Page 60 of Blindside Me
The mic reeks of dust and someone else’s stale breath, but I adjust it with sniper-level precision. I’m alone in the AV booth, but Jade’s presence is everywhere. Her half-drained coffee cup sits just outside the glass. Lavender, pencil shavings, and that vanilla spray she claims isn’t perfume linger like a dare.
I clear my throat. Crack my knuckles. The script in front of me is a rainbow of highlighters and timestamps. I planned every inhale, every pause. Because if I don’t stick to the plan, I’ll say too much.
I take a deep breath and hit record.
“When I started this project, I picked a documentary. Safe. Easy to analyze.” The words come out smooth and practiced. I’ve rehearsed this opening at least fifteen times. “But I didn’t choose it because it was well-made. I chose it because it showed a guy who cracked under pressure. Because I recognized him.”
JADE
I’m a blanket burrito on my dorm floor with my knees pressinginto the purple shag blanket and comforter tucked under my chin like armor. Alone, just me and the rain tapping steadily against the window. It’s a hypnotic kind of rhythm that makes you remember things you tried to forget.
My phone rests on my chest, red light blinking.
There’s no script. No plan. Just me and whatever comes out.
I breathe in and hit record.
“I was supposed to pick a movie that shaped me. And I did. But halfway through, I realized … I wasn’t really talking about the movie.”
My voice cracks. I stop. Swallow. Start again, but softer this time.
“I pickedSpirit Awaybecause it made me feel safe. I liked watching girls who got to be scared and messy. Because I wasn’t allowed to be.”
My throat tightens. Memories rush in: Mom’s tight-lipped smiles, the careful way she said, “Don’t be dramatic” every time I cried as a child as she left, and the pressure to be the perfect child. I thought she’d stay if I remained problem-free.
I grab my sketchbook to comfort draw as I keep talking. “But watching it didn’t fix anything. It only reminded me that being lost wasn’t the same as being broken.”
DREW
I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck. The booth shrinks around me as I force out the truth.
“He was never enough. Not even after the win. It’s the way I feel about myself. I used to think perfection was the goal. Now I think it’s armor.”
My gaze slides to the door. I’m still alone. Still safe. But saying it aloud? It splits me open.
JADE
I stare at the ceiling as if it might have the answers.
“I pretend I’m fine so no one sees me unravel. But lately … someone’s been seeing through that.”
My hand moves over the sketchpad automatically. I don’t even notice what I’m drawing until it sharpens into his eyes. Always his eyes.
DREW
“She’s chaos, always doodling in the margins of her notes. Nothing about her is simple. But she listens like she already knows how the story ends and still wants to hear it. It’s in the quiet when my ego’s bruised after practice, and she just … stands beside me. Doesn’t try to fix it. Just stays.”
My throat tightens. That wasn’t in the script. None of this is.
“She makes me believe I’m more than a box score. That maybe I’m already enough.”
JADE
“He pretends not to feel anything. But I think that’s the loudest feeling of all.”
I close my eyes.
“It’s in the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Like he’s scared I’ll disappear. It’s in the hoodie hedraped over my shoulders when I nodded off to sleep. The protein bar he slid across the desk when I skipped dinner.”
