The Campus Cheaters Redemption

Chapter 14: Will You Stay With Me?

Dane’s POV

That same evening, Dane went on a walk to clear his mind; the text he had received after the match was still on repeat within his uneasiness.

“Maybe I just need a drink.” He thought

He still had not alerted anyone about the update from the unknown number; he knew these types of threats had a long shelf life, and some, like Coach Miles, were not so easy to get close to comfortably.

Sympathy found him at the vending machine outside the library, which meant either fate or a very good guess, since Dane had told no one where he’d be.

“You’ve been avoiding me since spring semester started,” she said, no greeting first, arms folded over a stack of textbooks like how she always remembers to be. “I would like to know why, or I will assume it is because you are a coward.”

“I’m not avoiding you. What do you want from me Sympathy?

“You walk the long way around the quad now. I have watched you do it twice this week, and countless times last month, and the month before.”

Dane’s face went hot, his dark-skinned cheeks turned pink, and love bombs printed all over his expression. He hadn’t realized she’d noticed, hadn’t realized anyone noticed anything he did lately outside of a soccer pitch. “Fine. I’ve been avoiding you. What of it? Don’t you have a boyfriend or whatever, Sympathy?”

“Was it that hard? And I don’t have a boyfriend; I said that my mother accepted a Prince’s marriage proposal without my consent again.” She set her books down on the ledge beside the machine, some of the sharpness leaving her voice. “So that’s the reason for your distance and silence, for an entire six and a half months, practically seven, if not eight?”

“Yes. Wouldn’t you do the same?” He turned his attention back to the vending machine and collected his drink, whichever drink he never had the last time he visited the vending machine. “Should I get you something?”

“No, I’m fine. I have to carry my books. Why don’t you talk to me? Why don’t you pick my calls and chat me up?”

“Because every time I talk to you, I think about these things I don’t let myself think about. My family, what happened to them. I don’t know how to be around someone who makes me feel like I am going to lose another person from my life again. Instead, I’d rather just be Dane-who-plays-defense.”

Sympathy was quiet for a moment, weighing that, the noise of the quad going soft around them like the world had turned its volume down out of respect. She never said a word, just stared and looked everywhere else as if she just never knew what to say to him anymore.

“You don’t know what it is like to lose your parents and a sibling in one breath; you don’t know pain.”

“No. I don’t, but that doesn’t mean that you should just shrug me to the side.” She stepped closer, close enough that he caught the smell of her shampoo; ginger and rain – filling the air around him. “I am not asking you to forget them. I am asking you to let one more person exist in the same space as their memory.”

“Exactly what I don’t want; another missing person memory.” He starts walking immediately after hearing that line.

A flash of real irritation crossed her face before she reined it back in. “You are totally twisting my words in your mind. I lost my father when I was sixteen. I know exactly how heavy it is to carry someone’s absence into every room you walk into.”

He paused, took his drink from his mouth, and turned around to look at her standing where she spoke.

“I hadn’t told you this before; I never like to remember, so I never speak about it.” Something in Dane’s heart felt open a little at the admission, the two of them suddenly standing on more equal footing than he’d realized. “I decided that he wouldn’t be allowed to keep me from living. Your family would not want that for you either.”

“You don’t know anything about my family.” Out of anger, he turned and walked away again.

Sympathy follows out of determination. “No. But I know what grief wants, and it is not the same thing.” She reached out, briefly, and held his wrist, a small gesture that lasted only a second, but seemed to rearrange something in his ego anyway.

“Daniel’s in a hospital bed because of a man who wanted our team to fail. I don’t need my own mind falling apart on top of that.” My sister tries her hardest to keep it intact. I think you should just go get married to your Prince. I’d like my hand back, please…”

“What about my mind, Dane? Did you ever stop to think that maybe you could ask me if I am going to get married to the guy or not? Isn’t it better to know that than to guess?” Her voice had gone gentle now, the challenge in it worn down to something closer to care. “You cannot protect people, nor yourself, by refusing to look at what’s true or false.”

Somewhere in his pocket, his phone buzzed with a text he didn’t acknowledge.

“Have dinner with me,” he said finally. “Not a date, just dinner. Two people talking.”

Sympathy considered him for a long moment, calculating the possible outcomes. “Standard English or Pidgin?”

“Whatever gets you to say yes faster.”

She almost smiled at that, released his wrist, helped her books again with both arms, and started walking. “Friday. Don’t be late to this one, Dane Hamilton. Or don’t “stand me up” as you all say it here.”

“I’m never late, and sure, I will sit you down.”

Sympathy lowered her head for him not to notice her giggling, but he could hear her enchanting laugh struggling to escape a faint pitch – trying hard to be heard.

“You are always late. It is your one flaw.”

“Always late for lectures, not always late.”

“You always dey look to argue with me sha.” Sympathy finally spoke in Pidgin English.

“There it is, that weird pretty language you speak.”

“Well, I got what I wanted, and you got what you wanted; don’t be late for the date that you planned.” She then turned and headed back in the other direction, and like a Déjà vu – Dane stood there astonished at how he had just met her twice – and it felt just like the first time they met, all over again.

“Is that all you want!?” He hurled his voice down the corridor.

“For now, yes!” She didn’t look back, but he could hear the smile in her voice, and something about the sound echoing across the quad made the last few months of avoidance feel like a wasted stretch of time that was impossible to get turned to either of them.

He watched her walk, admired her relentlessly, then finally pulled his phone out as he took another sip of his drink. The text was from Oscar, a screenshot, no caption; the text message read: (“Unknown: “Tell your coach to watch his back. Eric’s not done.”) That only meant one thing: the players were the targets, and not Coach Miles.