Phone Game Chapter 4 By Roe St. Alee
This story contains sexual content involving college age males. If this offends you, or this material is illegal where you live, please leave this page immediately. This story is a work of fiction, and any similarities to real life people, places, and situations is purely a coincidence.
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"Honestly it's not that rigorous of a practice schedule. Monday through Thursday, with runs going out at five thirty. And if you can't make the run you can always make up the miles on your own. But since labs are usually the only classes after five, you shouldn't have too many conflicts."
After his showdown at the rugby table, Calvin is walking me over to his own, the country table, where he has assured me I can pick up more information on schedules, competitions, and whatever else I need to know about the upcoming semester in regards to the Walton College Cross Country Club.
"We usually do two structured runs each week, and then two that are more free runs set by some of the seniors. I've worked out some pretty good stuff for tracking our team milage and individual splits for each workout and throughout the season. You use Garmin, right?"
Calvin is looking down at my wrist.
"Yeah," I say. "And Strava."
"Perfect," he says. "I can synchronize all your data in automatically with the team stuff, so you'll have a good idea of how you're doing in comparison to the rest of the guys. You just log in, and you'll be on the team group for the college, then using a few of Garmin's tool plus a few that you can add to your phone that we've come up with..."
Calvin goes on about the analytics that he has for everyone on the team while we finish our walk. I think I'm starting to get a read on Calvin. The confidence, sarcasm, jokes, and `cool guy' attitude? That's not the real Calvin.
That's the face he puts on for the freshman. Like he has all the answers and knows everything about college and the world that we're in now. That's what I saw last night when I was locked out of the dorm.
But the real Calvin? He's a big nerd. Rambling and a little bit bumbly. A nice guy, but a big nerd.
He stops in front of the table, where there is one slender guy sitting with a few stacks of papers. On the wall behind him there are some photos from cross country competitions and a big team photo, presumably from the previous year as I see both Calvin and the guy sitting at the table, both front and center.
"Vlad, meet Jake. He's one of my mine, and he's going to run with us this year. Jake, Vlad is another one of the seniors on our team."
I almost laugh when he says it. It's exactly the tone I was just thinking of. Much more assertive than the Calvin who talks about apps he's built into our smart watches.
With his next sentence, he flips the switch back into nerd mode.
"I actually caught him at the rugby table earlier, getting eyeballed by the president." Calvin scoffs and I see Vlad smile. "I was able to get him out of there before he was seduced like so many of these other innocent freshmen. And then I explained that with all the practicing, match schedules, and I'm not even mentioning the absurd risk of injury..."
Calvin trails off. Vlad's smile has only gotten wider as he stares at Calvin.
"What?"
Vlad shakes his head and laughs.
"Woody, chill out. Do you even want to play rugby?"
Vlad squints his eyes and looks over at me. He has a thin face and hard features, but still a boyish look to him.
"No," I say. "I don't think so..."
"But?"
Calvin locks in on my hesitation. It knocks me off my guard and I can't think of anything to say. He throws his hands up and sighs when I don't have an immediate response
"I knew it! He's poaching you!" He points at me and wags his finger in a surprisingly authoritative way. "And you're actually thinking about it."
Calvin's reproach makes me think. Of course I don't want to. Before today I've never thought about playing rugby. I've never even seen someone else playing rugby, much less wanted to play it myself.
"No," I say, with significantly more confidence, "I'm running."
Vlad laughs and his face lights up.
"I get it, man. Bang is a persuasive man. And Woody over here is just..."
Calvin's face turns a little pink.
"Don't compare me to him," he says, "it makes me sad."
"Come on, Woody," Vlad says. "You have everything he has. Just maybe not his..."
Vlad waves his hand, vamping like he's trying to think of the exact word. I look over at Calvin and think of how he stacks up against Kyle Bang. I imagine Kyle's statuesque body in front of me, his smile, his charm.
"Charisma?" I suggest.
Both Calvin and Vlad burst out laughing, loud enough that a few of the tables in our areas turn to look at us.
"Thank you," says Calvin. "I appreciate that choice for your answer."
I have to imagine I'm smiling just as wide as they are, in spite of myself. I made a joke, and it landed. With two upperclassmen, no less.
