Page 31 of Falling Again

“Whoa, she asked you?” Griff says.

“Yep—we’re going to get a smoothie or something. She said she goes to spin class and will meet me afterward.”

“She spins too?” Miles says, feigning buckling at the knees.

I look over at him quizzically. “You into her?” He shrugs at that. “I’ll bomb the date,” I say.

“No, no, don’t do that. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if she were supposed to be the future mother of your children,” he pleads.

After showering and changing, we leave the gym and walk to our respective apartments. Miles and I are roommates in an apartment off campus, and Griff has a single sophomore dorm not too far from that.

“Hey, don’t forget, we are going to Hijinx this Friday. They’re doing karaoke!” Griff roars as he walks backward toward the direction of his dorm. Without Griff, I’m unsure if Miles and I would break out of our shells as much. Miles and I, aside from our looks, are very similar. We share the same interests, major in kinesiology, and even enjoy the same kind of music.

“Oh, I think something came up,” Miles calls, which causes Griff to halt.

“Miles, you better be joking.” Griff points, walking back towards us, and Miles puts his hands up.

“He’s joking. We’ll be there,” I call out and clamp my hand on Miles’s shoulder.

“Ugh, he better not make me sing,” Miles says, and where I don’t shy away from public attention, Miles would rather be on the sidelines.

I enter our apartment after my date, laughing and shaking my head. What a bizarre date, and yet I’m not surprised at all. Alyssa is a headstrong woman. She is leagues beyond the rest of the girls I’ve dated in terms of maturity. In my experience, people are looking for hookups or flings. I find it a bit exhausting, but I keep trying to play into it, going on a couple of first dates here and there. Though it rarely goes beyond that.

I was surprised when Alyssa asked me out. She always keeps our interactions brief. I’ve known her since the start of college, as she is in my major and we’ve had similar classes; however, she’s always seemed to take her studies seriously. She sits in the front of every class and is less of a teacher’s pet and more of a star student. She is there to be the best in her own regard.

I met her at a smoothie place by Smooth Cycle, where she takes spin classes. She was already there waiting at a table and gave me a firm handshake. She was wearing an oversize shirt over her leggings, her dark hair pulled up in a sleek ponytail. I pulled a chair across from her, and before I could appease the time with small talk, she launched into her speech.

“You’re back early,” Miles says from the kitchen barstool, hunched over some papers and his laptop.

I laugh and swing around the counter, filling up my water at the dispenser in the fridge and turning to him. “You will never guess.”

“What? What happened?” Miles asks, closing his laptop. I didn’t realize it before he hinted at his crush on Alyssa at the gym. But since then, I thought of the times he’d gaze at her or try to grab her attention. It all clicked now.

I drink my water slowly, letting him sweat it out a bit. “Spit it out!” he says impatiently.

I finish my water and set it down. “I interpreted it wrong. She didn’t ask me out—she just wanted to know if I’d read over a paper she was trying to publish on physical therapy.”

“Why did she ask you?” he says, seemingly offended. I’ve dug the hole of the lie, and now I need to jump into it.

“Well, I suppose I do have one of the highest grades in the class.”

“Mine is higher than yours!” he exclaims.

“Maybe she’ll ask you to look too, I don’t know. She told me what it was about, sent me the link, and had me read it there in front of her. It was the most academic encounter I’ve had with a girl,” I say, hoping Miles takes the bait.

His eyebrows rise, and he nods, going back to his seat. “Sounds like a lame date,” he says, cracking a smile, relief washing over me.

I can’t let him know what actually happened because Alyssa made me promise not to. I don’t know why I feel obligated to keep my word, but I guess I’m a bit of a romantic in that way. It makes me excited to have a part in playing matchmaker. I didn’t take Alyssa as the shy type, but apparently, she’s had a thing for Miles for the entire school year. They were in a project together at the start of sophomore year, and ever since, she’s had hearts in her eyes for him. I suppose he has, too. I told her about karaoke, and I just had to get him up at the mic for it all to pan out. I hope it won’t be too difficult.

We can hear Griff belting out a song from inside the college bar before we walk in the door. I am more of a fan of the open mic nights this place hosts than karaoke. Miles recently urged me to try it. He admitted that he could hear me singing and playing guitar in my bedroom, even though he said that he couldn’t all the times I asked. So, nervously, I signed up and went on stage, strumming some acoustic version of the song “Linger” by The Cranberries to a nearly empty bar on a Tuesday night. Of course, Griff and Miles were both in attendance, along with a few other people from the rock gym, and I got the biggest applause that night. I don’t think I have the best voice, but I love playing guitar. Like climbing, it’s one of the times when I can completely zone out on everything else and focus on the instrument in my hand.

The bouncer checks our IDs, and we shuffle into the narrow bar. Karaoke nights are by far the most popular themed events this bar hosts. I’m often faced with the reality that there are other people at college with me besides the ones I see all the time in class. Miles and I snag a small table near the stage just as Griff is finishing a rumbling version of “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Green Day. We holler and cheer as he finishes the last note.

“Nice work, Griff—how long have you been here?” Miles asks, reaching over to another table and grabbing the songbook that’s seen better days.

“Oh, I just got here a minute ago,” Griff says, taking a swig of his beer. “I can go grab some drafts for you guys while you pick songs.”

“Wait a sec. Isn’t that song at least four minutes long?” I ask.