Blaise Beck-Day
"You're throwing in the towel mate? Can't you just–put your dick in a towel and just have at it?" He started to thrust his hips in the most immature motion. Letting out a laugh at my eye roll, he stopped the motion before grabbing a towel from the rack and throwing it at me.
I was regretting every choice I had made at that moment to go to McGuthrie for advice. Within forty-eight hours I was able to receive confirmation that I was accepted and able to attend Penn State University.
In the letter, they concluded that they did not have any student houses available, but they did have various apartments on or around campus that would fit my student needs. Look, I didn't even want to be a student. I wanted to be a soccer player. A soccer player whose best friend wasn't emailing them messages like the one I had read a few days ago.
"I don't understand what is bugging you so much that you want to take a leave from the team–" He paused, raising his eyebrows and cocking his head to the side. "Or shall I say, who is bugging you?"
I ran my hands through my hair.
If I didn't tell people about her it was so much easier to not think about her. I had always been territorial over the girl who made my heart whole and the girl who had made me want to stay at the elementary school when she shared her caterpillars with me.
"She's–"
He slapped his hands over his mouth, "She's not Mannon! Oh, my word!" He yelled, pacing around the locker room before bending down. "She's not prim and proper– powdered face, and lotioned body– Mannon!"
Exactly.
She wasn't Mannon and if her letters weren't from the emotions of longing to loathing– something was wrong. I needed to go check on her.
I loved soccer but not in the way that I–
"Who is she?"
She was mine as much as I was hers.
"My best friend."
He shook his head. "Nah, I'm your best friend. She's your dirty little secret." His tone was more accusing than anything. I glared at him as I sprayed on deodorant and threw a shirt on over my head.
Clearly, asking him to go for a morning run at the stadium was a mistake because all he was doing was trying to get a rise out of me. He was the only other person on the team who was my age, however, he had been put in the league at sixteen, not eighteen like me.
"Don't call her that." And suddenly, I was back defending the girl who I had defended from people for years. It wasn't the first time she was called that either.
He placed his hat on top of his head. "You haven't given anyone a name to call her. Maybe dirty little secret is the best name for her– I mean, how the hell do you have a best friend and not mention her once." He blinked hard.
"Wait."
"Does thee Mannon even know about our dirty little–" I shoved his shoulders as we walked out of the locker room. "McGuthrie, you sure are a shithead sometimes, you know?" The sports complex was dead at five in the morning. It was an off day so nobody had to come to work.
"Mr. Beck-Day, If I were your manager or publicist I would be shiting my pants. You signed a thirty million dollar contract after only playing minor league soccer for two years– and now you want to take a leave to go to hick town Pennslyvania to see some girl? Man, oh, man." He shook his head with laughter as he walked alongside me to the car park.
When he put it like that, I understood what he was saying. I sounded crazy and even a bit ungrateful, and I'm sure that's what the press will say. But, what nobody understands like I understand is that she could never hate me.
And now she sounds like she hates me.
I mean, she isn't capable of hating someone. The last time I saw her she didn't curse, she was so gentle and fluid with her movements. She was a klutz, and timid– she was quiet and soft spoke, unless she was around me. Then she laughed as loud as the world would let her, she smiled so brightly that sometimes those atrocious braces got caught in her gums– she was so weird, but she was in the most annoying way perfect to me.
"Do you have a picture of the DLS?" I furrowed my eyebrows at his question.
He gave me a looked before sighing, "The dirty little secret?"
I grabbed my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the black sportscar that was less than fifteen feet away. I was done with this conversation now. "So what? Are you even telling coach that you're leaving for the practice season?" He asked.
I nodded, "Yeah. I'll shoot him an email. If he wants me that bad as a player then he won't mind."
As he opened the door to his G-Wagon he wiggled his pointer finger at me. "Blaise you cheeky little bastard. You better text me whenever you get to Pennslyvania. You know, if you have phone reception under all of that cow shit and hay bails."
I shut my door and turned on the car. I threw my bag in the back and gripped the steering wheel in my hands. I was clutching it so tightly that my knuckles were white. I took in a deep inhale and let out a big exhale as I watched his tires squeal and smoke as he pulled out of the player's lot.
Inhale and exhale.
Inhale and exhale.
Inhale and exhale.
I released the wheel as I turned my head to look at my passenger seat. The photo sat on the lower part of the chair laying flatly. I slowly blinked at the picture, instantly feeling remorse in my body.
