On My Mind

Kaia was running late the morning they met.

She was actually running across campus, shivering a little in the morning cold and holding both of her cleats, her sock-adorned feet scuffing a little as she ran. She ducked under low-hanging tree branches and started across the main campus lawn, muttering curses under her breath as dew started to soak in through the fabric of her socks.

Almost a month before, her coach had given her a lecture about how, as one of the seniors on the team, she needed to demonstrate more leadership and responsibility for the younger girls on the team. For the most part, she had been doing really well—she was never really late, and she always went out of her way to be nice to the freshman, even the annoying ones. It was the alarm clock not going off that did her in that morning; usually she could navigate the Pittsburgh traffic to get to practice with five minutes to spare if she got up on time. The alarm clock her old roommate had given her almost two years ago had chosen that morning to give up, and when she rolled over all she saw was a blank screen where there should have been glowing green numbers. And then there was the traffic, and someone had parked in the parking spot she paid for at the beginning of the year for what had to have been the fifth day in a row, and she almost slipped trying to get up the hill near one of the old dorms, swearing loudly and laughing at her own stupidity.

She didn't really see him. That's what she told herself, anyway: she was thinking about running late, mostly, and about how she hadn't had time to eat breakfast before she sprinted out of her apartment toward her car, and how she wouldn't have time to shower or eat before she went to class later that morning. Why would someone be walking down one of the back sidewalks on the athletic campus at seven in the morning on a Monday? It was weird even for her; the early morning practices were new this year. When she hit him, she didn't really know what had happened.

“Oh, Jesus, are you okay?” A voice asked, almost panicked, from somewhere above her. “God—seriously—you alright?”

Kaia blinked a little hazily, taking a second to process the cold ground under her and the body above her, her cleats a few feet off to one side. “Yeah—I think I'm good,” she murmured, slowly climbing to her feet. She didn't glance up at him until she had her cleats in her hands and she had assessed the damage to her elbows, which had taken the brunt of the fall.

“You sure you're okay?”

Kaia glanced at him quickly, and then a second time, slowly. “Yeah,” she said, despite the slight throb in one of her arms. “I'm good.” She shifted from one foot the other, suddenly too-aware of her soaking wet socks. Sidney fucking Crosby. “Um—I'm sorry, I—”

The captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins glanced at her feet, and then up at her again, grinning a little. “No shoes?”

“I was running late,” she said quickly, almost defensively, and then held her cleats up to her chest. He was taller than Kaia had imagined he would be—not that she had spent much time thinking about it—and bigger, wider, his muscles taught beneath a dark t-shirt. “I have to—I have practice. Gotta go.”

“You're okay, right?” Sidney's eyebrows drew together, but he stepped aside as if to let her pass.

“I'm good,” Kaia repeated, tucking loose hair behind her ears, and tried to fight off the blush that she knew was rising up in her cheeks. “Um—bye.”

And she started walking, and then jogging again, her wet socks slapping against the pavement under her feet. She didn't look back, even though she could feel his eyes on her back, watching until she slipped off the sidewalk and towards the athletic fields, her face still warm.