Both of them are nice, and my decision to run cross country is more or less locked in stone. It isn't just that they are being nice to me, but I get the sense that they genuinely want to like me. And I don't feel nervous around them at all. I actually feel sort of confident and at ease. Similar to how I feel around Josh.
Calvin starts scooping up some of the pamphlets and papers on the table, then places the stack in my hands. On top, he sets a small rechargable red light, perfect for running at night.
"Sorry about all this," he says. "I know I dragged you away from whatever you were doing. I just didn't want you getting... " He thinks for a second. "He's very `charismatic,' as you put it."
His exasperation makes me smile.
"No," I assure him, "this is good. I meant to come by the table at some point anyway, so now I have all the stuff I need."
"Good," says Calvin. "I'll see you tonight. We're excited to have you on the team."
He pats me on the shoulder, as he doesn't see a logical way to shake my hand while I'm holding my papers.
"Good to meet you." Vlad gives a wave and smiles at me.
I give them both a nod in return and head over to the table for the school paper, all the way at the far end of the hall. I should still have about fifteen minutes before I find whoever my advisor is and talk to him about the class schedule I've picked out for myself.
I'm also glad Calvin said something to remind me about our meeting tonight. It's for everyone on our floor, at seven. We were instructed via an official email from the college not to be late under any circumstances. There's supposed to be pizza, so I'm don't imagine they'll have a lot of trouble with attendance.
I try to relax my shoulders and take a few deep breaths as I finish my walk across the union. Between this, my meeting with my advisor, the rest of orientation, and what we have going on tonight it's definitely going to be a full day. A full day, but a good one, I remind myself.
I'm one of only two people when I get up to the Monitor's table. For all the commotion in the hall, I had figured there would be a bigger crowd. Although it occurs to me that half my incoming class might still be huddled up around Kyle Bang and his place at the Rugby Club.
On the left side of the table a sharp looking girl with thick black glasses is talking to another freshman like me, likely eager to get some experience writing for a paper. They look busy, so I instead slide over to the right.
The guy on my end of the table shakes my hand when I approach and introduces himself as Oscar. He is short and handsome with dark features, likely of hispanic descent if I had to guess. He has sparkling eyes and clearly a lot of energy behind them, but doesn't have the overt friendliness that Vlad and Calvin were putting out over at cross country.
"I'm an editor on the news side," he tells me, "so if you want to write sports or entertainment, you'll want to wait for Julie." He nods over to the girl with the glasses on his right.
"I was actually thinking news," I say. "I talked-"
"Do you have any experience?" He cuts me off, but it somehow doesn't come off as rude. More like he wants to get me what I need and send me on my way without wasting any time. Hurried, but his tone is not off-putting. It's more serious than friendly though.
"I wrote for two years for our school paper in high school."
It almost sounds like a question when I say it, and he doesn't seem impressed. Walton is known to have a good journalism program, so while I'm surprised to see only one other person at the table right now, I'm sure a freshman with high school paper experience is a dime a dozen.
"We're getting pretty full for this semester, to be honest with you," he says. He must see my expression fall, because he jumps right back in. "But we always have opportunities for one-off type stories, and I'll definitely grab your email for contributors. You can totally work your way in."
I try not to let my frustration show any more than it already has. But I force myself to make one more try, and this time I find my voice.
"I emailed with someone over the summer," I say. "One of your editors I think. I haven't met him though, and, uh..."
Oscar looks skeptical. This doesn't bode well.
"...I actually only have his email. C. Bisset?"
I'm not especially hopeful, but suddenly his eyes light up with recognition.
"Oh, yeah," he says, "for sure. You're Jake, right?"
His eyes are still sparkling with energy like before, but now they have a lot more warmth to them. He knows who I am. That has to be a good sign.
"I think she was telling me that you were going to do civic. That's like local news and town meetings and all that." He winks at me. "Big time breaking news."
I nod and feel myself starting to smile. Sounds like I might be one of them after all.
"It's not exactly the most exciting stuff to cover, but it's steady and should be a lot of good practice." He looks up over my shoulder and nods to someone behind me. "I can actually introduce you to your editor right now, if you want."
"Yeah," I say, "that sounds-"
"We've already met."
No, that can't be right.
I know the voice before I turn around, and as I do, the pieces start to fall together in my mind.
Oscar said it was a she, not a he as I had assumed from the email. And the hard t' I was putting at the end of Bisset was wrong too. I even heard Professor Lowry say it before. Bee-say.'
