12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

I reach the Coffee Loft and pause outside as a tsunami of feelings slams into me. This is the last time I'm meeting with Joel to study. His final exam based on the classroom portion of his chemistry course is tomorrow. After that, he'll transition to working in the lab, and the TAs there will provide further tutoring assistance. So he won't need me any longer.

My heart squeezes painfully at the thought, and the brutal sensation worsens as I contemplate that this isn't only my last day tutoring Joel. Later this afternoon, we'll be having our final shooting practice. In forty-eight hours, the fundraiser will be over, and then there won't be a reason for us to spend time together any longer.

I realize, of course, that I shouldn't be agonizing over this. I always knew this day would come. Joel is moving on with his fast-paced, sports-centric, soon-to-be-rich-and-famous life. I hope to go on to med school, which means I won't have time for anything but my education. So I suppose it's a good thing that we've kept things cordial but distant since that near-kiss a few days ago. Whether talking about chemistry or practicing on the court, we've maintained a formal interaction style, which has been the right thing to do.

And I've hated it.

I've hated it because―somewhere amidst this zany, confusing, thrilling process of having my life thrown upside-down―I've finished falling in love with Joel. Completely. Totally. Forever. He's the most intelligent, caring, athletic, handsome, witty man I've ever known, and no one will ever take his place in my heart. Looking back, I think I started falling in love with him well before I recognized it: frankly, I began falling for him on that clumsy, awkward day when I spilled apple cider all over his table.

I laugh, softly and sadly, while tears of both amazement and heartbreak sting my eyes. Who knew that love at first sight was real? I certainly never did before. Now, however, I understand that love at first sight was precisely what happened to me when Joel walked into the coffee shop.

Yet I must tell him goodbye.

My hand is trembling as I open the door and walk inside the shop. Wonderful aromas are wafting through the air, and the fireplace is radiating warmth on this chilly late-October day. I hardly notice the ambience, though. I'm too distracted. Instead, I give a quick smile to the barista, and then I put on my scholarly fa?ade and walk to the table in the back corner. Our table.

Joel is waiting for me. He's wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. His hair looks tousled, as though he has run his hand through it several times. Behind his glasses, I can see darkness under his eyes, like he hasn't slept; this isn't surprising, though, considering he has an exam tomorrow and the fundraiser the next day. I haven't slept much, either. Between my extra shooting practices, tutoring, scrambling to keep up in my classes, and lying awake at night thinking about Joel, sleep has been hard to come by.

"Hi, Danielle." Joel stands and moves to the other side of the table to pull out my chair. "How did your English test go yesterday?"

"I'm relieved to say it went well." I take my seat. "I wasn't as prepared as I like to be, so I'm glad I pulled it off."

Joel goes back to his seat. "All the more reason why I'm sure you're looking forward to having your life return to normal soon."

Another avalanche of emotion crashes down upon me. How do I respond? There's so much I want to say. There are so many questions in my mind and heart. Do I want my life to go back to the way it used to be? Do I have any other choice?

"Yes, I suppose life will go back to . . . normal." I muster a smile. It's all I can do. "You must be relieved to know your life will normalize, too."

Joel shifts his gaze to the windows. "I'm not certain my life will ever feel normal after this."

He's right, of course. Joel's fame is about to skyrocket as his basketball season gets underway . . . and then he moves on to volleyball . . . and then he decides what he's going to do for his career when college is over. Whatever path he chooses, he'll be a rich, famous, popular, bona fide celebrity.

I set my bag at my feet. "So what would you like to review before your final exam?"

Joel tugs his attention from the windows and refocuses on me. "There are some study questions the professor encouraged us to work through." He reaches to his laptop but pauses. "First, though, Danielle, I want to thank you. Your help these past several weeks has been incredible. You're a gifted teacher, a brilliant student, and a fantastic person. I couldn't have kept up in my class without you."

It's taking everything I have to stop my voice from shaking. "You're more than welcome, Joel. I've been happy to help."

Joel watches me for a long second or two. He then clears his throat, motions to the laptop, and remarks:

"Here's the first review question our professor gave us."

***

I adjust the basketball in my hands, dip at the knees, and shoot.

The ball spins around the rim and falls out.

I groan and hang my head. Hours and hours of practicing, and I still can't reliably sink a shot from the right elbow of the key.

With a sigh, I shake out my sore arms, jog to the baseline, and grab the ball so I can try again. Thankfully, the courts are fairly quiet this evening, which has given me the chance to practice without feeling too self-conscious. Other than the intramural game that's happening on the adjacent court, the regular gyms here in the Student Activities Building are empty. Go figure. It's eight o'clock on a Friday night, which means most people are out doing something fun. Something social. Something to bring balance into their lives.

Most people, however, don't have a massively publicized, high-stakes fundraiser to compete in tomorrow.

I dribble the ball back to the elbow of the key. Never in a billion years would I have expected to feel comfortable and agile when dribbling—or when shooting from most places on the court—but after endless hours of practice, and thanks to Joel's steady guidance, I feel shockingly coordinated. Perhaps Dylan was right all those years ago; perhaps I did inherit some of the athleticism that runs in our family. Amazing.

I wipe my hands on my baggy shorts and take another shot. I miss.

"Your shooting form looks fantastic," I hear someone with a deep voice remark. "I mean it when I say that you're as good as the players who participate in walk-on tryouts for the women's team."

I freeze, wondering if I'm merely experiencing auditory hallucinations, and then I whip around. To my shock, Joel really is striding toward me. I haven't seen him since our final shooting practice yesterday afternoon, and I wasn't expecting to see him again until the fundraiser tomorrow. This evening, he's wearing a t-shirt and shorts, and he has a basketball under one arm.

"H-hi," I sputter. "I thought you had your team practice this morning."

"I did."

I glance around the gym. "So what are you doing here now? More importantly, what are you doing in this particular part of the building?" I grin. "After all, this is where the regular students roam; you belong in your fancy intercollegiate practice gym."

Joel chuckles, but his expression quickly grows serious. "I was restless, and so I wanted to come shoot for a little while to clear my mind." He stops in front of me. "And I remembered that you once mentioned how you like to practice in the late evenings when it's not busy, so I came over here hoping . . . I might find you." His forehead creases. "I should have texted you first, though. I'm sorry for interrupting."

"You're not interrupting," I tell him. "I'm glad you came. After all, you're still my teammate . . . at least until tomorrow is over."

Joel nods. Slowly.

My heart burns with how much more I want to say, but instead I change the topic:

"So how did your chemistry test go this morning?"

Joel breaks into another swoon-worthy smile. "Danielle Gillespie, thanks to you, I scored a ninety-six percent on that thing."

"That's fantastic!" I drop my basketball and throw my arms around him. "Congratulations! I knew you would . . ."

Oh heavens.

My arms are intertwined around the back of Joel's neck. He has let go of his own basketball and put his hands on my hips. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine as he breathes. Our faces―our mouths―are so, so close.

Our abandoned basketballs finish bouncing on the floor, and as the sound fades away, all becomes still. I raise my eyes to those of the man I love. His brow is furrowed once again, and that storm is back in his gaze. I slip out of his embrace, pick up his basketball, and pass it to him.

"So how about one last practice, Joel?"

Joel catches the ball, his eyes staying on mine. "One last practice, Danielle."