so happens to have a talent for coaching football. No one would ever know that half the time, the box is empty. Even before Callan was on the field with him. His wife might be up there, but I don't consider Katie family. She wasn't even around when the tradition started.
I couldn't let him have the satisfaction of being correct so I told Taylor my second favorite was actually my first, "It's watching the band run on the field at the very beginning. When they perform the fight song before kick off. I like it when the whole stadium is singing along." You would have to be Satan himself to not enjoy the sound of a hundred thousand fans harmonizing, uniting in pride.
Taylor begged for a sample of what I meant, but I refused. We settled on me taking a video from the stands so he could see it from a fan's perspective for once. I'm not in the business of letting anyone not named Ryan Quinn down, so it was essential that I followed through on the promise.
🏈🏈🏈
I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have been exhausted to still be face down on my mattress with the team spirit sticker on my cheek acting as a super adhesive against my pillow. It's the closest thing to outward support that I would show for the team. Alyssa offered me a top to wear, but it had more holes than material and showed underboob.
It's still early days, but Alyssa and I have worked out a sort of system. She doesn't bother me during the week. She leaves me to study and do the things I enjoy, and in return I agreed to one party a weekend. She has to let me leave the party whenever I choose, and if she doesn't come with me, it is her own fault. I, in good conscience, don't want anything to happen to her so I made her share her location with me.
We've even made progress with the whole drinking thing. She knows that I don't, but only because she thinks I'm allergic. It was my go-to excuse when I was younger to avoid doing anything I didn't like, and Alyssa bought it right away.
It may not be the whole truth, but it might as well be. A fake allergy to alcohol is the only thing giving me some semblance of control in this situation. I don't not drink when we go out. I just limit myself to two drinks. It helps loosen me up, but also helps me make sure I don't get carried away.
I move my arms out from under me and plant my palms into the mattress. Peeling my face from it the stickers stays stuck firmly in place. I shimmy my way down the bed, stalking across the room to the mini fridge. I can see Alyssa grab her phone and begin scrolling out the corner of my eyes.
"Good morning sunshine!" Her smile is sleepy. She too, must have gone comatose after such a long day.
"Evening," I reply, reaching into the fridge and grabbing a can of soda. I offer her one, but she shakes her head.
"So I just got a text. The theme of tonight's party is GI Joes and Army Hoes." She climbs down her bed and wastes no time moving through her preparty ritual. She plops down in front of the floor length mirror hanging on the back of our door and pulls her makeup bag into her lap.
I cock an eyebrow in her direction. "Wasn't that the theme of the party you went to last weekend?"
My one party a week agreement is only a fourth of socializing Alyssa does. Everything she goes to seems to have some ridiculous theme. I really thought she was messing with me the first time she told me. Except Alyssa doesn't know how to joke. I learned to stop questioning her weeks ago.
"No, that was Gym Bros and Yoga Hoes," Alyssa says nonchalantly as if that theme is as natural for her as putting on her eyeliner. I watch as she uses the pencil to carefully draw a wing away from the corner of her eye, always making it look effortless no matter how many times I watch her do it.
"Who's birthday is it again? And why do we care to celebrate them?" I need as much information as possible to predetermine just how awful the night will be.
"Do you remember Chris? You met him when we walked to get coffee the other day? He's dating my friend Laura from high school." Her explanation means nothing to me. I've met more people through her than I thought possible. The only high school friend I remember meeting was Amanda, but I'm guessing she and Laura don't happen to be the same person.
"How big of a party should I expect?" I say while staring at my closet with my soda can cradled against my cheek. "And what does one wear to achieve Army Hoe status?"
"Are you done with the questions? Just wear anything camouflage." Her tone is clipped, like I'm annoying her. "Ooh! I have the perfect top for you! It will look so cute with your black jeans and my camo headband!" Alyssa's squeal is deafening, a point I make to her as I also remind her that roleplay comes straight from hell. Alyss rolls her eyes, handing me the clothes she promised while clicking her tongue. "No one likes a kink-shamer!"
I change anyway, trying not to sneer too deeply when I take in my appearance. Alyssa somehow always knows what will look good on me, even without seeing it first. She motions for me to sit in the still warm spot on the floor in front of the mirror. She dabs an oil into her palm, and works it between her hands before raking her fingers through my curls. It smooths out the frizz and helps them retake shape after a day of being pinned into a clip. She slides the camo headband in until it sits parallel with my ears.
I may resent her for her ability to perfectly manicure everything appearance related. I'd be lying if I said I hated the idea of us actually bonding. It may be over something as ridiculous as conforming to fit in at a house party, but it's a marathon, not a spring. Right now, at least, Alyssa and I might still be standing at the finish line.
