11

A fter strategizing my outfit with Zoey again, I march into my Photojournalism class ten minutes early to speak with Professor Sinclair.

I take a moment just outside the door to give myself a quick pep talk before assuming my confident posture and walking into the room.

"Ah Leera! Perfect, perfect, I was hoping for a moment to speak with you," she exclaimed before I could even take in a breath.

"Good morning, Professor. I wanted to talk to you about my assignment with the Predators if you have a moment."

"No need dear, Mr. Razboinic already called to let me know," she says airily like there's really no way she knows how that day really went. "He did?" I asked with a small squeak in my voice.

"Yes. He called to apologize for having to miss the interview with the group. He was asking if you could use your interview with the coach and follow up with an assignment for their opening game this week."

On one hand, he took care of all of this for me, but on the other, WHAT THE HELL?

Just as I'm about to ask more, she shoves a brand-new press pass across her desk as students start to trickle into class. "If you have any other questions, let's discuss them after class," she says quietly as she shoots me a wink.

I had a speech planned out and everything. So maybe he doesn't hate me? If he hated me, he would have blamed the interview disaster on me and not invited me back.

With it being such a big game, I did some additional research on the Vultures. Their team captain is Khaos Mokotoff. Apparently, he and Roman always fight hard during their games. This will be huge for my classes and me. Can you imagine how intense this game will be? Maybe I can keep working with the team if I can ace this article.

What if my body freaks out around him again, though? I need to be prepared for whatever that was. I've seen plenty of attractive men around the world, and sure, they're nice to look at, but my body has never felt like that before.

It was like something deep inside of me decided I wanted him without my brain's consent. But it also kind of felt like a weird panic attack. It can't be normal, though, can it? I know I'm obnoxiously incompetent when it comes to matters of attraction, having never even kissed a boy or felt compelled to . . . you know . . . pleasure myself. I mean, I've tried a couple times, but I didn't know what I was doing, and I don't think I did it right. Jeez, I must be fifteen shades of red right now. Maybe I could talk to Zoey about this stuff. Gosh, it's so embarrassing, though.

Class flies by while I try to focus on what's actually being taught, but my mind continues to drift back to a certain hockey player with sandy hair and what he might look like if he smiled. I hope he's in a much better mood next time. I check my press badge for the game information, but it doesn't say if the interview is before or after the game, and I'm not sure if there's a standard protocol for these things.

When class is finally over, I take my time gathering my things. One other student waits to talk to the professor, so I patiently wait my turn. "Hey Leera, did you need anything from me?" she asks as I approach her desk.

"No, thank you. I mean, yes. I mean, I don't need anything; I just have a quick question. Do you know if the interview is before or after the game or anything?"

"I believe my understanding was that after the game, you can participate in the postgame press conference for your interview," she responds.

"Oh, okay, that makes sense. Thank you, Professor."

I spent the next two days perfecting my interview questions. I have a set of questions for if they win and a set of questions for if they lose. I like to be prepared for either outcome, but since it's a trait I got from my father, my need for organization and order has only increased since his passing. My therapist promised that it was just a way for me to manifest my grief and that as long as I didn't let the tendencies completely impact my life, I would be okay.

Everything I need for my interview tomorrow is packed up in my new, chic little briefcase I bought myself to feel more professional. With my father still on my mind, I go to take my vitamins. I only have one left from the stockpile he had accumulated for me. A strange part of me doesn't want to let it go. I know it's a weird thing to be attached to, but since I couldn't find the same ones, I'm struggling with this.

I settle on keeping the last vitamin in the last bottle, and I put it back on my shelf. Cracking open a brand-new bottle of multivitamins that I picked up at the grocery store, I allow myself to remain positive and focus on another piece of my new beginning.