The Meeting

Hayden

If there was one thing that I would remember for the rest of my life—one thing that, when I look back, stood out most—It was when I saw her. 

She had been walking through the sea of students in the hallway of our high school when I saw her from the corner of my eye. There were no sounds, no voices. Time seemed to slow as she made her way in my direction; oblivious to the fact that I was standing there. Her long brown hair hung around her oval face as she clutched her textbooks to her chest like they were a life preserver. I couldn't make out the hidden logo on her shirt, but I assumed it was the name of a band. Her jeans were faded and ripped at the knee, half covering a pair of overly-loved black and white Converse sneakers. 

Unable to move, I held my breath when she passed me. One thing that stunned me, was that I was hoping she would turn to look at me. But what would happen if she did? According to the social classes of high school, we were each at the far end of the spectrum. I was a jock and she was a loner. Per the unspoken rules nowadays, if you didn't "fit" by society's standards, you were a pariah. Even though I knew the truth, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. The ear-piercing sound of the bell finally broke me from the spell of this woman. Time and everything else around me resumed as the commotion of students and locker doors slamming filled my ears. 

Brad Mitchell, a fellow member of the football team and my best friend, clapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, man. You comin' or what? It's chow time." 

Brad was about six-feet tall, with a football player's build, and dark hair. He always had food of some kind in his hands. I met him on our first day of kindergarten and we've had the same classes ever since. We've been through a lot together. Growing up, we got into trouble together, discovered girls, and experimented with alcohol. But more than anything, we had each others backs. Even with my dysfunctional family, he was the one constant thing I could count on. 

"Yeah," I answered.  "I'll meet you there."

After he started heading towards the cafeteria, I looked back to the place where I saw her. Why couldn't I get her out of my mind? I felt this strong urge to go after her. It was like a magnet was trying to pull me in the path that she went. But I couldn't allow myself to follow after her. Even just asking her name would cause more problems at home. 

My parents weren't bad parents. My mom was great and had always supported me. My dad, on the other hand, was the type of man who planned out his son's future. My dad was a football champ back when he was in high school. He got a full ride to college and was supposed to be drafted to the NFL. As luck would have it, he got into a car accident that blew out his knee. No more football. 

My mom told me bits and pieces of the two years that followed after that day. My dad didn't take it well. He relied heavily on alcohol and anger in an attempt to accept it. He never laid his hands on my mom, but verbal abuse was a constant factor. When she told me, I asked her why she stayed with him. 

No matter how many times I would ask, she would always smile and say, "For better or worse, Hayden. He went through something horrible. How can I not stand by him?"

I was born three years later; and the day my dad found out they were having a son, I guess he felt as if it was his second chance. He planned out everything regarding my future. Starting on my third birthday, everything was football. My Halloween costumes were football, my bedroom was decorated with football, everything revolved around football. Sunday was a religious day for my dad—but not in the church sense. We spent every Sunday watching football, with him coaching me through each game. 

He would play catch with me and tell me stories about plays he did over the years. I've always known he was training me to follow in his footsteps. He was being a coach more than he was being a dad. But I never said anything because I wanted to make him proud. 

Pushing the thoughts of my father aside, I started headed to the cafeteria to join Brad and the rest of the team. 

The lunchroom was packed with teenagers who were waiting in long lines to get their choice of school pizza, real pizza, or French fries. We also had a line for Healthy Choice foods, but people scarcely went there. The round lunch tables were lined up in four rows; each row having five tables. The chatter in the cafeteria sounded like the humming of bees. It was nearly impossible to differentiate who was saying what. As I scanned the lunchroom, I saw some students at tables eating and talking, some were staring at their cellphones, and others were using the time to study. Even in the close confines of the cafeteria, people stayed within their cliques. 

"Dude, are you even listening to me?" 

I looked up from my food when Roy, the captain of the team, was waving his hand in front of my face. Although I was the quarterback, I refused to be captain. It just wasn't for me. That was another thing that pissed my dad off. 

