Page 51 of Spiral
She’s always dressed up for her meetings with Dr. Randie who, I can tell, is one of the people she respects most in the world. From our very first meeting with her mentor, I took note to show up looking clean and put together. I mean, if it’s important to Georgia, it’s important to me. And this morning, she outdid herself. She arrived wearing a long floral sundress, with puffed sleeves and a frilled neckline that perfectly outlined her figure. Her hair was down and curled, shining golden in the sunlight that streamed through Dr. Randie’s windows.
It should be illegal to look that beautiful.
Dr. Randie talked to me throughout the entire meeting, and it took everything in me to pay attention to her questions and answer them accordingly. I could feel Georgia’s eyes on me, looking me up and down in that sultry way she does, and all that occupied my thoughts was how her eyes would look staring up at me when she’s on her kn–
“You feel ready for the game tomorrow, Anderson?” Coach Bryer asks me, a skeptical eyebrow raised.
“Y-Yes sir,” I stutter, clearing my throat. “I’m all healed up.”
“You’ve been out of practice, boy – don’t make me regret putting you back in that game. We need to win. The championship–”
“I know, Coach,” I interrupt, clenching my jaw. “I’ve worked my ass off in physical therapy. I’m ready. I swear.”
I have to be. Georgia will be watching – and wearing my name on her back.
The sunlight beams into my eyes as I exit Coach’s office, blinding me for a moment.
It must be later than I thought – the sun’s already setting.
I check my phone for the first time all day, having been busy with Dr. Randie and Coach Bryer, and instantly groan.
1 missed call from MOM.
1 new voicemail from MOM.
“Hey, pookie, it’s Mom. I know Sarah called you a few weeks back, but just wanted to remind you that we’re coming down to University Station tomorrow for your big game! Donald isn’t feeling well, so he won’t be joining us – but he wants you to know he’ll be cheering you on from home. Give me a call back when you can, sweetheart. Love you.”
It’s been nearly two years since I’ve seen my mom. The last time she visited was for my first game as a TU Titan at the start of freshman year. She took me out to a nice dinner after our big win, and, right before the bill came, she broke the news that she and Donald were getting married. I didn’t even know she and Donald were dating, and my dad hadn’t been gone for six months yet. It was at that moment that I decided I had no interest in seeing her, or talking to her – and especially no interest in seeing or talking to Donald, my dad’s “best friend.”
The only reason I even allow her to have my phone number is because of my sister, Sarah. It would devastate her if I cut our mother off completely, even if she was hurt by what happened, too. She says Mom’s been through enough, what with losing her husband to cancer, and she “just wants Mom to be happy.” I’d argue that she could find happiness with any other man on the planet – and let my Dad be dead for more than five fucking minutes before she does it. But I could never say that to Sarah. Still, she doesn’t prod too much, though I know she wishes I’d talk to Mom more.
The night that Georgia came to my apartment, Sarah called to tell me that her and my Mom had made plans to come to tomorrow’s game. It's an important one, qualifying us for the playoffs. I had started to argue, but she told me they’d already booked the hotel and bought the tickets, and there was nothing I could do about it. It pissed me off; not the idea of seeing my sister, but about being forced to interact with my mom.
I wanted to tell Georgia all about it, to have her comfort me and make me laugh like she always does. But I couldn’t.
I don’t want her to worry about me.
30 | Georgia
THE CHEERS OF thousands of TU Titans fans ring in my ears as I step onto Mason Field, clad in Henry’s oversized Jersey.
The sun blazes in the sky, casting an intense light over the bright green turf. I bring my hand to my brow, shielding my eyes, and scan across the length of the sideline in search of Henry.
“Hey – Georgia, right?” An unfamiliar voice rasps from behind me.
I recognize him – though I don’t know him. As he blocks the sunlight with his towering frame, I realize he’s the same boy that Henry ran into on campus a few weeks back. The same boy I saw dancing with Natalia Bryer. The same boy that almost killed Henry when he accidentally ran into him.
The wide receiver. God, what's his name, again?
“I’m Todd, Todd Watson. We haven’t met.” He smiles at me, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes. He’s handsome – the same height as Henry, with a chiseled jawline and eyes the color of milk chocolate. His hair hangs in loose curls around his face, damp from sweat, and his sculpted cheeks are flushed pink in the heat.
“Oh, hi,” I mutter as he takes a step closer to me and quickly glances over my outfit.
“I see you’ve got Anderson’s jersey on. Did he give you that?”
“Um, yeah. He did.”
“Damn,” Todd grunts, clicking his tongue and smirking lazily. “You’re like the 5th one I’ve seen. He’s on a roll.”