Not My Type

Chapter 4: It's Not That Easy

Our first deadline for yearbook was the Thursday after our homecoming game. I stayed late along with the other editors to help get everything organized and ready to send to the publishing company the next day. We ended up staying until 8:30 at school to finish, which wasn't uncommon, in all honesty.

It was dark outside by the time we packed up the classroom. I was walking with a large and rather heavy box of edited articles and old photos to take home and go over for the next deadline. In the empty parking lot, I struggled to unlock my car without dropping the box.

Suddenly, a familiar husky voice drifted over my shoulder. "Need any help?"  

Startled, I jumped and turned to find myself facing Jason, still in his football gear, sweaty and red-faced, with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

"Geez!" I cried. "You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry," he said, inching forward. He smelled pretty bad. Without a word, I held out the box to him and he took it from me.

I unlocked the car and put my bag in the backseat. Jason waited patiently, still holding the box.

"Can I get a ride home?"

I stopped. We barely knew each other, and he already thought he could get a ride from me?

"What happened to your fancy car?" I asked defensively. I felt like he was joking or trying to make me look even dumber than I already did.

"It got taken away." He was looking down at his feet. I didn't know whether it was appropriate to further pry.

"Oh," I said. "Well, where do you live?"

"Mulberry and Arnold." He was on the way home. Dammit.

"There's no one else to take you?"

"I had to stay late because Coach wanted to talk to me, and no one else is here," he said. "It's okay if you don't want to. I can walk."

I almost considered it, but I realized how bad it would look if I zoomed past his house while he walked there by himself in the dark after four hours of practice.

"No, I can give you one," I said, mentally scolding myself. What was I getting myself into? "Put the box in the trunk."

He climbed into the passenger seat. As I started the car, the radio came on to the last station I was listening to, and an obnoxiously loud Drake song happened to be playing.

Jason laughed. "Never pictured you to be a Drake fan."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. Always thought you were more of a Justin Bieber girl."

I laughed quickly and didn't respond. I had Justin Bieber's entire album on my iPod.

"Wait," I said as I pulled up to a stoplight. "Why didn't you just ask your coach for a ride?"

Jason shifted in his seat and reached out to change the station. I almost objected--is he really mooching a ride off of me and changing the station?--but I told myself to get over it.

"I got my car taken away because I came home late one night and my parents smelled the alcohol on my breath." He sighed. "I can't have Coach knowing that I drink."

"Isn't it kind of obvious?" He looked at me with a puzzled, almost angry look. "Oh, I don't mean it like that...it's just, you know, a lot of people drink." (I did mean it like that.)

"Coach thinks we're all saints who go home and do our homework after games," he said. I could see him smiling from the side. 

"I do that." I rolled my eyes. I seemed to do that a lot around Jason.

"Yeah, well, we don't all have crazy Indian parents." He laughed and looked at me. "Where do you want to go to college?"

"Oh," I said, surprised at the quick subject change. I kept my eyes on the road. "I don't know. Anywhere I get in. But I feel like I'm just going to be rejected from every college I apply to."

"Yeah, right," he said. "If I can get colleges interested in me, with my shitty grades, you can, too."

"Sure, maybe if I also became a state-ranked football player within the next two months," I quipped. Of course. Jason had no idea what kind of pressure I was facing with college applications.

"What do you want to major in?" I was surprised at how interested he seemed in my future plans. He's just being polite, I thought. This is his thing. Being the charmer.

"Biology, I guess." I shrugged. "I don't really know. My parents want me to be a doctor. But I don't really think I want to be one. I don't really care about money."

"So why don't you tell them that?" Really? Jason had no clue what I was dealing with. 

"Because I can't turn my back on the people who gave up everything just for me to have the choice to be a doctor. I don't think I could live with myself."

We glanced at each other. Even in the darkness, I could see his blue eyes. I quickly turned away from him to make a right on Mulberry.

"I know how you feel."

"Sure."

"No, I really do!" he said, the volume in his voice rising. Almost like he was excited. "All I know is football. That's all my parents want me to do. They've always told me to work hard and play hard. They want me to go pro. But I'm not really sure I want to."

"So why don't you tell them that?" I quipped.

"It's not that easy," he said quietly. "I'd be letting down a lot of people."

"Welcome to my world."

We were silent for a few minutes. Jason started texting someone on his phone. "It's the house on the left with the silver car in front of it."

His house actually wasn't as big as I thought it would be. Two stories, three car garage, painted a light green with a pretty lawn. I was expecting Hugh Hefner's mansion.

"Thanks for the ride, Anjali," he said, pulling his bag from the bag seat. "Oh, and did we have any econ homework?"

"We have a test tomorrow..."

"Oh, right. Guess I'll need to sit by Henry again!"

I rolled my eyes. "Bye, Jason."

"See you."