I let out a long breath. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, trying to make sure I knew how serious he was. "We need to beat Jamestown. We have to. They were undefeated last year, and now it's our turn."

Roy was right. Jamestown was one of the best schools in the state. Their former quarterback got a full ride to Syracuse with a potential spot on the Giants. That's what Roy wanted. He thirsted for it ever since we were in the sixth grade. He wanted the sponsors, the fans, the fame, and above all else, he wanted the money. He knew the scout would be interested if we could be undefeated this year. It wouldn't hurt if we won the state championship either. 

I sat back in my chair and looked up at him. At six-feet-two-inches and blonde with strong build, it was as if Roy was born for it. He was standing with one foot on the chair and his arms crossed, waiting for me to answer. 

"I hear you, Roy. But what do you suggest? We need a miracle to be undefeated this year." A miracle was a fucking long shot. We were good, but so were the other teams. Not to mention, a handful of our players needed serious work.

Roy scoffed. "Please. It's that attitude that gets you stuck in college football forever. Is that what you want?"

Is that what I wanted? 

From the corner of my eye I saw her again. She was carrying a tray of food from, no surprise, the Healthy Choice line and sat at a secluded table. When she put her tray down I could finally see the logo on her shirt as she took out her headphones and put the buds in her ears. Taking Back Sunday was written across her shirt. I smiled. She had good taste in music. My mind raced with questions of what else she liked. I wanted to know what movies she liked, what kind of ice cream, did she have any pet peeves? 

I almost got to my feet and went to her when I heard, "Hayden, dude. What the hell are you staring at?"

Roy looked back, trying to see what held my attention. His eyes swept the cafeteria without ever seeing her. I shouldn't be seeing her either. Hell, I hadn't these past three years, why was I now? 

I cleared my throat to get Roy's attention. "Of course I want that. But we need to do a lot of work. New plays. Better plays. More practices. Half the team needs a lot of work."

Roy paused as he thought that over. "Then we hold new try outs."

Okay, that really got my attention. Try outs were held over the summer. The new team was already selected. If he was suggesting what I thought he was..."Excuse me?"

"Think about it. That new school, Walker High, just opened. They changed the zoning and there are a lot of new guys here now."

Yep. Dammit. Holding new tryouts meant that the players who already made the team over the summer might get cut. "Roy, I don't know..." What he was planning was a shitty thing to do.

Roy shook his head, clearly refusing to listen to anything I said. "Please, Hayden. Coach will agree that it's the only way to win the state championship this year."

Roy turned and ran towards the front of the cafeteria before busting through the doors. No doubt he was going to the coach's office. I understood where he was coming from, but for some reason, it caused a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I looked up again to the table she was sitting at. She stopped eating now and was reading a book. The book looked big. Heavy. Clearly, she was the intellectual type. What kind of books did she like? 

I glanced over to Brad who was staring at me with a frown as he glanced in the direction I was staring. He didn't see who I was looking at either. "We have History, now," he said as he got to his feet.  "Let's go."

Brad headed out of the cafeteria while I took my time. I glanced a few times in her direction, trying not to make it obvious. What was wrong with me? I shook my head, trying to clear it as I emptied my tray in the garbage can and followed Brad to our History class. 

I hated history. I took my seat with a groan and tried not to fall asleep as my teacher went on and on about the Berlin wall. Maybe I could be more into the subject if my mind wasn't consumed by...her. The entire period was spent with my mind elsewhere. I was lost in a constant daydream. 

 I could see her face in my mind. She had green eyes, full lips, and pale skin that suggested she didn't get in the sun much. She was the very opposite of my ex-girlfriend, who was a blonde haired, blue-eyed cheerleader with the unfortunate habit of taking multiple guys to her bed. 

The bell rang suddenly, letting me know the day had come to and end. Now, it was time for football practice.