Knight On The Field

Summer’s finally over, and the new school year starts in two days. It’s my senior year in high school—thank God. Although the last three years have been fairly good to me, I’m so over the same self-centered, immature people I’m stuck with day after day, year after year. Luckily for me, college is right around the corner, and I’m more than ready to get the hell out of this not-so-big city.

The maximum effort I’ve put into getting myself into a great school, according to my guidance counselor, should pay off with offer letters pouring in. But there’s only one university I’ve had my heart set on, and I might be a little biased, since it’s the college my mom attended. A part of me believes going there will make me feel closer to her.

When my mom died almost eight years ago, my life took a drastic turn at the young age of nine. My dad decided he couldn’t handle taking care of me on his own, even though I was an only child. So he pawned me off on my grandpa, who lived in a manufactured home in Surprise, Arizona, smack in the middle of the desert. Long story short, I’ve been here ever since, and I love every bit of it.

Though I still think about my dad, it was his choice to give me up, and I’ve accepted that. The fact that he hasn’t reached out to me in nearly nine years just proves I’m better off. I have my Papa to thank for that. I even changed my last name to his—my mother’s maiden name. Once I became Willow Nash, I felt like a new person, and I left my dad where he belongs: in my past.

I lie in bed on this Saturday night, scrolling through my social media and checking updates from classmates. All summer long, my feed has been full of party invites and photos of the popular kids at those parties, with randoms hovering in the back—red cups in hand. Now, I’m not opposed to house parties. I go to some of them myself, mostly when my best friend, Jasmine, drags me along. But I can’t get down with how much everyone drinks or the reckless posts they throw online for someone’s parents to see. My grandpa would kill me.

Bursts of laughter escape me as I scroll past memes and stupidly funny, relatable posts. Then my thumb freezes mid-scroll, my eyes widen, my breath hitches, and my whole body tightens. A picture of Cameron Knight, captioned: Sweet home, Arizona. The post was from six hours ago and tagged the Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix. My jaw hangs open, and my mouth goes dry.

To make sure I’m not delusional, I reread the caption, and with my heart pounding in my chest, I sit up in bed. I tap on Cameron’s profile and scroll through his timeline. His previous post says: Finally moving back to Arizona! Three more weeks!

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” I shriek.

He’s back. Cameron is back. How did I miss this?

Cameron Knight was the heartthrob of our elementary school. He was a rising star on the football field, and he became one of my first friends when I moved to Arizona from Michigan in fifth grade. After he saw me getting bullied for being the new girl with glasses who always carried her flute around—basically a certified nerd—he stepped in and protected me.

With Cameron by my side through our elementary school days, I never ran into trouble again. No slick bullies, nothing. By eighth grade, I was Cameron’s girl.

That all ended the following summer, when he moved to California with his mom after his parents split the first time. We kept in touch for a while—until the summer after freshman year. For a long time, I kept tabs on him, and up until now, I’ve noticed he never posts any photos with girls on his profile. But this is Cameron I’m talking about, the star football player at his school. I’m sure he’s played the field a little. Or a lot.

I never used to see Cameron as more than a friend, but I can’t deny he’s turned seriously attractive over the last three years.

I glance down at my phone when the screen lights up beside me on the bed. I’d left it on silent earlier so it wouldn’t interrupt my nap. Picking it up, I check the notification—it’s from Jasmine Greene, my best friend. I met Jasmine back in seventh grade during softball tryouts. Her mom used to take us out for ice cream after every game we won, and we won them all except for the championships. It always brings back good memories.

“Hey, girly, I’m officially on my way to you now,” her text read.

Jasmine’s coming over to hang out and watch scary movies with me — our usual weekend ritual when we’re not out shopping. I text her back, then roll out of bed and head to the kitchen. After grabbing two bags of popcorn from the pantry, I toss them into the microwave one at a time. Once they’re popped, I pour them into a deep bowl. I’m setting out the drinks when a knock sounds at the door, and I hurry to answer it.

“Hey, boo,” Jasmine greets me. We blow kisses on either side of each other’s face, just like we always have.

Eyeing the store bags in her hands, I grin. “You bought Candy!”

“What’s a movie without boxed candy like at the movie theater?”

My smile widens. “This is why we’re best friends—you get me.”

“Too bad we don’t have movie-theater popcorn to top it off.”

“Mm… four layers of butter,” I say, closing my eyes and imagining the smell and taste of all that buttery goodness. “Ugh, that would be so bomb right now.”

Jasmine walks past me to the kitchen and sets the bags on the counter. She turns to face me. “Tell me you saw that Cameron Knight is back.”

