On a Wednesday by Whitney G.
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
I should’ve known …
I drafted a second email to Miss Hopewell, taking out all the curse words and “I refuse” lines in my previous version.
She’d called me twice this week, saying, “I can’t wait to read what you find on Kyle!” And “Ask him if he’d be willing to sit for a photoshoot with The New York Times at the end of this. I’d love to have his picture on my wall.”
She’d also sent me several texts a day asking how the process was going, as if I’d been doing this for longer than a month. She was honestly making me choose her as my honorary guest advisor.
Kyle Stanton is not a topic worthy of my thesis, and I’m not sure what type of strange, older woman, younger man fantasy you’re trying to re-live through my work, but …
I let out a sigh and removed that line, too.
I wasn’t just upset with her and Kyle. I was upset with every person on The Pitt News staff for leaving early. Again.
Just as I was about to change course and work on a mass email to them, heavy footsteps filled the office.
“Why weren’t you still at Fuel & Fuddle for my interview?” Kyle suddenly stepped in front of my desk.
“I was there.” I looked up at him. “I was there for three freakin’ hours, so I decided that I should leave before closing time.”
“Well, is now a good time for you to ask me questions?”
“Never would be better.” I was done with him and this thesis topic that I’d never asked for. “Look, I get it. Your future is pretty much set and you don’t have to worry about trivial things like grades, your forever girl, and graduation, but I do. So, to save us both the time and disappointment of working together, I’ll research the only interviews you’ve done via ESPNU and College Football Magazine and craft some type of piece about the system of college football as a whole.”
I shrugged and slid my purse over my shoulder. “You know what else? I’ll even let you read it before I send it in to my advisor. Good luck with the rest of the season.”
I walked straight to the elevators. Pressing the down button, I let out a sigh of relief once the doors glided open.
“Okay, wait. Wait.” He stepped onto the car before the doors closed. “I don’t want you to email me the questions.”
“You’ll come off way better in the piece if you do.”
“I honestly doubt that.” He had the audacity to smile. “I think that your style of writing combined with my real answers will be the best bet for this. I also think that I can compel you to help me with my Vagina Monologues punishment paper.”
“Ha! I’ll pass. I can’t keep making time in my schedule for you. I have a dating life, Kyle.”
He looked somewhat surprised by my last line, but he cleared his throat. “How about if I did something to make up for the past couple of weeks?”
“Something like what?” I desperately wished there was a “straight to the bottom’ button for the elevator. “I do need help in my Orthopterology class, but I doubt you’re the right person to help me with that.”
“You’re wrong.” He pulled out his phone. “The team gets access to the best tutors on campus, in any subject, and we get to let one friend take advantage as well. So, seeing as though we’re now friends—”
“We are not friends, Kyle.”
“I can put your name on my list and the team counselor will get whatever you need. He’ll even have the tutor meet on your terms.”
“Wait a minute.” I hesitated to accept. “If you have tons of tutors at your fingertips, why don’t you make straight A’s every semester?”
“Because that’s not a requirement to get into the league.” He followed me off the elevator. “What do you say?”
I sighed. I could use the help, but dealing with Kyle for another day was something I needed to think about for months.
As if he could sense my hesitation, he placed his hands on my shoulders. “In addition to that, how about letting me help you with something else?”
“There is literally nothing else that you can help me with, Kyle.”
“How about being friends?”
“Excuse me?”
“I noticed on your Facebook that you don’t have any, and my best friend is currently M.I.A. as fuck, so…”
“So, you’re willing to be my friend with sympathy?”
“More like with benefits.”
“Yeah, okay, hell no.”
“Why not?” he asked. “You had tons of stuff written on that ‘Things I Want to Do During My Senior Year’ status you posted, and you can’t do all of it alone.”
“How long did you spend going through my profile?”
“Long enough to know that I’m making you an offer you shouldn’t refuse,” he said. “What do you say? Friends?”
“No.” I shook my head, sighing. “I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s a great idea.” He looked me over again. “How about you make up your mind after I answer some of your questions? To show you how serious I am, I’ll answer eight of them via email before requesting another sit-down session with you.”
“Will you answer the questions thoroughly?”
“Sure.” He smiled. “I’ll go as deep inside as you want me to.”
“Kyle…”
“I’ll answer them thoroughly.” He laughed. “Thanks for reconsidering.”
“I haven’t yet.”
“You will.” He winked at me before walking away, and I hated that I was attracted to him. That one glimpse of his smile was enough to make my panties wet.
Later that night
My phone pinged with an email once I stepped out of the shower.
Subject: My Answers.
Kyle.
I walked over to my fridge and poured myself a glass of wine before subjecting myself to what I assumed were all one-word answers and things he’d copied and pasted from other interviews.
Carrying the bottle over to my desk, I powered on my laptop and opened my inbox.
Court (I’m going to call you that because friends shorten each other’s names.)
I’m attaching each of my answers in a Word doc, but I’ll copy and paste the first one in the body of this email so you can see how I write.
(I write pretty fast, by the way.)
Question:
When you have tons of press vying for a few words from you in this sport, why do you insist on remaining silent?
My Answer:
For one, I like to let my performance on the field speak for itself.
For two, I don’t trust that many people in my life. People in my family have let me down, so I find it hard to place a level of trust in strangers. Journalists (no offense) are self-serving and only looking for sound-bites to advance their careers.
I clicked through the other documents, feeling my jaw drop to the ground as he elaborated on each question I gave for five pages each.
My phone buzzed with another text from him.
Kyle:We good?
Me:Yes …
Kyle: Nice to know. Tell me whenever you’re meeting up with director-dude so that I can help. Oh, and unblock me from FB now.
Me: Why? You have my phone number.
Kyle: I don’t have any of your pictures …Want to send me some?
I unblocked him and put him on mute for the rest of the night, reading through the rest of his answers like a voracious reader.
A very surprised reader …