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Chapter ten

Daphne

“So, how’s your vagina?” Liv asks, her face taking up all my phone screen during our video call.

“Totally fine, thanks for asking,” I reply, rolling my eyes but unable to keep the smirk off my face. I still feel a little giddy about the other night with Hudson. After all the Liv pep talks in the past telling me it’ll hurt, I had no idea it would also feel that good. The biggest question I have now is if it was a him thing, or a general sex thing.

“I mean, since you had a massive dick for the first time,” she continues without missing a beat. “Which, by the way, props to you, because my first time was—”

“Lenny Little Dick in high school,” I interrupt, holding up my hand to cut her off. “And yeah, that hurt enough. I know, babe.”

Liv and I have been friends since we were toddlers—her mom and mine bonded over some mom-and-me yoga class we obviously have no memory of. Now, Liv’s all the way at Washington State, while I’m here at Cedar Lakes, but somehow, our video calls still feel like we’re in the same room. And we make monthly trips to see each other; last week it was the concert in Spokane. Next month, I’ll go to WSU for a weekend, and we’ll alternate.

Liv throws her head back in a full-body laugh, the kind that makes her curls bounce. “Exactly! I guess all that self-care over the years really prepped you, huh? Technically, your cherry had already been popped by a silicone dildo.”

“God, your filter is completely off today,” I groan, trying not to laugh along with her. “Put it back on, please. And can we stop talking about sex now?”

Mostly because it just reminds me that I wish I’d left my number for Hudson. But I also didn’t want to assume he wanted that, because I wasn’t about to be that girl. Desperation looks good on no one.

“My filter is off always, and my favorite topic is sex.” She grins at me like it’s a badge of honor. “Jeez, do you know me at all?”

And just like that, I’m laughing too, because yeah, I do.

Liv smirks at me through the screen, adjusting the blanket draped over her shoulders. “So, was it worth the hype?”

With a groan, I rest my head against the back of my chair. “I already told you everything.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, when’s round two? Or who’s round two?”

I laugh despite myself. “I don’t know, Liv. It’s not like I scheduled it in my planner.”

“Maybe you should,” she quips. “I swear you’re the only person who lives on a college campus but acts like a hermit.”

“I’m not a hermit!” I protest.

In fact, my schedule is so packed, there’s barely room to breathe. Between Women’s Studies, Media Communications, and my electives in Digital Media Strategies that have me creating TikTok content one minute and dissecting analytics the next, I don’t have time to be a hermit. Add in my General Ed requirement for Psychology and I’m basically running a full-time job disguised as a freshman schedule.

But that’s how I like it. My planner is a masterpiece of color-coded chaos, every moment accounted for. Some people meditate; I find inner peace by highlighting deadlines and scheduling study sessions down to the minute.

“I just don’t go out every night like you.”

Liv gasps and clutches her chest. “How presumptuous? I’ll have you know, I went two whole nights last week without partying. Two.”

“Wow,” I deadpan. “You’re such a hero.”

She flips me off with a laugh, and I shake my head, grinning. This is how it’s always been with us; Liv pushing boundaries, me reining her in, both of us meeting somewhere in the middle. Usually with me getting into trouble because of her, but I wouldn’t change it.

“Shut up, or I won’t give you your birthday gift when I see you next month. You have scheduled in fun for that, right?”

I poke my tongue out with a scowl. “You’re uninvited.”

“Oh, oh,” she says excitedly. “Let me guess the color you used in your planner.”

“No.”

“Light pink,” she says anyway.

Hating that she knows me so well, I roll my eyes. Fun is always in pink because that’s my favorite color, and despite my busy schedule, I actually love having fun. “I hate you.”

“You love me because I’m right. Send me your planner so I can see all the pink and come visit you.”

“Ugh, fine.” If I don’t relent, she’ll only bug me until I give in.

The grin she wears is sickeningly smug. “Now, go forth and conquer more massive dicks. For the both of us.”

“I’m hanging up now,” I say, but I catch her blowing me a kiss before I press the end call button.

I check the time and realize I have just enough time to grab a coffee before my afternoon Introduction to Public Relations class.

Making my way to the campus coffee shop, Mug Life, the place is buzzing, as usual, with students studying, catching up on gossip, or just killing time between classes. I spot Marcie, one of my classmates, sitting near the window with her laptop open. She doesn’t notice me at first, too busy furiously typing something.

