There was a rush of students filtering through the university square. It was a picture out of any John Hughes movie. A sea of green and white, the school’s vikings logo flying high in the air. It was that time of year again where school spirit was at it’s brink, and the hopes of every college athletics enthusiast was at it’s highest. University Football.
In high school I wasn’t one for the general hoopla of school sports. I played sports, yes, but I wasn’t obsessed. Not like everyone else around me. Yet, I had somehow found myself immersed in the general clamor that came along with university football.
“Go Vikings!” “Go Portland State!”
I suppose that was part of the freshmen package. Get involved with school activities and festivities. Paint my face green. Drink an excessive amount of beer in celebration or in loss, because let’s be real - beer is the staple drink in university. It also didn’t help that I had found myself on the women’s soccer team on a university scholarship.
My mother had been so proud when I told her of my achievement. Celebrations were had, kazoo’s of excitement were blown. Happy dances were choreographed. It was an exciting moment in the Jones household. She had gone on and on about how smart of a kid I was with a big future ahead. That I was going to kick ass at that stuffy university. The moment I moved on campus for my first year was the hardest moment in our mother/daughter relationship. Thankfully technology was on our side; numbers were added to each other’s top tens and skype was downloaded. No longer did it feel like we lived an hour apart. Sophomore year and we were already pros.
Maneuvering my way through the crowded square, I head over to the academic building. My shoulder bag slips down my arm. A normal occurrence. I walk up the steps, a firm grip remained on my bag, as I walk towards the solid oak door. The door is opened for me. I walk through, mumbling a quiet thank you. I can feel someone close behind me. His musky scent lingering throughout the air and drifting past.
“How are you today, Evie?” His deep voice calls. I turn around slowly, meeting his charming dark brown eyes.
“Oh you know. Found a good parking spot today, aced my philosophy exam, and I haven’t died yet.” I answer, shooting a quick smile.
“Well then it’s going to be a good day.” He smirks, looking down at me. I laugh lightly before I start walking farther into the lobby.
He is quick to follow. His larger hand gripping onto my thin arm. “Wait.”
“Yes Ryder?” I stop, turning around, and glancing down at his hold on me. He releases his grip on my arm, looking down at me with a shy smile.
“Wondering why you haven’t called yet.”
“Right.” I look around the lobby of the old brick building. Students were surrounding us. All engrossed in their own conversations, completely oblivious to the breathtaking man standing only a mere feet away.
“I’ve been sitting at my phone like a lost puppy, hoping that this beautiful girl would ring, but alas! I am still sitting there, alone, tears running down my face, waiting... waiting... still waiting...” He continues to go on.
“Well that’s just sad.” I quip.
“I’m wounded.” He gasps, dramatically moving his hands to his chest. A ghost of a smirk lingering on his lips.
“I lost your number.” I admit, biting my lip to stop myself from smiling. Completely entertained by this man in front of me.
“Gosh, Evie. Way to kick guy while he’s down.”
YOU ARE READING
Evie Jones was seemingly in tact. Her life was a representation of perfection. Niall Horan was seemingly self-assured. His life a representation of indifference. On the outside, they were ideal; in no way flawed. But that was the outside- A mirage...