A small and scrawny fourteen-year-old girl who had legs covered in mosquito bites but she didn't care. In her hands, she held a jar filled with lightning bugs, filled up so brightly that when she held the jar below her face, she had enough lighting for the photo. Her hair was in long braids, and her glasses were attached to her face like velcro. Her snaggle tooth had finally started to move where it needed to go, and I could still hear her laughter in my ears as I sprayed bug spray all around the two of us.
Right next to her stood a boy, who didn't even have hair on his legs yet. A boy, who didn't wear glasses. A boy whose body wasn't covered in tattoos yet. Just a boy who hadn't hit puberty yet. A boy who didn't know what life was really like.
Often I found myself pondering the thought of going back to visit but I knew that if I did end up going back, the chance would only hurt the two of us both. I hated myself for leaving, and it haunted me every day but she deserved a chance to be happy.
As I started to drive, my phone rang. The person calling was my dad but instead of answering, I sent it to voice mail. Maybe he heard that I applied and got in, maybe he was calling wondering when I was coming home. Maybe she told him about the extensive email she sent me about how much she disliked me.
She was jealous, that was clear enough.
But why was she jealous?
I liked France. Up until about two years ago, I wasn't alone here, my grandmother, Eleanor lived in the city with me. She passed after a short illness that took her life. Here I was, all alone in the city.
Growing up as the former president's son, I could have done anything I wanted to do in this city. I mean, I could have robbed a convenience store and I would have gotten applauded for doing so. The earliest memory I have was me following my parents around our huge house. In the house that was so huge, I had slipped and received not one, but two concussions from our giant staircase.
Hypothetically speaking, even if my dad hadn't won the election, I definitely would have had a fair advantage in the world as he was in the running for the top thirty for the richest person on earth. Was I a spoiled child? On some days more than others, but my parents taught me to not want materialistic things. I wanted physical things.
For example, I didn't want a toy to play with growing up– I wanted Sage.
Watching her struggle to dissect a worm and try to keep her glasses on the top of the bridge of her nose was enough fun to last me for months. She always tried to keep a smile on her face despite whatever was going on throughout the day.
Whenever I turned ten, I decided to play football. Man, did I love the sport. I was an extremely athletic child. I was even good at tennis, I found that out when I was forced to play with the Prince and Princess of England.
Football was fun.
Football, more importantly, gave me Slater.
Sage's twin brother.
It was hard being both Slater and Sage's friend because no matter how much time I tried to spend evenly with the two of them– Sage was always jealous. I don't mean jealous in the violet, get angry with you way. When Sage got jealous when we were younger, she would get quiet– extremely quiet. She would slowly get up and leave the area you were in and she would go sit somewhere by herself.
From a young age, we both got placed in advanced classes, separated from the other kids in the school. We were science partners, reading partners, and math partners. Whatever subjects she was good at I tried to be better than her, and whatever she struggled in– I helped her.
I was by far way smarter than Sage but I liked to at least let her think that she had a chance of beating me in a spelling bee.
When I finally arrived at my apartment, I was relieved to find some alone time. Time away from Mannon, time away from soccer– just time to be me in my condo that definitely didn't feel like a home.
All of those tabloids were filled with bullshit. I never brought a girl home– besides Mannon. If I was taking a girl from a club, we went to a hotel. My teammates never came over– not even McGuthrie because as my father always said– don't shit where you eat.
This place that costs me twenty-thousand euros a month was a separate place for me to just take a deep breath and relax.
Being alone feels like suffocating even if you aren't being touched.
I walked into my bedroom and dropped onto my bed. Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I continued my digging as I did the previous nights. It was hard to find her Instagram. She went under a username that took me an hour to find. What took even longer was me setting up the fake Instagram account– I don't even know how to work a damn Instagram.
I was old-fashioned and I really didn't like social media, strictly for the fact that I was used to people talking about me on paper so why would I want to see what they were saying online about me? Even if the French tabloids didn't tear me to shreds– someone else could. So why would want to put myself through that?
Finding her account was trouble, however, finding Slater's account was the easier. He loved the attention. As soon as I typed in his first name, he popped up right away. His profile picture was him in his jersey, number nine of course.
Pictures on his feed were of him and his cousins– Leighton and Baker. Leighton who would be going to play basketball at Penn State, and Baker who would be playing football alongside Slater. Then there were pictures of Drew, who would also be playing football at Penn State.
