“I don’t know a single thing about the sport,” Julia admits. “Are there halves or quarters or what?”
“Who cares? Ben Castillo will be there. That’s reason enough to go,” Kayla insists.
“Ben Castillo?” Julia asks curiously.
I squeeze my eyes closed as my stomach ties itself into a knot.
Kayla groans. “Hold on.” I listen to her turn back to her computer and start to type. Then she swivels her screen so Julia has a clear view of it. I glance quickly over my shoulder to confirm what I suspect, and then I force my attention back to my computer.
“Are you kidding me? That’s a real basketball player?”
“Yes. God, look at him.”
I can’t.
Even after all this time.
“Raelynn, check him out.”
I wave her off. I refuse to turn and ogle whatever image Kayla has pulled up. It’ll only hurt to see him, and I already have it hard enough as it is. I’ve been back in Los Angeles for a year and a half, and everywhere I turn, Ben is there. He’s on magazine covers and in commercials. Yesterday I heard people discussing him on the campus bus and wished I could afford fancy headphones to block them out. Half the student body at Caltech owns at least one of his jerseys, and I’ve seen even more crop up lately because of how well Los Angeles has been playing in the western conference. They’re currently on a winning streak, and Ben’s expected to carry his team to another NBA title. I know all of this not because I seek out information about him—in fact I actively try to keep my blinders up when it comes to Ben Castillo, but it’s utterly futile in a city where he’s so beloved.
“So we’ll go and pig out on free food and check out the eye candy. Basketball might be my new favorite sport,” Kayla says.
I spin my chair to face them—difficult as it is in the cramped space—and dig my ticket back out of my bag. “Do you guys know anyone who would want mine?”
Three faces slack-jawed and frozen with disbelief stare back at me. Then they all start firing off questions one on top of the other.
“Are you kidding?”
“You know we don’t have any other friends.”
“Why can’t you come?”
I lean over and drop my ticket on Ryan’s desk. “I’m busy that night.”
“Not any busier than the rest of us,” Julia points out.
“I have some reading I need to catch up on.”
Kayla guffaws at this. “Now I know you’re lying. You’re never behind on reading. Never. The world would have to be ending. And even then, you’d be fighting off zombies while up to date on Dr. Hughes’ seminar slides.”
“Besides, spring break is coming up,” Julia adds.
I don’t make eye contact with a single one of them as I leave my ticket on Ryan’s desk, roll my chair back, turn, and try to focus on my emails.
None of my officemates know about Ben, obviously. And something tells me, even if I tried to tell them about it now, they wouldn’t believe me. Yeah, yeah, hilarious. And I had sex with Chris Evans last week. Good one.
“You know what? I just realized we should turn this game into a birthday celebration for me!” Julia says.
“How humble of you,” Ryan teases.
“What? It’s a good idea. My birthday is in two weeks and we’re too poor to celebrate it, so let’s go to the game and do it there! Maybe I can get on the jumbotron or something.”
“Yes! I’ll splurge and buy us all matching t-shirts to wear,” Kayla adds. “Raelynn, c’mon you have to join. What size shirt do you want?”
“I—”
Julia cuts in. “And before you insist you aren’t going, remember, it’s my birthday. Since you’re my friend, you’re contractually obligated to celebrate with me.”
Even though I’ll keep trying to weasel out of it with half-feeble excuses, I know it’s decided right then and there…I’ll go.
The next few days pass by in a frenzy of activity. I’m the teaching assistant for one of Professor Olmsted’s freshman courses, which means there are over a hundred students that demand my time and attention on a weekly basis. I arrive early to the course each week, set up Professor Olmsted’s slides on the projector, pass around the required materials, check attendance, and then take my seat at the front. In addition to her seminar, I host four small-group sessions with students from her class so we can review the material again and work through more conceptual ideas. I grade assignments, answer emails, and meet one-on-one with any students who’ve requested extra help. On top of that, I have my own studies. I’m in twelve hours of graduate level courses with an emphasis on computer science and electrical engineering. I’m a member of Caltech’s Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory, which works closely with the university’s observatory. I help bridge the gap between the two fields while maintaining a GPA high enough to continue to be supported by the National Science Foundation Graduate Fellowship. My work is specifically focused on imaging outer space and building on the work of the Event Horizon Telescope team, who were the first group to capture an image of a black hole back in 2013.
My life revolves around school, and when I’m finally free, I cram into a room I share with Kayla in a rental house near campus filled with other graduate students. It’s a nightmare situation, too many people and too few bathrooms. I never have privacy, Kayla loves chatting late into the night, and her side of the room is constantly messy. I never thought I would, but I actually miss that old trailer on Sheriff Corbin’s property. Sure, it had its faults, but it was quiet and all mine.
Saturday evening, I sit on my bed in my room with my back against the wall and my laptop propped in front of my crossed legs. I’m supposed to be working. Even now, a new email from a student tumbles into my inbox, demanding my attention, but I’m staring out the window, remembering. Recalling my time with Ben is more pain than pleasure, but still, I do it all the time. I dwell in memories more than I should, and even now, I can picture my moments with him all too well.
The night we lay in the back seat of his SUV, the air a warm blanket surrounding us, his hand between my thighs. Sometimes, it’s not the intimacy I crave the most, it’s the friendship. The tilt of his smile and the cut of his deep dimples as he sat across the counter at Dale’s watching me while I worked. God, I miss it.
I’ve been with someone else since him. One drunk night at a party here on campus, I let a friend of Ryan’s kiss me to see if maybe I’d been building Ben up in my mind. Maybe any guy would make me feel the same way he did: worshipped and admired, crazy with desire. Maybe I just needed to get back out there. Maybe I put too much emphasis on him. He was the first guy I had sex with, and it’s not out of the question that I might have latched onto him solely because of that.
At the party, Ryan’s friend was so eager, so wide-eyed and surprised when I let him lead me upstairs to his room. I had every intention of having sex with him, just ripping the Band-Aid off with a cute, simple guy and getting it over with. He laid me down on his bed, wedged his knee between my legs, and started kissing me. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to push away the nagging doubts, and still, I couldn’t get into it. He tasted like cheap beer and his hands were too rough and too eager. He found the zipper on my jeans and I winced. He felt it and pulled back.