Of a New Midday
Causing the Traffic
MAYBE WE SHOULD study after this round.”
“Oh, so you won’t lose again?”
I roll my eyes, tightening my grip around my paddle, shaking my head. I think about announcing that I have to continue studying for our kinesiology exam. But considering that my exam is in four days, I’m 85% certain that I’ll have enough time to cram. One more game, or three—let’s be honest here—won’t hurt.
Phin serves while yelling out, “Kelly Clarkson!”
“Why must you always scream a an artist’s’ name every time you serve?” I scoff, hitting the ball back. “Who are you—Steve Carell from 40-Year-Old Virgin?”
We go back and forth for a while until Phin wins the round.
“Hell yeah!” he beams, throwing his hands in the air. He serves while saying, “Y’know, I’m screwed for the kinesiology exam.”
I roll my eyes again, puffing, “You always say that but you always manage to get higher than a B.”
Phin snorts.
We hit the ball back and forth a couple times until I see Phin dropping his shoulders, looking straight behind me through the glasses doors. His eyes narrow at the door, scanning whatever he is distracted by—probably a Dominos car or a pug.
Still fixated on the game, I continue to focus on winning.
“Look!” he shouts, probably just trying to make me miss.
I don’t look behind me like he’s telling me to turn as if my life depended on it, but instead I swing my paddle and watch the ball pass him.
I throw my hands up, gleaming. Looking at him, he’s just staring pass me, like he didn’t notice his defeat.
A couple more people follow Phin’s gaze, walking slowly to the door. They are trying to get a better look at whatever the commotion was.
I cave in.
I turn around and follow everyone’s gaze.
And there they are: two oddly large people fighting against their wills in the middle of the street, probably causing the traffic.
Man, New York never fails to amaze me.
“Oh, so you won’t lose again?”
I roll my eyes, tightening my grip around my paddle, shaking my head. I think about announcing that I have to continue studying for our kinesiology exam. But considering that my exam is in four days, I’m 85% certain that I’ll have enough time to cram. One more game, or three—let’s be honest here—won’t hurt.
Phin serves while yelling out, “Kelly Clarkson!”
“Why must you always scream a an artist’s’ name every time you serve?” I scoff, hitting the ball back. “Who are you—Steve Carell from 40-Year-Old Virgin?”
We go back and forth for a while until Phin wins the round.
“Hell yeah!” he beams, throwing his hands in the air. He serves while saying, “Y’know, I’m screwed for the kinesiology exam.”
I roll my eyes again, puffing, “You always say that but you always manage to get higher than a B.”
Phin snorts.
We hit the ball back and forth a couple times until I see Phin dropping his shoulders, looking straight behind me through the glasses doors. His eyes narrow at the door, scanning whatever he is distracted by—probably a Dominos car or a pug.
Still fixated on the game, I continue to focus on winning.
“Look!” he shouts, probably just trying to make me miss.
I don’t look behind me like he’s telling me to turn as if my life depended on it, but instead I swing my paddle and watch the ball pass him.
I throw my hands up, gleaming. Looking at him, he’s just staring pass me, like he didn’t notice his defeat.
A couple more people follow Phin’s gaze, walking slowly to the door. They are trying to get a better look at whatever the commotion was.
I cave in.
I turn around and follow everyone’s gaze.
And there they are: two oddly large people fighting against their wills in the middle of the street, probably causing the traffic.
Man, New York never fails to amaze me.
♠ ♠ ♠
one/two