What was it that made athletes push so hard? Without their desire and willpower to improve their performance, all the other mental factors—poise, intensity, focus, and passion—were meaningless. To become the best, an athlete must be motivated to do what it takes to push past where others stop. I’d read about many rising stars who had peaked early and became disappointments when their development leveled off. I wasn’t going to be one of them.
Being the number-one football recruit in the land put a target on my back. It would be easy to get by on my talent. I might even become a fantastic college quarterback or college baseball player. If I played in the pros, I didn’t want to be the guy they said had a lot of potential and didn’t live up to it. I’d worked too hard to allow that to happen and had an inner desire to prove myself the best.
To get there, I had to face each challenge head-on. If Joey thought that killing me on the rowing machine would get me closer to my goal, I would grit my teeth and do it. My heart seemed like it might burst from my chest as I pushed beyond anything I’d ever done before.
“Time!” Joey finally called.
I gave it two more pulls and then collapsed. I felt like I’d sprinted a marathon.
Joey had a huge smile on her face.
“I’ve never had anyone at any level last that long at that setting. We might actually be getting somewhere,” she shared.
Cassidy handed me a water bottle. I took a swig and poured it on my head to help cool down. When I could finally stand up, I did, and pulled my shirt over my head. I caught Joey checking me out, which secretly pleased me. Even though I’d put her out of bounds in my mind, now that she was no longer actively trying to kill me, my attraction to her reasserted itself.
They sent me out to the field house track to run a few laps to cool down. As I left, Joey was sharing with Cassidy my progress and what she planned for me next. Cassidy was like a sponge, hanging on every piece of wisdom Joey uttered.
When I finished, I took extra time stretching. If I didn’t, I would be sore tomorrow. I almost certainly would be anyway, but stretching helped prevent the worst of it. After that, I took a quick shower and jumped into an ice bath.
It had been a good workout.
◊◊◊
I’d slipped my security. Cassidy had been assigned to watch me, but I told her what I planned to do, and she let me off my leash. It gave me a chance to drive my Dodge Demon, which was always a treat. I swung by Pam’s condo and picked her up so we could take Tracy to dinner. I’d promised I would stop by her dorm room since Christmas break but had been a complete slug, and not gone.
When we got close to Tracy’s dorm, Townsend Hall, Pam sent her a text.
“We’ll see her dorm after,” Pam said.
I pulled up on Gregory Street and found Tracy waiting for us. She jumped into the back seat.
“Where to?” I asked.
“We’re going to the Krannert Art Museum first. My roommate is having a show of her photography, and I promised to bring you to her opening,” Tracy explained.
“Do we get to eat?” I asked.
“Yes, David. I promise to feed you,” Tracy said, acting put out.
I glanced back in the rearview mirror, and her face betrayed her. She was just giving me a hard time. I’d missed her.
“David is taking me out Friday night,” Pam shared.
“Is he? Do tell,” Tracy responded.
I tuned them out as I drove through campus. This time next year, I would be at the University of Michigan, experiencing all this firsthand. I was jealous that Tracy got to do it now.
The Krannert Art Museum, or KAM for short, was one of the few cultural hot spots in our area. Tracy’s roommate’s exhibit was being held in the lower-level lobby. She displayed a series of photographs using a technique called ‘horizontal mirror.’ The idea was simple: you took the image, flipped it over, and then butted the two images together to create art. It was as if the photo was a reflection of itself.
The end result was not something you usually saw, so it had a noticeable impact that was oddly beautiful. The first photo had been taken from atop a grain silo. It was a simple picture of a fence row, slightly off-center. The converging halves of the mirrored image made fascinating and unexpected forms from an otherwise ‘ordinary’ rural setting. It had the vibe of one of those art pieces meant to trick your eye. The fence seemed to merge into itself.
“Hey, Big Hands,” a female voice said behind me.
I turned around to see Destiny Crown’s cousin Jocelyn. She was the girl in the sorority who had invited our baseball team to a frat party last year. Then, on the date Destiny won by gathering signatures for Duke’s candidacy for mayor, she’d taken Destiny and me to another party. I’d teased Jocelyn and her friends with the old wives’ tale that big hands and big feet equaled being big in other areas of your anatomy.
“Hey.”
“David, meet Jocelyn. She’s my roommate, and this is her exhibition,” Tracy said.
“We’ve met a couple of times,” she said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tracy asked her roommate.
