Crossed Lines

Mina

The air was crisp as I walked across the quad, earbuds snugly in place, drowning out the world with my favorite playlist with my tote bag slung over one shoulder and a folder filled with my psychology notes clutched in my hand. Each step matched the rhythm of the soft indie tunes, a temporary escape from everything swirling around in my head.  

The autumn air smelled of fallen leaves and fresh starts, though I felt far from ready. I could barely sleep the night before, with my thoughts tangled in the deadlines ahead and mortgage bills. I shake those thoughts off as I reach the Cedar Ridge University's coffee shop, "The Study Nook". 

As I open the door, I start to look for a familiar face. It didn't take long to find him—Eli Moore, in all his casual glory with his light brown hair slightly damp, likely from an early morning basketball practice, sitting at his usual corner table. His basketball rested beside him like some weird loyal companion, and he was surrounded by a pile of sociology books. Not that he was reading them. Nope, his attention was fixed on a blank notebook page in front of him, his pen spinning lazily between his fingers. 

"Look at you, multitasking," I teased, grabbing the seat across him. "Sociology notes and basketball practice all before 9 a.m.?"

Eli glanced up, a crooked grin lighting up his face. "And look at you, early for once. I'm honestly shocked."

I rolled my eyes and set my things down, bringing out my iPad and psych notes. "I'll have you know I was up all night prepping for my cognitive development class. Psychology majors actually study, you know." 

A smile quickly appears on my face as he pushes a hot cup of vanilla latte towards me.

Eli leaned back, crossing his arms. "Sociology majors study too. Between practices, drills, and trying not to collapse from exhaustion."

"Did you at least finish that paper on social dynamics?" I don't know why I asked, assuming that the blank piece of paper is supposed to be his assignment.

He sighed, showing me the face of that exact paper. "Sure." 

 "Eli, you can't keep doing this. I know basketball is important to you, but so are your grades."

"Tell that to Coach Ortega," he said with a laugh, though his tone was a touch defensive. "But don't worry, Park. I've got it under control."

"Sure you do," she said, rolling her eyes but softening her tone. "You're lucky you have me to keep you grounded."

"And you're lucky I let you."

The playful banter came easily, the kind that years of friendship had made second nature. Eli leaned forward suddenly, his grin softening. "Speaking of education—how's your thesis coming along?"

I groan, sinking back into my seat. "I don't fucking know anymore. Dr. Keene says I need to narrow my focus, but everything I pick feels either too broad or its a shitty topic."

"You'll nail it," Eli said, his voice sure, like it wasn't even a question. "You always do."

For a moment, his eyes met mine, and the whole coffee shop seemed to fade into the background. I felt that stupid flutter again, the one I always tried to ignore when it came to him. This was Eli—my best friend since forever. I wasn't about to let those feelings get in the way of everything we had. I can't afford to distract either of us. I have to focus on my thesis while Eli is focusing on getting scouted.

I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat. "So, big game Saturday?" I asked, steering the conversation into safer territory.

His face lit up, that playful spark back in his eyes like the mention of basketball had flipped a switch in him. "Yeah, against those assholes from Hartford."