on the team were supposed to wear their new school’s shirts to school. It wasn’t a school-sanctioned tradition, and in fact Coach Swanson seemed to dislike it, probably because there were always girls who didn’t have offers yet, girls who’d end up at some D-III school with a cornfield for a campus, girls who would quietly drop out of college soccer altogether. I was not supposed to be one of those iffy girls.
But the chances that I would be able to get into UNC by then—and make use of the UNC shirt collecting dust at the bottom of my drawer—were looking increasingly slim. Over email, both they and UCLA had told me they’d let me know within a week of the Beach Cup, and that week was running out. I had thought about asking Ronni to overrule our team’s College Day precedent, make it in March or something, but everyone wanted to do what the seniors before us had done, and the seniors before them had done. And while it would be embarrassing for me to show up college shirt-less on Friday, it would be worse if Ronni moved it and everyone found out why. Which they would.
But there were four full days to get through before then, and I intended to focus on the good things, like my beautiful, perfect girlfriend, sitting across the classroom from me, beautifully and perfectly.
After class she waited for me outside the door, oblivious to the girls looking back and forth between us. I watched them over Ruby’s shoulder until they stopped.
“Hi,” said Ruby.
“Hi,” I said. I stepped in closer so our faces almost touched. I’d never kissed a girl at school before. Jamie never let me, because school-grounds PDA was against the rules, per the student handbook, and Jamie took the student handbook very seriously, despite having successfully lobbied the administration to remove gendered language from the dress code during our sophomore year so that no one could wear baseball hats or skirts shorter than their fingertips fully extended. She was a very complicated woman.
I decided not to go for a kiss just yet, and instead took Ruby’s hand. Then she laughed, and I dropped it like a hot plate.
“No, sorry,” she said. She grabbed my hand from my side and swung it back and forth a little as we walked. “You just surprised me,” she added. “It’s cute.” But the way she said cute was the way you’d say cute if your friend brought a metal Disney-themed lunch box to school instead of a plain paper bag, so when we reached the end of the hall I released her hand, pretending I had to adjust my backpack. I felt my great-grandfather’s bracelet fall heavy against my wrist, and realized there was no way I could ask Ruby to wear it. I was embarrassed I’d ever considered it. I brushed the thought aside and pushed forward.
“Want to come over later?” I asked. “After practice?”
“I can’t tonight,” she said. “I’ve also got practice.”
“Ah, okay,” I said. Suddenly I felt like crying, and made a mental note to check when I was supposed to get my period. Band practice meant Ruby would be with Mikey, and even though I knew they were over, I knew how confusing it could feel to be around an ex, doing something you used to do when you were together.
“What about Thursday?” said Ruby.
Thursday felt like a million years away, but I was still relieved she said it.
“Thursday is great,” I said.
“Okay, cool. Text me,” she said. And then she kissed me. It was brief, barely long enough for me to smell her shampoo, but I still felt light-headed when she pulled back. I looked around to see if anyone had seen us, if any faculty member was rushing toward us to give us detention, but nobody seemed to have noticed. I was more disappointed than relieved. (If you commit illegal PDA on school property and nobody sees it, did it even happen? What’s the point of so flagrantly breaking a rule if you don’t get caught?)
Ruby and I said our see-you-laters, and as soon as she was out of sight I ran