It's Corey.
And that knowing look she gave me earlier when I introduced myself is the same one she's giving me now. It's because she recognized my name from the portfolio I sent her a few weeks ago.
The alluring blonde girl from orientation who might have been flirting with me?
Yeah. Turns out she's my boss.
"We're excited to have you," Corey says, nodding to Oscar and gently pulling me aside and away from the table.
"Sorry," I stammer, "I didn't know that you, that you were..."
Corey laughs. She has nice teeth.
"Maybe I should be sorry," she says, "but it was kind of fun that you didn't know."
Something occurs to me as she mentions our earlier conversation.
"How are you an editor? I thought you were a freshman."
"I am," she says. "Or I sort of am. I took a few classes this summer to get a head start, so I've already been working for a few months at the paper."
That makes sense. I know a few people from high school who did the same thing at their schools.
"So, are you ready for the exciting world of the local beat?" she asks. Her words are right on the edge of sarcastic, a quality I'm starting to think she has most of the time. "It's pretty mundane most of the time, but it's just you and me, so you'll get plenty of stories."
I swallow hard, almost subconsciously. Just me and her? A sudden thought flashes through my mind of late nights at the paper, trying to make deadlines. Working alone together, sharing takeout in a dimly lit office with no one else in the building. Yikes.
Corey glances down at her phone.
"I have to go in a minute, but I'll text you a time to get together and talk about the paper. Official duties for freshmen won't start for a few more weeks, but maybe you'll want to hang out and get started a little early."
It takes me a few seconds to pick up on it. Her choice of words was intentional. It had to be, after all, she's studying journalism. She's not just asking me when I want to start working. She's asking me to hang out.
And that realization is all it takes to completely shut down the verbal center of my brain.
Another awkward pause.
I should patent this, because there's no way anyone does it better than me. I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt this time because I'm talking to a pretty girl who happens to suddenly be my boss and is possibly flirting with me, but still.
Corey cocks an eyebrow at me, but then laughs.
"I was right before, you know?"
Once again, I don't have a response.
"I'll definitely be seeing you around."
With that, Corey turns and walks away. I can't help but think that this girl is going to be trouble.
"I think your schedule looks good overall, and you'll have the first two weeks of the semester to make any other changes if you want. Did you have any other questions on that?"
Professor Lowry sets my schedule on the desk next to us and takes off his glasses. He looks younger without his glasses, and it makes me wonder how old he actually is. While he comes off as a seasoned professor, looking at him now I might put him in his early thirties at the absolute oldest.
I shake my head. It's a pretty standard first semester. A few gen-ed classes and Introduction to Journalism, which is a prerequisite for almost every other class in the College of Journalism. Lowry was keen on it as well, since he'll be teaching it.
"I'm all set," I reply.
"Good," says Lowry, "it's easy to knock this out when you come in prepared. I've had a handful who hadn't even looked at the course listings yet, so we were starting from square one."
He folds his hands and puts them under his chin.
"What else are you thinking about for this semester? Any clubs catching your eye?"
"I'm writing for the Monitor," I say, "and maybe going to try running cross country."
Lowry smiles and nods.
"I'm honestly just relieved to not hear someone mention the rugby team."
He sees my expression change and picks up on it.
"Mr. Bang is quite the spokesman for selling a club to a class of freshmen. I am sure you've noticed."
I swallow hard and imagine that Lowry can hear it, but he breezes on to the next topic without hesitating.
"I'm actually your faculty advisor for the paper as well," he says, "but it's a fairly self sufficient operation over there. And the less I'm involved the better, both for your sakes as students and journalistically.
"But I keep my eye on what's happening, and you'll be in my classes, so I'm sure we'll get to know each other quite well. Although I suppose you already know my two favorite colors."
He winks at me and there's something very familiar about it.
"I also host a few less formal events at my house for some of my students from time to time. Since we'll be working together so much this year, I'll keep you in mind. That is, if you're interested."
A party at a professor's house? It's only my first day, and it's a little hard for me to wrap my brain around. Without words, I at least manage to nod weakly at his offer.
"Anything else you need from me?" Lowry asks, taking a quick glance down at his watch. I have to be close to the last advising session he has today, but maybe there's another student or two after me.
I shake my head. "I think I'm all set."
