Page 14

WILLOW

W ith a heavy sigh, I rub my hands across my face because I’m annoyed.

Even with my headphones on, I’m drowning in noise at Brewed Beginnings.

The espresso machine is steamrolling my brain and cups are clinking loud enough to cause a headache.

Slamming my head down on my keyboard might be a better alternative. Plus, it would put me out of my misery.

But I need to do this. I need to focus and finish this article on the student housing issues at Crestwood. I stare at the cursor flashing on my laptop screen next to an unfinished quote but my mind is on the interview I held with my brother and his hockey teammates last night.

The interview that's missing one crucial voice.

I take a sip of my now-lukewarm coffee and make a stank face. The caffeine isn't helping my focus. If anything, it's making the thoughts in my head race faster, which makes working even harder.

Someone drops something on the ground, causing me to flinch so hard my knee bangs against the underside of the table. Great. Now I have physical pain to match the mental.

"Damn it," I mutter, yanking my headphones off. The music wasn't helping anyway.

I check my phone. No new messages. Not that I was expecting any from him. Not that I even texted him in the first place. Which I should have done already if I was being professional about this whole thing.

"You look like you're contemplating murder," a voice says above me.

I look up to find Ari sliding into the seat across from me and placing a cranberry muffin that she purchased and utensils in front of her. Her eyebrows are raised in that way that tells me she's about to psychoanalyze my entire existence.

Groovy.

"Maybe I am," I reply, closing my laptop with more force than necessary. "The housing article is kicking my ass."

Ari tilts her head. "Uh-huh. And I'm sure that's the only thing on your mind right now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugs off her coat. "I watched you stare at that document as I was walking up and your face has cycled through approximately seventeen different emotions, none of which scream 'I'm focused on student housing.'"

I hate how well she knows me.

"I'm just..." I start, then stop. What am I, exactly? Annoyed? Distracted? Unreasonably fixated on someone who clearly went out of his way to avoid me for years and now I need to contact him in order to write an article for the school newspaper.

"Waiting for inspiration to strike?" Ari offers, cutting the muffin in half and sliding half across the table to me like a peace offering.

"Something like that," I mumble before I stuff a piece of food in my mouth. The sweetness might help my brain function again. Maybe.

Ari narrows her eyes at me, her dark gaze missing nothing. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain hockey player missing from your interview last night, would it?"

I nearly choke on the muffin. "We don’t have to bring him up.”

"But I will because you're sitting here looking like someone deleted your thesis the night before it was due, and as I already said, it’s not about student housing."

I swallow hard, forcing the muffin down my suddenly dry throat. "It's unprofessional. That's all."

"What is? The fact that he didn't show up or the fact that you care?"

"I don't care," I snap, then immediately regret it when Ari raises a single eyebrow.

"Fine. I care about the article. I need quotes from all the seniors for this feature, and he's making it difficult. Not that it’s actually his fault because he did have prior plans.

Why do I feel a crash out brewing over something so silly? "

“Because you care more than you want to admit.”

"I don't care about Blaise Dalton," I insist, tearing off another piece of muffin. "I care about completing my assignment properly. As I just said."

"Mmhmm."

"Stop mmhmm-ing me. It's irritating."

"And you're deflecting." She dusts crumbs from her fingers. "But fine, let's talk solutions instead of feelings. Have you texted him to set up a one-on-one?"

I fiddle with my coffee cup. "Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Because..." The words stick in my throat. How do I explain that texting Blaise feels like opening a door I've kept firmly shut for years? That the thought of sitting across from him, just the two of us, makes me want to lose my shit?

"Because you're avoiding it," Ari finishes for me.

"I'm not avoiding anything. I'm just..." I gesture vaguely at my laptop. "Prioritizing."

"Right. Prioritizing staring at your screen and having a mental breakdown in public."

I glare at her. "You're not helping."

"Actually, I am." She reaches across the table and flips my laptop open. "Text him now. Set it up. Rip the band-aid off."

“I don’t have his number.”

The look on Ari’s face tells me she knows I’m purposely being obtuse. “Email him. Text your brother for it.”