I step up to the counter, where a barista with wild curly blonde hair tied back in a loose bun greets me with a quick smile. Her nametag reads Indie. Pretty name.

“What’ll it be?” she asks, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

“Iced caramel macchiato, extra caramel,” I say.

Indie nods, punching in the order. “Got it. Machine is ready when you are.”

I tap my card and wait for only a minute or two for my coffee before I weave through the tables, cup in hand, and head out the door, sipping as I walk across campus toward the media building. The crisp air whips over my cheeks, and I tug my jacket tighter around me, my brain already buzzing with ideas for my essay. It’s one of the assignments I’m really excited about this semester, crafting a PR campaign as if we’re pitching it to a real client.

The building is warm when I step inside, the familiar scent of old books and coffee lingering in the air. I head straight for Room 304, where Professor Vance holds her one-on-one sessions that have replaced today’s class. The room is set up like a small office, with her desk at one end and two chairs facing it for the students.

When I enter, she looks up from her laptop and beams. “Daphne! Right on time. Come in.”

“Hi, Professor,” I say, slipping into the chair across from her and placing my coffee on the table.

She adjusts her tortoise shell glasses, closing the laptop as she leans forward. “So, tell me about your idea.”

My nerves bubble just under the surface, so I take a deep breath. “Okay, so…I was thinking about doing my essay on women in sports, but I keep finding myself overwhelmed with too many angles. I want to elevate their visibility in college athletics, but I’m not sure how to focus it, and then my mind goes off on a tangent of mental health aspects. I don’t know where to start.”

Professor Vance’s expression softens, and she leans back slightly. “That’s not uncommon, Daphne. Sometimes when we’re passionate about a topic, it’s easy to try to tackle too much at once. Let’s simplify. What excites you most about this idea?”

I hesitate, flicking through my notes. The pages are filled with half-formed ideas and crossed-out sentences. “Maybe something like focusing on a female basketball player who broke scoring records, or a soccer player who led her team to championships,” I offer. “We could talk about what makes them great athletes rather than just their struggles to get there. The narrative is sometimes a bit warped, like, ‘this woman overcame xyz.’ It’s as though it requires justification for their effort and skill, like they can’t just be naturally good at the sport. But what if it was simply ‘captain leads team to victory’ and focuses on the achievement instead.”

“That’s a strong start,” she says, nodding. “Why not build from there? Start with one clear angle, maybe focusing on how social media campaigns can highlight standout female athletes in a positive way. Keep it concise and impactful. Then think about narrowing it further to something you feel uniquely connected to? What’s one aspect of this idea that’s the most personal to you?”

I take another steadying breath. “There’s a lot. I ran track in high school, and I always felt like I was overlooked. I didn’t need the spotlight, but it was so much easier for the men on the track team, and I didn’t like that.”

She nods. “That’s understandable and a good drive to find equality you didn’t experience. I’d recommend also looking at what CLU is doing for female athletes within their media teams. See if you can help improve, even if through an essay like this.”

I already know I want more from this essay. This is important to me, and I’ll take any advice she gives. “I was thinking of targeting social media too and discussing that in my work,” I explain.

“Good.” She taps her pen against her notebook. “So, what would that look like? Give me a concrete example.”

“Maybe a hashtag challenge,” I suggest tentatively, my confidence wavering. “Like #WomenPlayToo, where fans share clips of themselves playing sports or celebrating their favorite female athletes. Something starting small, showing impact. We could even partner with influencers to kick start it. The more exposure of positive language around female athletes, the better.”

Professor Vance’s face lights up. “Now we’re talking. That’s timely and engaging. Focus on fleshing out that idea, and don’t worry about covering every possible angle. Simplicity is key.”

“Thank you. I’ll work on refining it.”

“Good,” she says with a smile. “If you need any guidance, my office hours are always open, and my TA, Grace, is always on email for me.”

“Thanks, Professor. I appreciate it.”

As I leave the room, feeling a little better, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a text from Liv.

Liv

Did you conquer the PR world yet?

I hesitate because I still need to hone my skill set here. Here’s to hoping I can.

Daphne

Getting there. Professor helped me simplify my idea. Women in sports FTW.

Liv

My best friend’s a genius.

I smile to myself, but the doubt lingers as I tuck my phone away.