Silence. “Um, okay then. Feel better.” Steps clomp back down the hallway. I sit up to lock the bathroom door and then lie back down on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. I can feel the bass of whatever pop ballad is blasting vibrating below as I study the cracks in the plaster that crisscross in ribbons. I trace the patterns they make until I start to feel dizzy. Then I pull out my phone. The screen is covered with notifications I ignore. Instead, I pull up the web browser and type Adler Beck into the search bar. I disregard the articles that pop up, probably about the cover Natalie brought over earlier.

Instead, I tap on Images and watch as photo after photo loads. Pictures of him on the field, at press conferences, at practice. I keep scrolling and scrolling… until my eyeballs start to prickle, and I set my phone down on the tile.

I close my eyes, feeling alcohol and confusion course through me.

We won today.

I played the best game of my college career.

Everything I’ve spent the past fifteen years working for is falling into place. I’m well on my way to accomplishing the lofty goals I set for myself a long time ago.

I should be downstairs celebrating with my teammates or in my bedroom celebrating with Drew.

But all I can think about is him.

Chapter Fifteen

“Nice face art” is how Emma greets me when I stumble into the kitchen the following morning. “That pattern looks a lot like our bathroom floor. Oh, wait…” She taps her chin with her index finger, making an exaggerated expression of confusion.

I pass her to fill a mug with steaming coffee. “Yes, I spent the night sleeping on the bathroom floor, and it was just as uncomfortable as it sounds. Can we please move on?” I reply, holding my face over the mug so the warm molecules waft upward to cling to my face.

“Sure—as soon as you share why you spent the night locked in the bathroom.”

“Well, I don’t know if you know this, but sometimes when you drink a lot of alcohol, it makes you feel like you might throw up. And I thought the best place to do that would be in the bathroom. So that’s what I did, and then it seemed like too much work to get back to my bedroom.”

Emma rolls her eyes at my sass, but then turns serious. “Are you okay, S? You’ve been acting weird.”

“I’m fine,” I say emphatically, taking a large sip of coffee. The bitter, hot liquid trickles down my windpipe in a rapid stream.

“Oh-kay, then.”