"But—"

"No buts. You need this for your article. He's just another source. Treat it like any other interview."

Just another source. If only it were that simple. If only Blaise Dalton were just another hockey player and not the guy who kissed me senseless in his room years ago, then pretended I didn't exist and just so happens to be my brother’s teammate, best friend, and one of his roommates.

I sigh and pull my laptop closer to me. "Fine."

Emailing seems to be the most professional way to do this, plus it meant not having to go through my brother to get his number. I open my email, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What's the most professional way to ask someone you've been actively avoiding for years to sit down for an interview?

"Don't overthink it," Ari says, reading my mind as usual. "Just be direct."

"I'm being direct," I mutter, typing out "Interview Request" in the subject line. Professional. Detached. Perfect.

To: [email protected]

Subject: Interview Request - Senior Hockey Feature

Blaise,

As you know, I'm writing a feature on the senior hockey players for the Crestwood Chronicle. I interviewed the rest of the seniors last night but understand you couldn't make it due to a prior commitment.

I'd like to schedule a brief interview to include your perspective in the piece. Please let me know your availability this week.

Thanks,

Willow Sanchez

Reporter, Crestwood Chronicle

I read it over three times, removing any hint of personality or emotion. It's the most sterile email I've ever written, which is exactly what I need right now.

"There," I say, hitting send before I can change my mind. "Done. Happy now?"

Ari gives me a small smile. "Ecstatic. Was that so hard?"

"Yes. Excruciating. I might need medical attention."

"Drama queen." She takes another bite of the muffin. "Now you can focus on your housing article while you wait for him to respond."

Right. The housing article. The one with the blinking cursor that's been mocking me for the past hour. I stare at the screen, willing the words to come, but my brain keeps circling back to that email sitting in Blaise's inbox.

Will he respond right away? Will he ignore it? Will he make up another excuse?

"You're not focusing," Ari points out.

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

My phone buzzes, and I nearly knock over my coffee reaching for it. It's just a notification from social media. Not him.

Of course it's not him. I literally just sent the email.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter, shoving my phone into my bag. "I can't work here. It's too loud."

Ari gives me a knowing look. "The noise wasn't bothering you ten minutes ago."

"Yes it was. And it's bothering me now."

"Mmhmm."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?" She blinks innocently.

"The mmhmm thing. With the eyebrow. And the knowing look." I wave my hand in front of her face. "All of...this."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She finishes her half of the muffin. "But if you really can't work here, why don't you try the library? Or your room?"

My room is the last place I want to be. And the library means potentially running into him, which is absolutely not happening until I'm mentally prepared.

Ari speaks again and distracts me from coming up with potential places I can go to. "Actually, I was going to mention something that might interest you."

I narrow my eyes. "What?"

"Remember that study abroad program to Puerto Rico I was telling you about a few weeks ago?"

"Maybe?" I vaguely remember her mentioning it, but it wasn't something I paid much attention to. Traveling is something I wanted to do more of, but I’m focused on the internship I’ll be doing in New York City this summer.

"Well, they've reopened applications. A few students dropped out, so they're looking to fill spots. It's open to non-poli-sci majors now."

I blink at her. "And you're telling me this because...?"

"Because it's a week in Puerto Rico during winter break. And you mentioned wanting to get away…sounds like a great opportunity to do so." She pulls a folded flyer from her bag and slides it across the table.

I pick up the flyer. "When's the deadline?"

"Two days from now. It's tight, but doable."

I scan the details. The program focuses on the political history and culture of Puerto Rico. It includes cultural immersion activities, visits to historical sites, and credit for a short intensive course.

"A week in Puerto Rico," I say as I think about whether I could make this happen. "The timing is..."

"Perfect," Ari finishes. "It's right after finals, the holidays, and before the spring semester starts."

She's right. The timing is perfect. Too perfect, almost, like the universe is handing me an escape route from this Virginia weather on a silver platter.

"I'd have to talk to my parents about the cost," I say, but I'm already calculating whether I could cover it myself. It’s not like I have Knox’s NIL money to throw around, although he would more than likely lend me the money to go. "This isn't exactly cheap."