Page 45 of Between the Blue
I try to focus on the show, but not a minute goes by before I’m pulling my phone out of the pocket of my sweatpants.Robotically, I find myself opening my email app and staring at the tickets, my teeth sinking into my lower lip.
I spent all afternoon looking for other internship options. Between calling up every fashion company in the city of Austin that I could find a phone number for, scouring every job board in existence, and even spending some time walking into a few boho boutiques with all the confidence I could muster, I came up totally empty.
I know I could keep trying, that there’s got to be something out there, but my chances are seeming slimmer by the second.
My eyes narrow in on the Texas Storm’s team logo on the ticket page. A green outline of the state of Texas with a tornado inside of it. Something makes me click the logo, bringing me to the team’s NHL homepage. The page just barely begins to load before I automatically hit the back button, an infuriating voice in my head making me do so.
You wouldn’t be cut out for it.
I hate that voice. Mostly because it belongs to Bennett James. But, partially, internally, because I know it’s right.
I let myself watch another two minutes of my show and shovel six more scoops of popcorn into my mouth before I’m reaching for my phone again, opening my social media app folder.
I’ve avoided looking at any of the Texas Storm’s existing accounts. I don’t know why, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to look them up. Part of me thinks it’s because I know it will confirm that I won’t want to do this, but another part…the part that has me curious…thinks that maybe it’s because, if I were to take the internship, I wouldn’t want to go into it with any sort of preconceived notion. That I’d want to start from scratch and make it my own. But I’m sure that thought is just silly.
What would I possibly want to do with a hockey team’s page?
Before I can stop myself, ideas start filling my head.
Possibilities, concepts, visions.
I typeTexas Storminto the search bar of the app, seeing the now familiar logo immediately pop up in the results. My finger hovers over it.
You wouldn’t be cut out for it.
I drop my phone on the couch, running my hands through my hair. I shake my head, leaning back and slouching down in my seat.
And that’s when I let it sink in.
That I can’t do this. That I have to find something else. Or figure something else out. Maybe I’ll just retake my program next semester. It probably wouldn’t hurt to learn the basic material twice. It would probably just make me stronger. That way I can stay in my comfort zone and get an internship I really want. Because if I even attempted this one–
You wouldn’t be cut out for it.
I grit my teeth, digging my fingers into the fabric of the couch.
And that’s when I feel myself snap back into reality.
You wouldn’t be cut out for it.
My brow furrows and I sit up straight.
Yeah, fuck that.
I don’t know what I’ve even been thinking.
Because, the fact is, I’m capable ofanything.
And even if this internship isn’t my dream, it’s a great one. And it’s a foot in the door with Natasha Collins. I would be an absolute idiot to not at least entertain it.
I can do this. I have to at least give it a shot. And there’s not a chance in hell that I’ll let the voice of some jerk I barely know from my gym talk me out of it. He doesn’t know me. He has no idea what I’m cut out for.
Hell, the photos I took of him were the reason this opportunity even fell into my lap.
Even I have to appreciate the irony of that.
But not right now.
I’ve got a hockey game to get to.
