Inside Out

Hey it’s John.

The text caught me off guard. After nearly a week of not hearing from him I figured he changed his mind or that my latest sassy, over-the-shoulder remark didn’t fall under the ‘sexy’ category. Even with the Islanders’ recent three game road trip, it just felt like it wasn’t going to happen and I came to terms with that. But seeing the number accompanied with the text on the front of my iPhone sent a whole new wave of nerves crashing through me.

Slipping my phone beneath the desk, I glanced up and my professor and made sure he was focused on the slideshow he was currently presenting before I started typing. Hey there stranger, I texted back, my thumb hitting the blue send button before I could stop and overthink it. My phone buzzed almost immediately after.

Busy beating the Habs & Sabres it read with another one popping up just as I finished reading. How are you?

I bit my lip and glanced up to check the status of my professor. The class was small but still taught lecture-style and he was especially picky about students interrupting his class or not paying attention. While most didn’t care, he was on top of anyone who even remotely looked disinterested. Thankfully my seat was at the top and I was sitting behind a nearly full row of people.

Bored. Sitting thru a brutal sports law class rn I texted back and slid my phone into the front pocket of my jeans when I was done. It buzzed right after and then again twice more. It made me scared to take the phone out and see what was waiting for me.

Pay attention the first one read, followed quickly by I won’t be responsible for a failing grade and wait, sports law?. Biting my lip to keep from laughing, I quickly began typing a reply.

I’m a sports law / communications double major. You’re totally impressed, admit it, I sent back, smiling to myself as I tucked my phone away again. Turning my attention back to the class to make sure my professor still hadn’t noticed I realized that the room was deathly quiet. Everyone’s eyes were on me, my professor included. He had his signature ‘how dare you interrupt my class’ look on coupled with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Something more interesting than my lecture, Miss Campbell?” He asked, his voice projecting through the hall. “Because by all means, we can wait while you text your boyfriend.”

“It’s no-“ I started, nearly correcting him before shaking my head and settling on a simple apology. He nodded and fixed me with another glare before going back to the lecture with a simple, ‘don’t let it happen again’. Following his words, I ignored the buzzing in my pocket for the final twenty minutes of class.

As soon as we were dismissed I pulled my phone from my pocket only to realize that John wasn’t the cause of my buzzing – Twitter alerts were. Rolling my eyes, I flicked the button on the side and turned the volume on before trading it for my iPod. The phone went off as it fell to the dark abyss of my bag but I ignored it and shoved my earbuds in and let the sounds of Brand New take me on my walk back to my tiny apartment.

Kyle and Peter were both sitting in the living room when I arrived, engrossed in a game of NHL ’13. Rolling my eyes, I waved my hand in front of Peter and he quickly knocked it away with his hand. As long as he knew I was home it didn’t really matter. The apartment was small and only supposed to house three people. Somehow we made it work with five. My room was at the end of the main hall and the smallest room. Ryan and Shannon had the first room to the left when you walk in and Kyle’s room was next to theirs while Peter’s was opposite mine.

Dropping my bag onto my bed, I pulled the earphones from my ears and wound them around my iPod before tossing that with it. I wanted to leave my bag and my phone with it and go work on a paper I had due but I couldn’t let myself do it. After some digging my hand finally closed around the iPhone and I pressed the home button and frowned when it lit up. My only waiting messages were from my brother, Denis, and my dad, both of whom were asking me to help them pick winners for tonight’s NHL games.

No, I replied to both of them before tossing the phone aside and leaving my room. John not answering me didn’t irk me because he wasn’t answering but because it made me second-guess myself. Did I say the wrong thing? Was I two forward? Am I just flat-out weird? The questions were endless and annoying and playing on a loop in my mind and if there’s anything I hate questioning it’s myself.

Halfway to the living room I sighed and turned around to grab my phone. Ignoring the waiting messages I moved to my contacts and found my number one favorite and clicked it. Three rings in he answered, his voice groggy and laced with sleep but I didn’t hang, couldn’t hang up.

“I’ve got a secret,” I greeted in return, smiling when I heard the obvious rustling of sheets. I had his attention now. “If I tell do you promise not to blab to mom and dad or Denis? Especially not to Denis.”

