I run my fingers along the spines, feeling the words and emotions as I skim over the volumes of my life. I pull one out that was written when I was ten years old. Pax filled the pages even then. I skip ahead, finding more mentions of him as I hit journal entries from when I was twelve, thirteen, fourteen… He’s been an intrinsic part of my life for so long—much longer than I realized.
I pause to read a few memories of Rae and Dylan, my smile wide as I recall the moments painted in time. I think about Pax again and the rules and what had inspired them. My objective to become more popular and climb out of my proverbial shell and stop being an eternal introvert. I had thought the grass would be greener, the parties more fun, and my life somehow richer if I had a larger social network and was more popular and confident, and what I’ve realized over the past several weeks is that I’m happy being an introvert. I’m happy being Rae’s best friend and Dylan’s sister. I like my small group of intimate friends who I know will have my back and don’t only care about me because of my association with someone else. It may not be a popular opinion, but there’s something incredibly fulfilling and shockingly wonderful found in familiarity and loyalty.
I continue to flip through pages, reading over notes and thoughts that all reveal one alarmingly clear realization: I’ve been in love with Paxton Lawson for most of my life. I’m sure of it. I carefully re-shelf the journal I’d been reading and grab my suitcase from the top of my closet. I need to pack and find a flight to Vegas. Paxton is more than my past and my memories, he’s my future.
My bag weighs well over fifty pounds, I’m sure of it, but I panic packed, and that included a lot of second-guessing about what might happen once I get to Vegas and if I’ll be flying back tonight once I realize this is a mistake or if I’ll manage to get to the hotel and build enough courage to go talk to Pax and sort through this mess.
“Poppy!” Our apartment manager greets me by name. “I’m so glad I caught you,” she says. “Your deliveries are filling my office.”
“My deliveries?”
She nods. “Do you want me to help you carry them?”
“Would it be okay if I come and get them on Monday?”
“Monday?” She eyes my suitcase. “Would it be all right if I have Jimmy, our maintenance rep, put them in your apartment?”
I nod. “Absolutely. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t you want to see them first?”
“How many boxes are there?”
“Boxes?” she asks. “Maybe you should come in for just a second…?”
I debate saying no, but she’s already opened the door, waiting for me. “I just need to get my suitcase in my car, and I’ll be right there,” I tell her. A part of me still can’t believe I’m flying to another state to profess my feelings to Pax, which is definitely not within my normal wheelhouse. But I also know that being an introvert doesn’t mean I’m not strong and confident and capable because right now I feel all of those things and so much more as I stuff my suitcase into my car with a new resolve.
I slam the trunk closed and run into the office, hoping to pop my head in and thank her for having whatever arrived delivered but stop when I see the dozen or so bouquets that sit on every surface. Rather than traditional bouquets of flowers, these ones are made of candy bars, fruit, paper flowers, rolled book pages, and cookies. I go to the one comprised of paper flowers. They are so delicate and perfect they nearly look real.
“I thought you might want to see these since it looked like you were heading out,” she says.
I nod and smile in appreciation. “Thanks for stopping me.” I fish the small card from the bouquet.
You’re my favorite rule. You always have been, and you always will be. Love, Pax
34
Paxton
“Did you hear anything I just said?” Lincoln asks.
“What?” I ask as the elevator doors open to the lobby.
Arlo laughs, but Lincoln scowls. “You have to get your head in this, or we’re not going to stand a chance tomorrow.”
I feel mentally and physically exhausted, but even more so, I feel emotionally depleted. My thoughts are consumed with how to make things right with Poppy, regardless of the cost or sacrifice, and I can tell it’s making Lincoln nervous as he begins to realize this as well. He expels a long breath and looks at Arlo, who shrugs.
“After dinner with the team, maybe you should call her?” Arlo suggests as we pass through the doors of the hotel where a large bus is waiting to take us and the rest of the team to dinner. Everyone’s mood is light, anticipation and confidence radiating through their expressions and motions like a drug. I wish I could take a hit of it.
Dinner is filled with speeches and carbs, pastas, breads, potatoes, all of it delicious, which only makes me think of Poppy again. She would love this place. Coach Harris faces me from his seat beside mine. “Tomorrow is going to be your night. I can feel it,” he tells me. “All the weeks and months and years of practicing and studying tape and working are going to be worth it after tomorrow. This game is going to put you on the map. Even if you don’t get to go to the Seahawks, I have no doubt they’ll want you, and you’ll be able to trade to