At the mention of Cameron’s name, my heart jumps, and my stomach flips and swirls. I bite my bottom lip, picturing running into him again after all this time.

“Oh?”I ask, trying to sound casual.

Through squinted eyes, Jasmine shakes her head and laughs. “You mean to tell me you haven’t seen his posts lately?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Cameron hasn’t crossed my mind in an awfully long time.” I lie, just a little—and Jasmine doesn’t buy it for a second.

“You’re such a bad liar, Willow,” she says, calling me out.

“Alright, fine. Yes, I know Cameron’s back, but I only found out about an hour ago,” I admit.

“He’s starting school with us on Monday, you know. And my, has he gotten even more…” Jasmine trails off, fanning herself dramatically.

I can’t help but laugh, rolling my eyes and shaking my head.

“What? You have to admit, he was cute in elementary school, but now he’s kind of buff and totally hot.”

“I mean, he’s still the same Cameron who probably only remembers Dorky Willow—awkward phases, humiliating moments, and all. So even if I think he’s hot, what’s it matter?”

“Oh, come on, Willow. I haven’t completely forgotten the way he used to look at you. That boy was always mesmerized, like he was waiting for you to notice him.”

“For me to notice him?” I ask in disbelief. “Yeah, right.”

I snag the bowl of popcorn while Jasmine gathers the candy, then trails me down the hall to the media room my grandpa converted from the third bedroom. It’s small but fits four reclining chairs with enough space to stretch your arms, speakers tucked into each corner. When the door closes behind us, the outside world disappears as the projector hums to life.

“Cameron Knight and Willow Nash, cutest couple in school,” Jasmine sings.

“Drop it, Jasmine. I’m not pursuing Cameron.”

“Oh, I know that. But that doesn’t mean he won’t pursue you. The question is, will you let him? Dun, Dun, Dun…”

I roll my eyes, pretending her words don’t make my stomach flutter. Thankfully, the previews start, and she finally changes the subject.

“Where’s your grandpa?”

“He’s out with his new girlfriend again. I doubt he’ll be coming home tonight.”

Jasmine directs her gaze at me with a questioning look. “I wonder… Do old people still do it?”

My whole face scrunches. “Oh my God, Jasmine! I don’t know.” Heat crawls up my neck, the kind that makes my brain want to eject from my skull. I knew the basics of sex—Jasmine made sure of that— but hearing it out loud still makes my brain short-circuit— especially sex and my grandpa in the same sentence. “Don’t make me puke.”

“I wonder if they have a harder time getting it up at that age.” She adds, ingraining an image in my mind now.

I cover my ears. “Ugh, ew, no. We are not talking about this. Ew! You’re putting images I don’t care for in my head.” I shake the forming mortifying pictures out of my mind, but Jasmine keeps going, making it almost impossible.

“At least your grandpa is still pretty young and handsome. What is he, like fifty’s? Mine is in his eighties and wrinkled.” She scrunches her face.

Interrupting any further conversation on the matter, I blurt, “Okay… movie time!” Jasmine laughs, and I join in.

“Something funny scary, gory, scary, or plain old scary?” I ask while kicking my feet up on the recliner.

“Gory, definitely gory.”

We settle on a movie and press play. But not even fifteen minutes in, my mind drifts back to Cameron. I can’t help but wonder if he’s still the boy I knew in elementary school, or if his “hotness” and high school football fame changed him into someone I won’t recognize.

“Oh shit! She’s going to die! She’s going to die! Run, bitch!” Jasmine yanks me out of my thoughts, and I glance over at her. Her hands cover her eyes, but she’s still peeking through her fingers. I laugh and turn back to the screen, and we watch movies until we eventually doze off in the recliners.

Morning hits hard. My neck aches as I sit up, and Jasmine is slumped over the armrest like a corpse. I nudge her awake and tell her we’re moving to my room. She drags her feet the whole way, eyes still closed, so I have to guide her.

After another two hours of sleep and a quick cleanup of the house, Jasmine heads home. I stand in my closet, staring at a few outfits, trying to decide what to wear for the first week of school. The butterflies in my stomach refuse to settle, and I sigh. Ever since I found out Cameron’s back in town, I can’t get him out of my head. And he still hasn’t reached out, which… I have to admit, it stings a little. At this point, is it even safe to call him my friend? We haven’t talked in forever.

I decide on a few outfits, then, in a split decision, I sit on my bed, open my laptop, and find myself on Cameron’s social media page. He was active one hour ago. My eyebrows thread together. Why hasn’t he messaged me? I flop backward and stare at the ceiling. Does it even matter what I wear?

