The only off-season game, this scrimmage was an exhibition. And boy, was I ready for a show. Delving into my popcorn, I ate handfuls at a time and sucked on my drink, feeling surprisingly young and lighthearted. Mmm, refreshing.
Raised by two university professors who’d had me in their forties, I sometimes felt as if I’d never been allowed a childhood. I’d been expected to rise above the rest; and I usually had. When I’d started school, I’d immediately been stuck in gifted classes. I’d always been younger than all my classmates and yet expected to act as mature as they were, if not more mature because of my IQ. And since no one ever wanted to associate with the freak, genius girl, I’d never had any friends who might’ve taught me how to be a normal kid.
Today seemed like it might be one of those days where I could feel as blithe as I wanted to.
This end of the stadium was shaded perfectly from the afternoon sun, so when a gentle wind blew across my face, it actually chilled me a little. I cuddled deeper into my shirt, curling my shoulders forward to keep in as much body heat as possible, only to jump when a rowdy group of guys in the next section over burst out laughing amongst themselves.
I glanced their way and smiled slightly at how much fun they were having. The perplexing dynamics of friendships had always eluded me, but in a curious way. Just because no one had ever befriended me didn’t mean I hadn’t observed the social cliques over the years, or yearned to be welcomed into one. I watched, and wondered, and envied.
But as I watched them, the shine on my euphoria dimmed, and my shoulders slumped while the loneliness crept in. The rowdy group grew louder as the guys jostled each other and passed friendly insults back and forth, setting up a pecking order of sorts. Honestly, how could friends be so mean to each other and call each other names I wouldn’t pin on my worst enemy, only to smile and laugh as if they’d handed out the ultimate compliment?
God, I wanted someone to call me a dirty name and then sling an arm around me, squeezing me with genuine companionship.
With my next glance at the loud boys, my brow wrinkled with jealous irritation. Did they have to rub in their happiness like that? I knew good and well I was all alone over here without a single—
“Getting to you too, aren’t they?” the man next to me asked as he glanced over and took in my expression.
I blinked and turned my attention to him, startled to find him smiling at me. He appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties with light brown hair and tea-colored eyes to match. Wearing loose blue jeans and a T-shirt supporting the college, he could be anyone.
Rolling his eyes to exaggeration, he tipped his head toward the rowdy crowd. “Seems like it’s always my luck; I get stuck by the unruliest group of immature idiots in the entire stadium.” Just as he said that, every guy in the rowdy bunch stood up as a trio of pretty girls passed. Whistling and catcalling at them, they lifted their shirts to show off their painted bellies, which spelled out the word “Viking” with each letter on a different chest. The impressed girls laughed and shouted back compliments but kept walking.
“See what I mean?” My companion set his elbow on the back of the empty seat between us, which made him seem suddenly very close. “Idiots.”
I sent him a small smile, not about to confess I’d been craving to be an idiot right along with them. “At least they excel in school spirit,” I answered diplomatically.
Throwing back his head to reveal a strong tanned neck, the man laughed. “That’s probably the only thing they excel at. I swear I’ve flunked at least half of that crowd.”
Sitting up straighter, I perked to attention. “You’re a teacher at Ellamore?”
With a regal kind of nod, he held out a hand. “Philip Chaplain. I’m a professor for the history department.”
“Then we’re neighbors.” Brightening, I took his hand. I knew the history department building was located next to Morella Hall, my building, but I’d never met any faculty from there. “I just started this semester, teaching literature.”
Surprise reigned on his features before he gave an uncertain smile. “You’re a graduate assistant?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m straight up faculty. Like you.”
It usually annoyed me when someone mistook me for a student or a mere teacher’s assistant. But Philip was being so nice, I forgave him without a thought.
Again, he looked surprised and confused before his face cleared. “Oh,” he drew out the word as recognition lit his eyes. “You’re the—” Gaze traveling over my face and down my body until his eyes paused on my chest, he nodded. “Yes, of course you are.”