Drop Everything

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Eyes burn into every crevice of my body, but I go on as if I don't notice. I don't want to say I hate the attention, because who could when it tends to get you places? But after a while I like to be seen as just me, not just how I'm categorized as here.

It wasn't always this way. When I was a scrawny little freshman in high school, no one knew my name. Kids tend to judge teens who move into their territory from sunny California. I had never even thought of stepping foot into Ohio, but there I was. And then this year I had to do it all again. Sort of.

I wipe my forearm against my forehead. It comes back shiny. Fall doesn't exist in California.

I'm trekking back to my dorm, gear in tow. In my right hand I clutch my 32" Louisville and in my opposite I hold my helmet, a replica of the other 20 my teammates possess. My bare black backpack holds my metal cleats: they're black, just like my teammates'; and my Mizuno baby I've used since I was in high school. I refused to give it up. It was one of my conditions I demanded from the recruiters. According to my know-it-all mother, I could do that. This wasn't the only school fighting over me, but it was the one I was most eager to attend.

My dorm key dangles from my bracelet. I use the key to enter the building. I'm the only one in sight, and I go into the elevator just the same. I jab at the number 13 inside and it blasts me upward. I exit with my gear and trudge to the very end of the hallway, my Nike shoes dragging my feet each step of the way. It may be the furthest room, but it's at the best location of any room on campus, in my opinion.

To my pleasant surprise, my roommates aren't home. Not that I don't like my roommates. I do. Mostly. Going from near constant solitude to having 3 roommates has been quite the adjustment. I appreciated that time I had with myself. I've become accustomed to living with these other girls who are basically opposites of me, but being alone is so much better. You get to dress how you want, keep things how you want, watch what you want, choose who you want over at your house. Not that I tell anyone this. I mean it could be worse; I do have my own room. We just share a living room and kitchen. AND my room is the best one of all.

I grab ahold of the silver knob on my door, the furthest door down the hall, next to one of the bathrooms. The sun spills onto my face from my open window. I set my bat, glove, and backpack down next to my desk, kick off my running shoes, and walk toward the window. 13 stories below, ant-like humans trot this way and that, heading to class, another hall, cafeterias, their sports or club meetings, anywhere. Looking higher, I see the spot where I was earlier this afternoon: the field. It's bare now. I'm almost always the last one there. We practice 3 hours each day, and I stay an extra hour. I've got a lot to uphold and I can't afford to lose it.

It does get hard. Not only do I have to arrange my class schedule around softball, I have to put softball at the top of my list but also maintain my grades. I've faced this challenge all throughout life, but now it's harder than it has ever been. But I do what I have to.

I strip myself of my dirt-stricken pants and practice tee, tossing them in my overflowing dirty clothes hamper. I throw my neon yellow sports bra onto my unmade bed. Finally, I rid myself of my dirty, stinky socks, which join my dirt-filled pants and shirt. Fortunately we are given one uniform per day we practice, plus 2 away game uniforms and 2 home game uniforms. So really I don't have to do my laundry for softball often. But I tend to put it off. Oops.

I sling my towel across my body and head to the bathroom. It's a Friday and I deserve a bath.

I start filling the tub with lukewarm water and fling in a bath bomb. The sizzling blue bubbles tickle and absorb into my skin, seemingly ridding my muscles of the aches I've become accustomed to. In high school, Varsity practiced 2 hours per day, and while an extra hour added on isn't so much, it's definitely more strenuous in college. Not to mention the previously added stresses like classes, finding time to eat and do laundry, and I hardly know what "me" time is anymore. A bath is the most I can usually do. Other people frequent parties. I attended more than a few parties back high school, but I've only gone to one here and it was way overwhelming. I haven't gone to another one since.

A triple thud on the door more than startles me awake. I hadn't heard our front door slam, let alone open. "You in there? I gotta go!"

"Can you please use the other one?" My low voice requests.

"No, I need this one!"

I don't argue. "Alright. Give me a few minutes; I'll be right out," I run a quick shampoo and conditioner through my golden locks (or "goldie locks", as my mother used to call me), and scrub my body with soap on the places the bath bomb couldn't completely fix. Then I pull my hair up in one towel and wrap my body in another. "There ya go, Master,"

Maggie hops up from the couch, looking impatient, and barges through the bathroom. "Thanks," She mumbles and shuts the door behind her.

I change into some sweats and a California U tee. Even though it's only 6 and still widely sunny out, I have to dedicate myself to my studies. Sounds lame, but like I said: you gotta do what you gotta do.

A toilet flush and some assumed hand-washing later, a voice pipes: "You're not coming to the party tonight?"

I look up. Maggie looks much better than when I previously saw her. Her tight brown ringlets rest around her tan face and shoulders, and her puppy-dog muddy eyes stare me down expectantly. "I can't. I'm falling really behind and I have an exam on Monday."

Without a pause, she decides, "It can wait. You have the whole weekend. You've only gone to one party with me! It's nearly October and you've been here since August. Pleaaaaaaase?" She begs, her hands folded together at her chest. "And no, I'm not just saying this because I have no one else to go with," she answers my thoughts. "But really, Delaney, you're already letting it slip by you, the whole college experience. Take it from me."

I scoff and smile, rolling my eyes. "You're only a sophomore! I've got plenty more time to go. I just want to start off on the right foot. Plus, I've got a game tomorrow. Gotta be well rested."

"Don't you always have a game..." She mumbles

"Um, pardon? I take it seriously. You know that."

"Fine. Next one?"

"Yeah, yeah fine," I say to shush her. "Next one. Promise."

"Yay! Cool," Her ringlets bounce around her shoulders. "Well, I'm gonna go have dinner with Marcy and some guys from the football team. Then we're gonna head to the party. I'll see you later?"

"Yep. I'll see you tomorrow."

And she's gone just as quickly as she arrived.