Page 18 of The No Try Zone
How am I supposed to trust myself after this? Because what if…what if he didn’t convince me at all? What if I did it willingly?
“Hey,” Kari says, her voice gentler than I think I’ve ever heard it, “It’s going to be okay.”
I clench my jaw, staring out the window at the passing cars. I don’t think it is. Because I know that even though I don’t remember anything yet, there’s no shaking the feeling that I’ve irrevocably changed my life.
A text buzzes against my calf, and I reach down to pull my phone from my backpack.
UNKNOWN
Hi Sam, this is Neesha from Granite HR. Good news! We’ve got all the paperwork sorted and are ready for you. Checking in to make sure you’re planning to swing over tomorrow and sign. Excited to have you on the team!
A whimper issues from my throat. A bleat, really. Like a little baby goat who’s lost its mama. I jumped at the chance to take a position with the Granite when a spot opened up on the physical therapy roster for the team. It was this remarkable piece of kismet, as though the universe had seen me trying and finally decided to reward me. I’d wanted to come to the States for years, but never had enough money to pull it off because I kept using any extra funds I had to get more training. When Ollie declared he wanted to try out for an American rugby team, Mum was more than happy to help fund me coming here with my brother. She wasn’t confident in Ollie’s ability to navigate an entirely new country, let alone try out for an American rugby team. Little did Mum know that Ollie did just fine, thanks, and really only wanted me because he needed a training partner and someone to keep him focused. To be honest, the hardest part for Ollie was making the mental shift from rugby league to rugby union, which is what the American pro league plays. But he’s a fast learner.
Their head trainer saw how I was working with Ollie on the odd Saturday we used Granite’s facilities, and pulled me to the side. But instead of getting chewed out like I thought I would, he asked if I wanted a job. It was too good to pass up.
Only now, after last night, I’m second-guessing everything. I thought I knew exactly who I was, what I wanted, and how I was going to get there. The problem is that the woman I thought I was wouldn’t have broken her one-drink rule and ended up married.
I stare at the text.
“You need some water?” Kari asks.
I clear my throat. “No. No thank you.” What I need is my memories back. What I need is more than flashes of a sequin jumpsuit and a lucky quarter. What I need is time travel.
What Ineedis to punch something.
She zooms into the HOV lane at eighty miles per hour, calmly hurtling us toward sudden death if anything were to go wrong. “You plan on riding with your brother to work every day?” she asks, clearly avoiding the real reason I’m white knuckling my phone.
“Probably.” Even though I already know that won’t work for the long term. Then I realize what she’s said. “Wait – did you know the paperwork went through?”
She waves a hand and makes a dismissive sound. “Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t be all over this? Getting to work with my best Australian mate?” She delivers the last line in a horrific Australian accent.
I cringe. “Don’t do that again. Ever.”
She laughs. “Which part? Saying ‘mate’ or saying it in that accent?”
“Both.”
A car cuts in front of us and Kari lays on the horn, not missing a beat. “I can pick you up some days if you want.”
“Sure, if I wanted to cheat death on the daily,” I crack.
“Hey! I’m a good driver!” she protests.
“I may need to learn how to drive on the right side of the road,” I mutter. But first things first: regain my memories.
A harrowing fifteen minutes later, we’re off the interstate and heading toward my apartment complex. Tall, impossibly leafy oak and maple trees line the sides of the road, with every color of crepe myrtle dotted here and there among them. Above them, fluffy clouds float in the marble-blue sky, not bothering to shade anything for more than a second or two. “I think I need a witch,” I muse.
Chapter7
Colin
I’M BEGINNING TO think my lucky quarter has run its course. Exhibit A: the moving company I hired showed up a day late, then took twice as long to get my stuff from Burlington to Atlanta. The house I’m renting is stupid big and a little more than I’m comfortable spending, but silly me decided to trust the real estate agent that the team pointed me to, and the rental agreement I signed is ironclad. The second day there, I tripped over my own two feet and fell in my new living room, narrowly avoiding a nasty hit when my head barely missed the coffee table.
And now the barista is telling me they’re out of oat milk.
Who runs out of oat milk?
“Just make it black, then,” I sigh.
