OFFSIDE

Chapter 5

NADIA

The university open day had the specific energy of an institution trying very hard to seem fun.

Banners everywhere. Students in Hartwell purple handing out lanyards. A DJ booth near the main entrance playing music at the exact volume that said ‘we're lively’ without saying ‘we're a liability.’ Tables for every club and program lined the main concourse, and at the far end, elevated on a low stage under actual spotlights, was the panel.

Six chairs. A moderator with a microphone. A banner that said

MEET YOUR HARTWELL ATHLETES in the font the university used when it wanted to seem approachable.

I found my name card at seat four.

Seat five said COLE HARTLEY.

I picked up the name card, looked at it, and put it back down.

"You could move it," said a voice behind me.

I turned. Cole was already in his jacket—dark, fitted, the kind of effortless that took effort—and looking at the table with the mild expression of someone reading a menu.

"That would be unprofessional," I said.

"Probably." He pulled out seat five. "After you."

"I was going to sit anyway."

"I know."

I sat. He sat. There were four other athletes at the table. Two from the swim program, one from track, one from women's lacrosse, and they were all having normal human interactions with each other, which I noted and attempted to replicate.

The moderator, a communications student named Theo with good energy and unfortunate hair, ran us through the format. Questions from prospective students, some pre-written, some open floor. Keep answers under two minutes. Be enthusiastic. Be human.

"Any questions before we start?" Theo asked.

"What happens if the questions are bad?" Cole asked back.

"Be enthusiastic anyway."

"Great system," I mocked.

Cole glanced sideways at me. I looked at Theo.

The panel started. The first three questions were about training schedules and academic balance and what we'd say to a student nervous about joining a competitive program, all of which I answered cleanly and honestly. I liked this part actually—talking about the squad, about what we built, about what it meant to walk onto a floor with people who trusted you. It was the only public setting where I didn't feel like I was performing.

The moderator got to question four, which was directed at Cole about the hockey program, and I took the opportunity to reach for my water glass.

That was when I noticed his knee.

Specifically: that it was against mine, and not deliberately. We were in adjacent chairs at a table that was slightly too narrow for the number of chairs at it, and the geometry had simply resolved itself into contact. His knee, my knee, denim against denim, barely there.

I moved mine to the left.

He didn't move his. It stayed where it was, like he hadn't noticed, he probably hadn't. He was answering the question about the hockey program with that calm, measured delivery that made rooms listen to him whether they meant to or not, and his knee was right there and not moving and I was thinking about water.

I was thinking very hard about water.

I picked up my glass. Put it down. Crossed my left leg over my right, which resolved the geometry entirely and also looked like I was just sitting, which I was.

The moderator called my name for the next question; something about what a prospective student should look for in a cheer program versus a dance program, and I answered it well because I always answer it well and because I was not going to let a knee situation affect my panel performance.

Halfway through my answer, a girl in the front row raised her hand with a follow-up. Theo nodded at her.

"Is it true the cheer squad and the hockey team are doing a joint event this semester?" she asked.

The table shifted slightly in the way tables shift when everyone becomes aware of a dynamic at once. I felt it. Cole probably felt it.

"That's right," I said. "We're co-presenting under the same sponsorship package for the semester. Should be a good showcase at the end of the year."

"How do you two work together?" the girl asked, looking between us with the innocent expression of someone who absolutely knew what she was doing. She was going to be fine at this university.

I opened my mouth.

"Seamlessly," Cole said.

I looked at him.

He looked at me. Completely straight-faced, completely composed, and there was something at the very edge of his expression that wasn't quite a smile but was adjacent to one. There and gone in under a second.

The audience laughed, the kind that happens when a room decides two people have chemistry. I felt it land and immediately wanted to dispute it and also couldn't dispute it without making it worse so I smiled like I was in on the joke and said:

"More or less."

Another laugh, louder this time.

Theo moved on. Cole reached for his own water glass. His knee was back. I was absolutely not going to move mine again.

***

Afterward in the spillover of people and lanyards and enthusiastic communications students, Bex appeared from somewhere in the crowd and grabbed my elbow.

"Seamlessly?" she said.

"Bex, please."

"That was… I mean I watched that from the third row and even I felt something."

"You felt nothing. There was nothing to feel."

"The girl in the front row is literally still looking over here."

I didn't turn around. "She's prospective. She's looking at all of us."

"She's looking at you two," Bex said, with the emphasis of a person making a legal argument. "Nadia. The way he said that word…"

"Bex."

"Okay. Okay, I'm done." She held up both hands. "Completely done. Subject closed." A beat. "He didn't move his knee though, right? I saw you move yours. He didn't move his."

"Goodnight," I said.

"It's eleven in the morning."

"Goodnight, Bex."

She laughed and let me go and I made my way through the crowd toward the exit with my folder and my name card—I'd taken it, I don't know why, it had my name on it and I didn't want it left on a table somewhere—and I was almost at the door when my phone buzzed.

A notification. I was tagged in a post. I opened it.

A photo, taken from the third row, phone camera, slightly angled. The panel table. Cole mid-answer, profile sharp, and beside him me, and we were leaning almost imperceptibly toward each other in the way people do when a table is slightly too narrow, though not touching.

The caption said: Hartwell hockey captain and cheer captain on the same panel and the tension is UNREAL someone write the fic.

Four hundred and twelve likes.

I stood in the doorway and stared at my phone.

Then I put it in my pocket, walked out into the September air, and decided that four hundred and twelve people were wrong and also had too much time on their hands.

My phone buzzed again.

Bex: Have you seen twitter?

Me: yes

Bex: four hundred and twelve people, nadia!

Me: goodnight bex

Bex: IT'S ELEVEN AM!