Chapter 111

The gym was alive with the sound of sneakers squeaking across the polished floor and the steady thud-thud of basketballs hitting hardwood. The echo bounced off the high ceilings, mixing with the sharp blasts of the coach’s whistle.

Megan led Abigail in through a side entrance, tossing her a quick smile over her shoulder before jogging toward her teammates. “Sit anywhere make yourself at home!” she called.

Abigail settled on the bleachers, setting her guitar case beside her and unwrapping the snack she hadn’t finished earlier. From her spot, she had a clear view of the court. The players were already running drills fast breaks, passes, sprints and Megan slipped into the rotation like she hadn’t missed a beat.

Abigail leaned forward, elbows on her knees, watching as Megan caught a pass and drove down the lane. Her movements were smooth, sharp, like every muscle knew exactly where it was supposed to be. When she leapt for a layup, Abigail actually let out a small whistle under her breath.

Damn.

“Your girl’s got skills,” a voice from a few rows back said. One of Megan’s teammates still in warmups was sitting with her own water bottle. “She could do this in her sleep.”

Abigail chuckled, eyes still fixed on Megan as she darted across the court to defend. “Yeah, I can see that.”

The drills picked up intensity. Five-on-five scrimmages broke out, the sound of sneakers and shouts filling the air. Megan snagged a rebound, pivoted, and sent a crisp pass across the court that landed perfectly in her teammate’s hands for a shot. She celebrated with a clap and a laugh before jogging back into position.

Abigail couldn’t help but smile. Megan wasn’t just good, she loved the game, and it showed in every move she made.

After nearly an hour, the whistle blew again, signaling the end of practice. Sweat clung to Megan’s forehead as she jogged off the court, grabbing her water bottle and making her way toward Abigail on the bleachers.

“So,” Megan asked, still catching her breath, “how’d I do?”

Abigail smirked, leaning back on her hands. “Not bad. You might actually be good at this basketball thing.”

Megan laughed, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “High praise from the guitar goddess.” She tilted her head toward the exit. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll show you the best smoothie spot near campus you’re basically required to try it after surviving your first practice-as-a-spectator.”

Abigail grabbed her guitar case and stood, still smiling faintly as they walked out together. 

Abigail laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You’re always trying to bribe me with food.”

“Not food—fuel,” Megan corrected, grinning. “Big difference. Come on, you’ll thank me later.”

They strolled down the sidewalk, the late afternoon sun warm against their backs. When they got inside the smoothie shop, the air smelled sweet—bananas, berries, and honey blending together. Megan ordered something tropical with mango and pineapple, while Abigail went for strawberry and banana, simple but reliable.

They slid into a booth by the window, sipping their drinks. For a moment, it was quiet, just the sound of people blending shakes behind the counter and cars passing outside. Abigail tapped her straw against the side of her cup. “It feels good to just…sit,” she admitted.

Megan tilted her head, watching her closely. “You’ve been running around a lot lately?”

“Classes, music, trying to figure things out,” Abigail said with a half-shrug. “Sometimes it feels like there’s never enough time.”

Megan leaned back, her voice easy but grounded. “That’s life. You just gotta carve space for the things that matter, even if it’s five minutes with a smoothie.” She smirked. “Or basketball.”

Abigail laughed, the tension slipping out of her shoulders. “You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is,” Megan replied, her tone softening. “You’ll figure it out. You’ve got that… drive. People can see it. I can see it.”

Abigail’s cheeks warmed at the words, and she looked down at her drink, swirling the straw. “Thanks. That means more than you know.”

They lingered a little longer, trading stories about teachers, music, and Megan’s basketball teammates. When Abigail finally glanced at the time, her eyes widened. “Crap, I’ve got my next class.”

Megan chuckled and stood, tossing her empty cup in the trash. “Go be the star student. I’ll see you around.”

Abigail smiled as they stepped outside. “You will and Hey text me we need to have another girls night and you can invite some team mates.”

On her way to the building, Abigail pulled out her phone and quickly texted Emma:

“Ran into Megan and we grabbed smoothies before my next class. I’ll call you later ❤️.”

She slipped the phone into her pocket, then pulled it out again just before walking into class. Still nothing. She frowned, typing a second message.

“Hey, are you okay? Haven’t heard back from you.”

The classroom filled slowly, students sliding into seats with notebooks and laptops. Abigail sat near the middle, her phone resting face-up beside her notebook. The screen stayed blank. She tried to focus, chewing at the inside of her cheek as the clock ticked closer to the hour.

The door opened and a woman stepped in—tall, poised, with dark curls pinned neatly at the nape of her neck. Her slate-gray dress flowed just enough to soften the edges of her presence, though her sharp eyes carried a kind of quiet authority.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” she said, her voice clear and steady. “My name is Professor Evelyn Cross, and this semester we’ll be navigating Contemporary Literature together. I hope you came ready to read, and more importantly ready to think.”

She set a stack of books on the desk and glanced around the room, as if memorizing faces. “We’ll be looking at authors who challenge traditional structures—voices that question identity, resilience, and the human condition in ways that still echo today. Baldwin. Morrison. Angelou. And yes,” her mouth curved slightly, “you will be writing more than you think you can.”

A low ripple of nervous laughter spread through the class. Abigail half-smiled, scribbling the names in her notebook, though her pen faltered when she glanced back down at her phone. Still no reply.

Professor Cross continued, pacing slowly. “The purpose here is not to give you answers but to sharpen your questions. If you leave this course with more curiosity than you came in with, then I’ll consider my job well done.”

Abigail tapped her phone again, lighting up the dark screen, pretending it was just out of habit. The professor’s words drifted over her like distant music important, but hard to hold onto with her chest tightening by the second.

Professor Cross closed her notebook with a decisive snap. “I’ll post the homework and syllabus online tonight,” she said, scanning the room once more. “Please make sure you check the portal, and we’ll pick up with Baldwin for our next class. See you then.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as students packed up, conversations rising in a low hum. Abigail slipped her phone into her pocket, ready to bolt the moment the door cleared.

“Abigail?”

She froze mid-step. Turning, she clutched her notebook against her chest. Professor Cross stood by the desk, eyes kind but assessing. She gestured lightly toward the front. “A moment, if you don’t mind.”

The room emptied, leaving only the two of them. Abigail walked back slowly, her heartbeat drumming harder than it should.

Professor Cross leaned a little against the desk, folding her arms. “I couldn’t help but notice you checking your phone quite a bit during class,” she said gently. “I don’t mean to call you out, I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Abigail’s throat tightened. She forced a small smile, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Just…waiting on a text.”

“From someone important,” Professor Cross guessed, her tone more understanding than prying.

Abigail nodded once, biting her lip. “Yeah. Just…someone important.”

Professor Cross studied her a moment longer, then gave a small, encouraging smile. “Well, I won’t keep you. But remember—whatever’s on that phone will still be there after class. Don’t miss the words happening in the room because you’re waiting on the ones on a screen.”

Abigail let out a breath, the words both sharp and comforting. “I’ll try,” she said softly.

Professor Cross nodded. “That’s all I ask. Go on get some air.”

Abigail gathered her things quickly and hurried out, the weight of her phone pressing like a stone in her pocket. She unlocked it again the moment she hit the hallway. Still no response.

Her pulse quickened. And without waiting, she rushed across campus, straight toward home.