How I Met My Girlfriend Who Studies Chemistry: Part II

(This is the second part in a four-part series I unveiled in honor of my 100^th blog post. For the first post in the series, click here.)

After my recruiting trip, the second time I saw Tiffany was nearly a year later when I was officially part of the team. Along with more than 20 other girls, I was seated in the hallway outside the training room waiting for my physical. We had to be declared healthy before we could run the mile, the first of our fitness tests.

I had flown in the day before. Both my parents had taken me to the airport. Because I had never been away from home for more than 12 consecutive days, I was so nervous I wanted to throw up. I didn’t, though. Instead, I tried to be brave.

“This time tomorrow I should have 20 or so new friends,” I told my parents, my voice filled with false cheer. This was very optimistic of me. In four years of high school, I had three best friends. They were all boys. That's an accrual rate of less than one best friend per year.

“That’s the spirit,” my dad said, choking back a sob.

My mom didn’t bother to choke her sobs back. Her shoulders heaved as she cried.

A day later and more than 1,000 miles away, I sat cross-legged on the cold tile outside the training room next to a girl named Jessie from Long Island. She was not scared at all. She was The World’s Greatest Goalie, and she knew it. I was a midfielder from Kansas, a state no one in Boston seemed to know existed, and that’s exactly how I felt.

“Re-be-cca,” Jessie said, trying my name out while we waited. “Too long. We’ll have to give you a nickname.”

At the pulse-taking station, Jessie’s pulse was 63. Mine was 110.

“Hold on,” our student trainer said. “Let me try that again, I think I miscounted.”

She hadn’t.

“Wait, did you already run the mile?”

I shook my head. The trainer called her supervisor over.

“Are you having a heart attack?” Jessie called happily from the blood pressure table.

“Are you dead?” I snapped back, trying to regain whatever confidence I’d once had.

Jessie laughed, loudly. Well, I thought to myself: one friend down.

After the mile, my heart rate slowed considerably. It picked back up, however, when we piled out of the team vans at the camp where we were spending two weeks to train.

“Upperclassmen, pick a younger teammate to room with,” our coach called, marching off with her bags.

By the time I got out of the van, making my way from the very last seat, all the other freshmen had been picked. I stood, mortified, with my duffel bag.

“I’ll take you,” Tiffany said, smiling brightly.* “Come on, let’s go pick out a room.”

Once there, she pulled out her sheets and blankets with a flourish, making her twin bed up nicely.

“Where are your sheets?” she asked.

I pulled out the purple sleeping bag I’d had since second grade. My brother had an identical bag in green.

“My parents are bringing my bedding when they come after pre-season,” I explained, tossing the nylon bag onto my bed, which had an enormous dip in the middle. The bag immediately slipped off to the floor.

“Your bed has a hole in it,” Tiffany pointed out. “Why don’t you take mine? I don’t need to sleep well.”

She was recovering from shin surgery and unable to practice.

“No way,” I said. “I couldn’t do that. Thank you, though.”

She shrugged, then unscrewed a bottle of chewable vitamin C.

“Want one?” she asked.

Two friends down, I thought.

*I found out later she’d been coerced into taking me by our team captain.

(To be continued... This is the second part in a four-part series I unveiled in honor of my 100^th blog post. For the next post in the series, click here.)