Page 3 of Tight End

2

Taylor

I found my office next to John Conningsworth’s. There wasn’t a window, but the walls were made from dark wood and the desk looked ancient and regal. I ran my fingertips over the surface, which was smooth from decades of use.

“The big leagues,” I said, thinking about what Conningsworth had said. That’s how this felt compared to my old position at UC Davis.

I went out to my car to retrieve my box of belongings, then unpacked. I didn’t have a lot of things. A desk-sized model of a stegosaurus skeleton, pieced together with wire. A framed photo of me and my parents at a cheerleading competition when I was nine. A handful of academic awards I had earned at Stanford, including the Prestigious Award for Scientific Excellence.

After that, I opened my laptop and spent some time reviewing the syllabus for my summer class. I was only teaching one class this summer, then two in the fall semester, followed by three in the spring. And the summer class didn’t begin for another week. But now that I was here, sitting in my office, I wanted to do some work! Even if it meant reformatting the syllabus from Arial font to Times Roman, and back again.

I left campus and went to Panera Bread for dinner. Not very fancy, I know, but they have really good bread bowls! I also felt comfortable eating dinner by myself there, whereas at a real restaurant I would feel awkward and alone. I still hadn’t made any friends since moving to Salt Lake City.

But that was going to change tonight. I was going to meet some of my colleagues! With luck, some of them would be closer to my age. People I could become friends with, like back at UC Davis.

I got to the bar, Tommy’s, at five minutes to six. My dad always said that if you weren’t early, you were late! The bar was mildly crowded, but I didn’t see anyone who looked like they were from the paleontology department. Since I was the first one there, I grabbed a large high-top table in the corner of the room, with a good view of the screen where the trivia would be played.

When the waitress came around, I ordered a blonde ale and told her to start a tab for everyone at the table. “When does trivia start?” I asked.

“Trivia starts at seven.” She pulled out a paper scorecard and handed it to me. “No cheating. Had a problem with people looking up the answers on cell phones last week. If we see it, we’re kicking you out.”

“No problem!” I said. “The group I’m with are all college professors. You probably know them—they said they come here every Tuesday.”

She grunted a noncommittal answer and then retrieved my beer. I smiled as I took a sip. If trivia didn’t start until seven, that meant I had plenty of time to talk to the rest of the faculty members. And if I got to play, I knew I would impress them with my knowledge.

Things are looking up!

I was soon disillusioned with that notion.

Even though the Dean said they were meeting at six, I didn’t see anyone who looked like they would fit the bill. The bar began to fill up, but it was mostly a younger crowd.

When a man in a tweed jacket walked in, I practically jumped up and ran to him. “Hi! Are you a professor at Utah?”

The man recoiled like I was a dog who was going to attack him. “Professor? I’m in real estate.”

“Oh. Sorry!”

I slumped back over to my table and waited some more. Did I have the right place? The Dean definitely said Tommy’s, and a quick internet search showed this was the only bar with that name. Maybe he had the time wrong. He might have meant seven instead of six, especially since that’s when trivia actually began. I shot him an email just to be sure.

By six forty-five, I was getting desperate. I asked every new patron if they were from the paleontology department. I even went around to the existing tables to make sure I hadn’t missed them. I began to feel like a hobo asking for change.

The Dean hadn’t responded to my email, so I looked up a few of the other department professors on the faculty website and sent a group email to all of them, asking if I had the right place for trivia.

My infinite well of optimism was starting to run dry. Other tables filled up with trivia teams. Some even wore matching shirts with cheesy names like Trivia Triumvirate.

And then there was me, sitting at a big table all by myself. The sad girl who was stood up.

They’re not coming.

I was beginning to wonder if I should bail on the whole night. It would be easier to slip out now than when trivia had already started. Less embarrassing, too. Then I could go be sad at home without an audience.

I was about to close out my tab when Brody Carter, a man I had never met, came up to me.

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