I always wanted to play football at Penn State.
At the very bottom of his feed was a happy birthday post for Sage. He didn't have any recent photos of her and whenever I clicked on her account– she didn't have any photos of her face. Her account name 'soiledmyplants' was the most obnoxious name that only she could come up with.
She had so many plants in a place that I knew as our favorite hangout spot when we were kids, her treehouse.
Once I got my fix of her plant and finger photos, I went back into my email– rereading the acceptance letter that was mocking me. Most people would call me the biggest idiot ever. Maybe I was an idiot. But never was it ever in my plans for her to hate me.
She couldn't hate anyone. She didn't even have a bad bone in her body not even for those mean kids in school the one time that they were mean to her. I say one time because when I found out they were mean to her, I made sure they weren't mean to her ever again.
Most people were insecure about themselves. I mean we were all high schoolers, our bodies were changing, we were feeling different things, and they tried one time to take out their insecurities on her. She was an easy target. The last time I saw her, she still had braces, she had yet to switch to contacts, and she still hadn't hit puberty.
They were ruthless to her.
Only for that one day though.
Because after I found out that they were mean to her– I was ruthless to them for the rest of the time that I spent there.
I clicked on the link that the email supplied me with. All I had to do was put my finger on the screen to press one button to be able to make my choice to attend Penn State. Then do what at Penn State? What would I even study? Would I play soccer?
I knew that I couldn't play football.
It would ruin my life and everyone around me.
Should I do it?
Should I go?
Would she even be happy to see me?
Who am I kidding– she would be thrilled to see me. Maybe that's why she emailed me that, she probably asked my dad how to get me back and she probably used some freaky reverse psychology on me.
God, Sage. You never stop driving me crazy.
I locked my phone without hitting the accept button. I rolled off my bed and stumbled to my bookcase which was filled with very few books but many binders. Grabbing the one that was dated the week of August 28, two years ago today, I opened it and walked back to my bed, sitting down.
Dear Blaise, August 28th
Hi.
I don't know if you have received my voicemails but I've just resulted into just sending you this letter to your grandma's house. Your parents told me you went to France? To boarding school? For what? You aren't a bad kid– if anything I am the bad one. Sure, you may punch people but it's only in defense of me. If anything I am a bad influence so I need to be sent away so you can come home.
It's rough here without you.
It's just not the same when you stare at the stars alone.
And it's not fun when you spend your birthday alone either.
I'll keep writing and calling– please just let me know if you are okay. I just need to see you again.
Love,
Sage.
Dear Blaise, August 29th
It's day two of me writing and calling.
Today I left you a voicemail but it got caught off at the end. It sounded like I said I love you but trust me– I don't. If that is what scared you away, I'm sorry. I don't love you.
Like that.
I mean, I love you in a brotherly way.
And in a friendly way.
I know there's a time difference between here and there but I've been staying up all night watching my phone waiting for you to call or text me back. Mom and Dad say it's unhealthy because I've been sleeping during the afternoon and early evening– because that's when you sleep.
I think I am being efficient for the both of us, you know? Like I don't mind taking one for the team as long as we can catch up.
It's easier to fall asleep anyways knowing you're not alone.
Please talk to me soon,
Sage.
Dear Blaise, August 30th
Do you have a mean headmaster? Is that why you can't call or write back? If so, that's okay I understand. I know you wouldn't last a week in that school so I'll just wait patiently for you to come back home to Pennslyvania and be at a school where you are in charge and not the evil headmaster.
Do you have to wear a uniform?
If you don't that's super cool and maybe that's why you haven't called me back or written yet either. I too would be out shopping for clothing if I didn't have to wear my school uniform. I've written to tell you good news though.
I have gotten mother natures gift.
I wish you were here to buy me chocolate.
I miss you and I hope you miss me more,
Sage.
I shut the binder full of journal-filled pages from her letters closed. Swallowing deeply I contemplated what I was feeling. And what exactly was I feeling? Doubt. There was no way that she hated me.
I sighed before grabbing my phone, without even thinking twice I unlocked the phone and then hit the accept button.
I was going to college.
Hey besties!
Chapter twelve is coming later! Google docs deleted five of my chapters. I went to update them yesterday and they were gone.
Thank you so much for your love and support on this book, truly it means the absolute world to me. Thank you thank you thank you. I love you.
Talk to you soon.