Counterparts

I inhaled deeply, embracing the crisp autumn air around me, the sweet aroma of dying foliage and the impending freeze. All around me red, yellow and brown leaves floated down from the branches of mature trees that had stood longer than any of us could ever hope to. I held my books tight against my chest and shivered as a chill washed over me. Three weeks into my third semester of University and I was already fighting my way to the surface under a pile of books, papers and to-do lists. Sleep was a figment of my memories of summer I’d traded my hair tools and makeup for hair bands, elastics and chap stick. While I missed the freedom of summer and the luxury of spending hours on my appearance, I knew I wasn’t the only one who had retired their Urban Decay Naked2 pallet to strictly weekend use.

At 8:30 in the morning the campus was unsurprisingly quiet. The majority of students I knew had arranged their schedules to facilitate a good morning’s rest. I wasn’t so lucky. While I’d managed to keep all my classes after 10am last semester, I couldn’t avoid taking British Literature of the 20th century at 8:40 this semester. A class that was mandatory for all Lit majors and as a result filled up quickly. I made my way to the red brick Arts building that stood on the opposite side of campus from my dorm and arrived at my classroom with only minutes to spare. I slid into the nearest desk and quietly pulled my notebook out of my backpack.

Usually I made an effort to arrive early enough to get a seat at the front of the room to avoid being distracted by the rest of the people in room, but that morning I’d forgotten my books and had to rush back to my room. I would have just gone the day without them if I didn’t know that I’d be lost and confused for the rest of the day. I flipped open my worn copy of James Joyce’s Dubliners and tried to follow what the professor was saying.
“Would you mind?” A voice asked to my left in a barely audible whisper. I looked over to see a boy with tousled blonde hair and wide blue eyes motioning to my book.
“Go ahead.” I smiled moving close to him so he could read off of my copy.
“T’anks.” He replied, his smile sending my stomach into a fury of fluttery twitches.
As the professor continued, explaining the significance of Joyce’s hidden meanings and cultural references. Every few minutes I’d sneak glances at the beautiful boy who sat next to me reading off of my dog eared and noted book. He was wearing a grey sweatshirt that looked soft and warm and loose khaki pants. His outfit wasn’t too different from mine which consisted of an oversized knitted sweater in olive green and black skinny jeans. Both were typical student wear for that time of year. For a moment I’d wished I had taken the time to brush my hair instead of pilling it on top of my head in a messy but efficient bun.

The class dragged on, but I paid more attention to the boy next to me than what the professor was saying. I tried to remember if I’d seen him before, but it was damn near impossible, I’d remember a face like that. Besides, most of my time was either spent in my room or the library. I went to the occasional party, but usually left shortly after arriving. Parties made my uneasy, the noise, the people, I was never sure what to do with myself. I’d relinquished myself to the idea that I was better suited with a book than a beer and there were better things to do with my time.
“Finish reading Araby guys, we’ll be starting on it next class.” The professor startled me out of my daze. I had officially missed everything he’d said in class. I sighed and started packing my books into my already fully backpack.
“T’anks for sharing with me.” The boy smiled at me again as he headed out of the classroom. I smiled back and tried to place where his accent could be from. I picked up the book we’d been sharing and laughed to myself, Ireland, of course. I chuckled at the irony of reading Dubliners with a beautiful Irish boy and headed out of the room.

I spent the rest of the day trying to study in my room. I sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by books, my computer played classical music and the chill air came in through the window. Normally those conditions would be optimum for studying, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I’d read a sentence and my mind would drift off to the memory of the boy who sat next to me that morning. I wondered what his name was, and why I’d never seen him before. He couldn’t be a freshman, the requirements to get into the class were too high.

By 5pm I’d given up on studying and lay back on the floor reading the latest edition of Vogue. I was reading an article about fall trends when my door opened.

“We’re going to the game, you coming?” My friend Katie asked leaning against the door frame. She’d been trying to convince to me to go to a hockey game with her for over a year. I usually declined in favor of studying or watching lifetime movies on YouTube.
“Please come. You really need to get out more.” She continued, stepping over my books and sitting on my bed.
“I get out plenty.” I sat up and placed the magazine face down so I wouldn’t lose my page.
“Going to the grocery store doesn’t count as going out, Grace.” She looked at me annoyed.
“I went to that part with you a few weeks ago! The one where Genie puked on herself.” I looked up at her recalling a not to pleasant night where we ended up lost and drunk.
“That was in June!” She cried. “This is ridiculous, you’re coming with us. Put on some pants, brush your hair and meet me in my room in half an hour.” She motioned to my bare legs. I’d forgotten I was sitting in just my oversized sweater, I usually took off my pants too study, but Katie usually called before she came to bother me.
“I can’t...” I began looking at the books around me.
“Give it up Grace! You’re coming.” She walked out of my room, closing the door behind her loudly.
I sighed and pulled myself up off the floor. Katie had a point, I thought as I stared at my reflection in the full length mirror that was propped up in the corner of my tiny room. I pinched my thighs and groaned, I didn’t hate my reflection, but I could use some work. I made a conscious note to start working out more and walked over to the closet. I decided to wear black skinny jeans and the sweater I was already wearing, but I put a long sleeve shirt on under it, remembering all the times Katie had complained about how cold the rink was. Katie’s boyfriend Zayn was on the hockey team and according to her, it was her duty as his girlfriend to attend all of their home games. I brushed my hair and put it in a loose braid that fell down the middle of my back. I even went so far as to put on mascara and liquid black eyeliner, a staple in my makeup collection. I turned back to the mirror and smiled, I wasn’t completely hopeless. As I was pulling my slouchy brown leather boots over my thick knit socks Katie knocked on my door.
“You better be ready!” She called opening the door.
“Yup.” I smiled, she looked shocked. She’d obviously grown used to me ditching her at the last minute. I grabbed my purse and jacket and pushed her out the door.

I wasn’t what you would call a hockey fan, but I understood the basic rules. I’d even watched a few games on t.v with my dad growing up. But those games did little to prepare me for watching it live. Katie and I sat with a group who called themselves “the girlfriends”, they were all dating a player and introduced themselves by telling me their name and the name of their boyfriend. I recognized a few names, guys I’d seen with Zayn but I couldn’t say I knew them. We sat behind the players’ bench and cheered loudly as the boys skated onto the ice. Zayn winked at Katie and took his place on the bench.

After the national anthem, the puck dropped and I could feel the excitement in the room. The girls cheered at every opportunity and I sat quietly, studying the movement of the players. I knew I had classes with some of them, but other than Zayn I’d never talked to any of them, I probably couldn’t pick them out of a line up if I had to.

The first period ended and we had a two goal lead. Katie was giddy with joy and ran to hug Zayn as he came off the ice. I followed her awkwardly, smiling at the players as they walked past us. I was just about to go to leave Katie and go to the washroom when I saw him. His tousled blonde hair wet with sweat, the smooth skin of his face flushed. He seemed much bigger than he had that morning, which made sense considering all the gear he had on and the 2 or 3 inches the skates added to his height. My stomach was in knots as he walked past, his stick in one hand and his helmet in the other. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he looked over at me and smiled, his pink lips parting, showing his white teeth. I smiled back, trying to hide my nervousness. As he walked into the dressing room I looked at the back of his jersey. HORAN 14. I rushed back to our seats to check the roster Katie had gotten at the entrance. Number 14, Niall Horan, 5ft 10in, Birthplace: Mullingar, Ireland.