“Yeah, B, of course,” Mike answered through a yawn. “What’s up?”

“I met John Tavares.”

My brother yawned again. “So?”

“Like, three times,” I laughed self-consciously. “The first was at a bar after a Rangers-Islanders game where we shared a Redheaded Slut.”

“Bullshit,” my brother exclaimed, shock and disbelief coloring his tone. “If you did that then I’m the next Sidney Crosby.”

I laughed again as I fell onto my bed. “Then we met again at an event I was working as part of my internship. It was at the NHL store. Both times I was really sassy and confident but sometime after that it kinda hit me that I was a total psycho to John Tavares.”

Mike laughed. “Sounds like my baby sister.”

“Hey!” I exclaimed, totally offended. Mike was the one that was crazy in the family.

“Well, I mean, come on B, you talk a lot of shit for being 5’4” and I guarantee you’re freaking out right now because he’s John Tavares and dad idolizes the fuck out of the kid.” Mike sighed. “I love you to death but sometimes you run a little hot and cold and real talk, he shits and burps just like the rest of us. It’s not a big deal, like, what are the odds you meet him like that anyway? You probably won’t see him again so don’t stress.”

Mike was right. A lot of my problem with the whole thing was that John was put on a pedestal in the Campbell household. As my dad’s current favorite player he could do no wrong and he was perfect. But Mike was right – he was just like the rest of us. And I knew that. It was the only reason why I was letting him make me question myself. Other than the obvious fact that he’s a wildly attractive hockey player, of course.

“Well, that’s kind of the thing,” I laughed nervously. “We met again at Frank & Lola’s like, a week ago, maybe? And he asked for my number after and I gave it to him and then, yeah, I don’t know. I’m being super weird.”

“You’re always super weird,” Mike laughed. “But you know, for the record, I think you’re full of shit, right? But on the offhand chance you’re not, just remember he’s just another guy and don’t let dad’s idolization get to you.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly and nodded. “You’re right Mikey,” I sighed. “What would I do without you?”

“Obviously be eternally alone,” my brother retorted. “But I’m gonna go back to bed. If you need me you know where to reach me.”

I rolled my eyes at my phone before tossing it onto my bed. It was a wonder how that kid managed a full ride to the University of Wisconsin for being terminally lazy. He was a damn good hockey player though. And smart, when he wanted to be. Shaking my head, I dove face first onto the plush white down comforter on my bed and buried my face in the pillows.

Getting hung up on a guy like John was stupid. But I’d taken enough psych electives to know that my feelings were projecting and I was being weird not because he was some famous entity but because he brought a confident, sassy side out of me and I was kind of afraid that it wasn’t an all-the-time thing. And maybe that’s the only reason he has any interest in talking to me at all.

My phone buzzed beneath my thigh and I sighed as I reached down for it. John texted me back. Sorry, team stuff, it read, followed by another, I am impressed but it’s also expected.

Rolling my eyes, I quickly typed back a reply. Well we can’t all be hockey players.

From what I know of you so far that would be expected too.

Groaning, I shoved my face into my pillow and let out a little groan. Hush up.

Hush up? Who even says that?

I do. Deal with it. :-P

We’ve got a long homestand coming up. Think I could take you out during it?

My heart jumped into my throat as my stomach filled with butterflies. I think that could be arranged, possibly. ;) I texted back before I could think about what a massively bad idea it could be.

What about tonight? Short notice, game at 7:30, but maybe we can get a late dinner?

I never turn down hockey.

My hands were shaking as I waited for his reply. The Bruins were in town and I had an early class the next day but I couldn’t bring myself to worry about the early class. The Bruins were always my favorite opponents next to the Rangers because a large group of Bruins fans always showed up and the rivaling chants were fun. A little sad that the Islanders faithful had let them down and let other fans into the building but still fun.

There will be a ticket waiting at will call with a pass to meet me downstairs after. If you’re lucky I’ll let you meet some teammates ;)

Don’t tease me I texted back before plugging my phone in to charge and heading to take a shower. I only had a few hours to get clean and get my butt to Long Island through traffic.

And I wouldn’t be late for hockey.