Why are you overthinking this, Willow? I mean, it’s Cameron, and you’re trying to impress him. Why? My right hand palms my forehead. “Oh, Willow…” I breathe, closing my eyes with a shake of my head. “Willow, Willow, Willow.”

A knock on my bedroom door interrupts my thoughts, and I wonder how long I’ve been lost in them.

“Hey, youngster. I made your favorite,” my grandpa, Arthur, says, peeking his head inside.

“Mmm… Enchiladas?”

His smile widens. “Do you have another favorite food I don’t know about?” He waves me toward the kitchen.

I sit at the table while Papa brings over the salad and ranch, setting them in the middle. “Are you excited about the start of your senior year tomorrow?” he asks as he scoops salad into a smaller bowl.

“Yes and no,” I answer honestly. “I’m just ready to graduate.”

Papa scrunches his eyebrows. “That’s it? What about prom, football games, and your softball games? High school is supposed to be fun and exciting, too, Willow.” He chuckles. “I remember those days. Good times.”

“Are we going to talk about your football highlights again?”

I’ve heard Papa’s stories more times than I can count.

He laughs. “No, not this time, young one. This is your year to shine. You’ve got softball, straight A’s, and you’ve got your head on straight.” He takes a bite, then adds, “But you should explore more. Try new things. This is your last year, after all. Do you plan on going to prom this year?”

I take a bite of my food, dodging the question. I stopped going to school dances two years ago after one of the worst experiences of my life. Besides, being around a bunch of sweaty teens grinding all over each other—basically doing everything but having sex on the dance floor—wasn’t my idea of fun.

“You know what happens at prom, right?” I ask.

Papa thinks for a moment as he chews. “Okay. Based on my own experiences, yes, I can imagine what goes on,” he admits.

“Mhm. Being the star quarterback comes with some perks, huh?” I smirk.

“I know you, Willow. You’re not the type. You’ll be fine. And you’re not going to let Jasmine go alone, are you?”

“Jasmine’s been talking to someone lately, so who knows what’ll happen with that.”

“Talking? Is that youth slang for dating?”

“Kind of, minus the dates.”

“So, literally just talking?” Papa confirms. “Boy, whatever happened to the days when people actually went on proper dates?”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Papa. Nowadays, having sex or fooling around is basically equivalent to dating,” I say, bringing him up to speed.

“Okay. What about football games? You can’t go wrong there,” he says while finishing his plate. To get Papa off my back about school events, I give him a simple “maybe”. He accepts it and stands to clean the dishes. I join him once I clear my own plate.

When the kitchen is finally clean, I say goodnight to Papa and head to my room for the rest of the evening. I grab my laptop from my bed and set it on my desk before sinking into my chair.

I guess I can’t help myself, because here I am again on Cameron’s social media page. This time, I’m scrolling through his photos—most of them years old, with only a couple of recent tagged ones.

I click through his album and come across an old photo of us from elementary school. My lips tug into a smile. I remember that day.

In the picture, Cameron is smiling down at me sweetly while I look straight at his mom, who’s taking the photo. I’m holding the second-place state spelling bee trophy I won in eighth grade. I click the arrow to go to the next picture and gasp, realizing what I’ve just done.

“Oh no. No, no, no, no! I did not just do that.” But I did. I accidentally liked the photo. “Stupid mouse pad!”

My brain goes into full meltdown mode. I can just unlike it… right? I bite my lower lip. Ugh, no. Then he’ll see that I liked it and then unliked it, which is even worse. But if I leave it, he’ll know anyway.

I sink deeper into my chair, trying to calm my nerves. “Okay. It’s fine. There’s a chance he won’t even see the notification. So I’m good. I am good,” I tell myself, staring at the screen for way too long, still debating whether I should undo the like I never meant to give.

I pick up my phone to call Jasmine. Maybe she’ll know what to do. The line rings three times before she finally picks up. “Hello?”

“Jasmine! Oh my God, I did something stupid!”

“What happened.”

“I was looking through Cameron’s photos on his social media page, and I accidentally liked one of his pictures.” The words tumble out in a rush.

“Yep, that is stupid,” she says.

“Shut up and help me! What do I do?”

“Nothing. You do nothing. It’s too late. The damage is done. Now you ride it out.”

“You’re no help at all.” I shake my head.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be by your side to ease the awkwardness. Anyway, it’s time for beauty rest. I’ll see you in the morning for school.”

She hangs up.

I close my laptop and head to the bathroom to shower before getting into bed. And right before my eyes close, I think, I hope he’s still the same sweet Cameron. My Cameron.