"Excellent," he says, standing up and sticking out his hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Spitzer, and I will certainly be seeing you."
I shake his hand, and as I do so he makes eye contact with me. I hadn't noticed this morning while he was lecturing us about the code of conduct, but his eyes are strikingly green. They pull you right in, and don't let go.
It's a weird thing to notice about a professor, but it's impossible not to. I can't help it. Just like I can't help thinking, as I'm staring into his eyes, that he is somewhat attractive. I'm sure plenty of the girls in our class are already a bit mushy about him. If they weren't all completely stolen away by Kyle Bang, of course.
When I get back to the cafeteria, I see that I've missed a lot. The staff has wheeled out one or two of the serving stations from lunch and replaced them with a massive ice cream bar. Soft serve, scoops, cones, bowls, and easily twenty different toppings.
I get myself a generous bowl of ice cream and manage to find Josh in the process. We thoroughly enjoy our dessert and debrief on clubs and activities before making our way back over to the lecture hall. Coming back, we're some of the first this time around, so we don't need to sneak in the back.
Josh surveys the scene and cocks an eyebrow at me.
"Do you want to move up?" he asks. "There were a few good looking ladies up in the second row. We could try to mix things up down there." He sounds hopeful.
"Or drive them back here to sit in the nosebleeds," I say. "I think that's more my style."
Josh chuckles and gives me a look.
"Let's stay where we're at," I say, pointing out our chairs in the back row from early this morning.
Josh nods and tosses his backpack on the ground a few feet in front of him.
"That's good," he says as he sits down. "That way no one will notice if I totally pass out from that fifth scoop of ice cream."
I smile and take my seat, but I have different motivations for sitting back here. It isn't a cover for an impromptu nap.
It's Corey.
She sat in the seat next to me this morning, and chances are good that she'll come back to the same one this afternoon. And while I don't have any exciting plans for our afternoon lecture, it can't hurt to have her next to me.
The more time we have in each other's proximity, the more chances we have to interact, and the more we interact, the more we'll get to know each other. And the more we get to know each other, the better my chances are at figuring out if she's actually interested in me.
Maybe it'll just be a few words here and there. Or another comment from her that I can laugh at. It will just be the little things, but the little things can add up. It all starts with sitting next to each other.
And that, folks, is unfortunately about as good as my game gets.
But as more and more students finish their lunches and meander back into the lecture hall, Corey still hasn't shown up. I check my phone and she still has six minutes.
Lowry returns and shuffles through some papers on the dias. Two other professor-looking types come in and take a seat off to the side, similar to where Kyle had been sitting, although I don't see him at this point. The lecture hall slowly but surely fills up, and as Lowry clears his throat importantly to begins our afternoon orientation, Corey is still nowhere to be seen.
I scan the room one last time, but she isn't here.
I sigh and slouch into my chair, figuring I should at least get more comfortable for the lectures. So much for spending a little more time together today. I'm sure we'll be seeing plenty of each other this year, but even so I'm a bit disappointed. We seemed to be hitting it off, despite my utter inability to socialize.
But as I move in my seat, my eye catches something in front of me. At first I think it's nothing, but as my eyes focus, I see that there is a small piece of paper on the chair in front of me.
Seeing a piece of paper isn't weird, but this one is somehow stuck on the back of the chair. I slowly reach forward and touch it. It looks like a corner of it is jammed into the crack where the chair back is bolted into its plastic base.
I give the paper a slight tug but it doesn't budge. I wonder if it was here this morning. I feel like I would have seen it, but I'll admit that I was a bit more engaged during this morning's lectures than I am now.
I glance over at Josh and he isn't paying attention. Not to me, and very likely not to Lowry's explanation of our college's senior administrative structure.
I'm almost positive it wasn't here this morning. I bite my lip and slowly, carefully reach forward to grab it. With a light tug it comes loose from the chair and it's in my hand.
A furtive look around confirms that no one is watching me. I deliberately unfold the paper and realize that my heart is pounding. I don't know why I feel like this. It's just a piece of paper that I saw hanging off the chair in front of me. It probably isn't anything, but something about it has me so excited for some reason.
My heart skips a beat as I get it open. Scrawled inside the paper, in tight script, is a message.
And the message is for me.
[ See you around, Jake. ]
In the next chapter: Processing. A bit of alone time. And another...