A New Reflection

35. Hug

Alex.

At the end of the bleachers, gesturing spiritedly to a player with an intense facial expression as he explains something, is Alex.

My eyeballs freeze on him, unable to look away or blink. He is wearing dark grey slacks and a baby blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and his face is vibrant. It's too hot in the gym packed with excited fans, and I can tell Alex is overheated as he darts from player to player along the sideline, making quick, matter-of-fact comments and pointing to the court. He swipes at his forehead with the back of his hand, wiping away sweat.

I peek at my dad, who shows no awareness that I have stopped breathing and am about to have a stroke next to him.

"Oh! Nice pass!" Dad yells aloud when one of the guys laces the ball through three defensive players with beautiful precision, culminating in a layup by his teammate. The crowd goes crazy. I expel my bursting adrenaline by screaming along with everyone else, though at this particular moment I am not terribly concerned with the basketball score.

Throughout the remaining five minutes of the half, I continue to stare indiscreetly at Alex, admiring his self-assured energy as he jots notes onto a clipboard and encourages players with high-fives and strong claps on the back. He and Coach Roberts—the history teacher with whom Raquel and I chatted earlier today—lean close together to consult on something, and Alex busts into a grin for the first time since we arrived. My heart shoots into my neck, threatening to strangle me.

As the halftime buzzer blares through the gym, I flush without warning in self-consciousness, afraid Alex will notice me as the team heads to the locker room and assume I have stalked him. I sit down in the bleachers and flitter my eyes haphazardly around the gym, trying and failing not to look at Alex. Realizing, the moment he has passed by us, that I was desperately hoping he would see me.

Dad stands up to find the restroom, and I dig my phone out of my pocket to respond to my friends.

Oh, uh, maybe? I despise talking on the phone. I miss you too. This is to Ethan.

He replies immediately: Come on Nati, you can do it! I'll call you at 9:00pm, okay?

I smile with dread and unicorns stampeding through my stomach.

Okay.

Then I check Canvas for the five hundredth time today. Our final semester grades are supposed to be released this week. My heart thumps harder than it did for Alex as I discover they have been posted. I click, about to pass out. A beautiful line of As shines across my screen, and I release a gasping breath as if emerging from the bottom of a very deep swimming pool.

I would be even more content without the minus symbol next to Inventing America and Literature, but I'm still pleased with my results. Though I knew I had things under control, there was a teeny-tiny sliver at the back of my brain that worried my drinking escapades would destroy my grade point average.

Unable to absorb the energy pulsing through me, I hop up and wander outside the gym, leaning against the wall as I breathe in long, frigid gulps of air. The California winter cold is mild compared to the biting chill of Oregon.

"Natalia!" It's Shelly, from my volleyball team last year, who is now a senior. She stands before me in her cheerleading uniform, her long golden locks cascading in perfect curls down her shoulders. Her eyelids glimmer with silvery eye shadow, and her eyelashes are three times any reasonable, conceivable length. She looks like Barbie, but the same genuine kindness I came to know when we were teammates gleams from her light brown eyes as she smiles and pulls me in for a hug.

We chat for a couple minutes before Shelly trots off to rejoin her squad for the start of the third quarter. Then I panic as I notice Alex walking directly towards me.