𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 → 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬 (𝐢)

fifty-five [s]

monday,
september 3rd, 2018

SHAWN MENDES

"Hello, Shawn. Great to officially meet you," Andrew says as he shakes my hand. I take a seat in a sleek leather chair opposite his dark wood desk and he sits in his office swivel chair.

I nod with a small smile, "You too. Thanks for agreeing to a meeting after all these months."

"Talent has no time limit," Andrew shrugs, "I kind of hoped you'd come around. I'm glad you did. Now, we should discuss the obvious. Do you want to pursue music? Is that what you want from this meeting?"

I open my mouth to speak but shut it again quickly. I furrow my eyebrows and clear my throat and smooth my thumb over my hand tattoo. I nod slowly, shrugging my shoulders, "To be completely honest with you, I don't know. I really dunno what I want from this meeting with you but I know something inside me loves music too much to just... let it go. And maybe that sounds stupid — y'know, I can always listen to and play music in my free time — but I can't extinguish the flame inside of me yearning to see what I could do with music. Professionally."

Andrew nods and hums, thinking for a moment. "Talent like yours is rare, Shawn. I'm not stupid. I know talent when I see it. Look, if you don't completely know your intentions with music; that's fine. Most people don't. What I can do for you is set up a date and time to meet with you and bring you to one of the studios we have here at Island. I'll let you sing something, anything you want. I'll sit with a few songwriters and a guitarist or something and we'll all discuss what could come of this; what could come of you. See what happens. Would that suffice?"

I process all of his words while repeating them in my head. My body freezes up for a second as I think of how much I could end up throwing away for this. For music. I'd have to quit basketball eventually if I made it big. I wouldn't have the time. That'd cut my chances of making it to the NBA. Would I be willing to take that risk? Apparently so.

"That's perfect," I find myself replying, sitting up straight in the seat. "Thank you so much. I'm free every Friday to Sunday. Most of Monday, too."

Andrew nods, an enthusiastic smile taking place on his lips, "Great! Let's say next Friday, 2pm? That work for you?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Then it's settled. I'll see you then, Mendes."

We shake hands and I nod with a nervous grin as I turn to leave his clean, modern office. I make my way out of the HQ building and down the streets of New York. I breathe out heavily, not even realising I held in so much oxygen. Well, this is new.

***

That was almost two months ago, and the following week I met with Andrew,  a songwriter named Geoff, along with an A&R guy named Ziggy. We sat and chatted and they made me feel comfortable. I sang the song I wrote for Trinity (the one I sang at the diner) and I covered a Daniel Caesar song. Ziggy was quick in letting me know how much faith he had in me and told me that he'd love for me to sign with Island. I told them I'd have to wait until after my game — that I'm heading to today — this month to actually give them an answer. They set another meeting for the three of us; one month from today.

I get up early today at 6am. From there, Noah and I meet the team at the airport and board a private jet straight to Los Angeles. I sleep most of the way there, feeling tired and lazy when we landed. I shake it off as we all share multiple cabs to the high class hotel we'll be staying at. I find myself choking up as we speed past my old apartment and I wonder what Trinity is doing right now. She doesn't have work or school on Mondays, so she is probably still sleeping or watching How I Met Your Mother.

I'm not sure whether I am going to make an effort to see her during my stay here. I know Evan and Anthony — along with the girls and Ashton — are attending my game later for moral support. I don't know if Trinity is going to show, and to be honest, I'd be surprised if she does. We haven't talked at all in almost two months. That's right, I went for the dick route and chose to ignore her texts, so eventually they stopped coming through.

God, I really am a prick.

After writing her that heartfelt letter and telling her to stay in touch, I did the complete opposite and suddenly started to block her out of my life. I hate myself for ever upsetting her, I wish I could live in LA whilst playing basketball, but small things added up and due to schedule and accommodation purposes, NYC was necessary.

I am suddenly snapped out of my thoughts as we pull up outside the hotel. I hop out of the cab and meet with both of our coaches — Christian and Jamie — along with the rest of the team outside. We are all dressed in our team tracksuits which are honestly comfortable as fuck. We soon get situated and I am pleased that my request for a single room was granted. Truth is, the hotel didn't have any more double rooms left and since I had told Christian beforehand that I was dying for a singular room, he came to me first with the offer. That guy is great. I'll remember that at least.

Jack follows me to my room though, and throws himself on the double bed that sits in the middle of the carpeted hotel room. The view is cool, the beach is near and the buildings around are lower. I lay beside him on my back, my hands behind my head as I stare at the ceiling fan.

"You gonna reach out to Trinity?" Jack asks gently and I shrug.

"Don't think she'd wanna see me."

Jack scoffs a light chuckle, "Don't be ridiculous. That girl loves you."

"What if she loved me? As in... not anymore."

The thought makes my insides churn and my throat clog up. What if she really is over me? I'm such a fuck up.

Jack shakes his head, standing up and stretching, "Impossible. Don't be stubborn. Reach out to her."

"It's not that easy!" I snap, "Did you know I haven't spoken to her in, like, two months? And for months beforehand all we did was text. Rarely. She's probably over me!"

"Oh, shut up!" Jack groans in frustration and I'm slightly taken aback. "She fucking loves you! I'd bet anything. I'll say it again, Mendes," he makes his way to the door and turn to point a finger at me, "Don't be stubborn. Swallow your fucking pride."