Off the Ice

Hey, I'm Jennaya Williams, but my friends call me Jenna. I am 17 years old. I applied for study in the New York Montessori school and I was waiting eagerly for the time to check if my scholarship list would drop. I was so restless, I went to the restroom more than I can count. Every few minutes I found myself checking my phone, then putting it down, then picking it right back up again like it would somehow change anything. I even played some music in my earbuds and danced to it just so I could take my mind away from it for a while, but to no avail. My foot kept tapping against the floor on its own, completely out of rhythm with the song. I tried reading a few pages of a book I'd already finished twice. I tried scrolling through old photos. Nothing worked. My mind always drifted right back to that one website, that one page, that one list I hadn't seen yet. I just set my alarm for 10:50 pm and went to sleep. I barely slept, I kept on tossing on the bed still. Every time I closed my eyes I imagined the page loading, the names appearing one after another, and my own name either showing up or not. I was so eager and nervous at the same time. My stomach felt like it had turned into a washing machine, churning and twisting no matter how many deep breaths I took. My best friend George went to the same day school, so I had no need to worry about companionship. He would be with me through one bit or another in class but that didn't matter though. George had this easy way about him, the kind of friend who could make you laugh even when your nerves were shredded, and I found myself wishing he was awake right then just so I could talk through the anxiety out loud instead of letting it sit there in my chest. And also my crush was the hockey team captain in the school. Carlton Fernandez. I've had a crush on him for some time. It's not been that long, I guess since 5th grade. I think that's a long time though but I do not mind. He is so handsome and has the most magnificent build I've ever seen. Tall, broad shouldered, the kind of presence that made an entire hallway seem to shift attention toward him without him even trying. Like, God allowed a human being to own such an amount of good looks? But of course I'm just like a secret admirer or one of his many crazy fans. There were probably dozens of girls who felt exactly the way I did, sneaking glances at him across the cafeteria or pretending not to watch his interviews after games. You wouldn't believe I know almost everything about him. I follow all his social handles. I know his number. He is number 17 on the Blackhawks, New York Montessori High hockey team. I knew his favorite pre-game meal, the song he always played before stepping onto the ice, even the brand of gloves he wore. It was a little embarrassing how much I'd absorbed over the years, but I told myself it was harmless. A private little hobby. Nothing more. But before I certainly do not allow my little fascination take away my major priorities. I prepared really hard for this scholarship examination and I'm hoping my time and diligence pays off. Months of late nights, flashcards taped to my mirror, practice tests scattered across my desk until the pages curled at the edges. My parents had watched me pour myself into it, and even they started telling me to take breaks, to breathe, to trust that I had done enough. And finally, it's 10:50pm and my alarm brought me back from wonder land. I waited for the remaining ten minutes on the site. I refused to go off, I kept on refreshing the page until finally it was 11:00pm. Each refresh felt like its own small heartbeat, a tiny jolt of hope and dread tangled together. One minute later, I got an email notification on my laptop. The little chime sound felt impossibly loud in the quiet of my room, like it had been amplified just to torture me a little longer. My parents were up too. They knocked at the door and I told them to come in. I could hear the soft shuffle of my mom's slippers against the hallway floor, and my dad clearing his throat the way he always did when he was nervous on someone else's behalf. I refused to check it and my mom assured me that whatever the results were, they were both going to be proud of me. She sat on the edge of my bed and squeezed my hand, her thumb brushing gently over my knuckles the way she used to do when I was little and scared of thunderstorms. I finally took the bold step and opened the email with my hand on my eyes. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears, a steady drumbeat that seemed to drown out everything else in the room. I peeped through the grove of my fingers and it read: "Congratulations Jennaya Williams, you've been offered admission to the New York Montessori High School on scholarship." I screamed out of joy and my parents embraced me. The sound that came out of me didn't even feel like my own voice, some high, disbelieving shout that probably woke up the neighbors. My dad nearly knocked over the lamp on my nightstand rushing to wrap his arms around me. "We're so proud of you Jenna," my dad said as he ran his fingers through my hair, his voice thick in a way that told me he was trying not to get emotional in front of me. My mom was already wiping at her eyes, laughing and crying at the same time, the way she always did whenever something good happened to either of us. I was so happy because this is a new beginning for me and I was so eager to see what the school had in store for me. I lay back against my pillows long after my parents had gone back to bed, staring up at the ceiling with a smile I couldn't shake off. Somewhere out there, in those hallways I'd only seen in photos online, was a whole new chapter waiting to start. New teachers, new friends, maybe even new versions of myself I hadn't met yet. And somewhere in that same building, walking those same halls every single day, was Carlton Fernandez. I told myself that didn't matter. I told myself the scholarship was the only thing I cared about tonight. But as I finally drifted off to sleep, a small, stubborn part of me couldn't help wondering what it might feel like to actually see him in person for the first time, not through a screen, not through secondhand photos, but right there in the same space as me. For now though, all I could do was hold onto the joy of the moment, the proof that months of hard work had actually meant something, and let myself believe that everything else would fall into place exactly the way it was supposed to.