Cindy meets someone who challenges everything she believes.
Start of fall semester, 2009, UGA, Athens, Georgia.
I was so late.
The sound of my sneakers hitting the sidewalk echoed in my ears, my backpack bouncing against my shoulders as I ran. It’s a good thing I was in shape.
Why did this place have to be so freaking big? I mean sure, it sounded great. After growing up in a little town and going to a tiny high school, the University of Georgia had seemed like such a grand adventure.
Finally Miller Hall loomed in front of me, four intimidating stories of red brick. This one single building was at least three times the size of my high school, with two more floors.
I pushed open the doors. I needed to find room 207, and quickly. I took the stairs two at a time. It had to be on the second floor, right?
As I crested the stairs a couple of guys were standing next to a bulletin board. I turned on my smile and tossed my sandy blonde hair. It got the effect it usually did, and I instantly had their attention.
“Boys, do y’all know where 207 is?” I let a little Vivian Leigh slide into my normal Georgia drawl.
“Uh, sure. It’s that way.” The taller one pointed to my left.
One more brilliant flash of my pearly whites. “Y’all are so sweet.” I took off down the hall, knowing their eyes were on me as I did. I giggled to myself as I reached the door. Apparently my charms weren’t only good in small towns. They definitely had their uses.
My small triumph was wiped from my mind as I walked into the huge, amphitheatre style classroom. The thing could seat two hundred and fifty if it could hold a dozen, and it was at least half full. My graduating class had thirty-six kids. There were at least three times that many in this single room.
I took a deep breath and climbed up into the fourth row, locating three empty seats. I took the one in the middle. The differences from what I’d known before didn’t end with the size of the room. On my left was a young man of East Asian descent, and on my right was a pretty Muslim girl wearing a head scarf. The sum total of our diversity back at Marin High School had been five African-American students. Before today I’d actually felt very cosmopolitan because one of them had been my good friend Tiwana, who’d played with me on our tennis team. I was quickly realizing I had no idea what true diversity looked like.
As I sat down I smiled at the girl, and she smiled back. I pulled out the little fold-away desk and opened my notebook as the professor entered the room. Tall and thin faced, he introduced himself in a nasal Eastern European brogue.
“Welcome to Econ 101; I’m Dr. Kovacevic. We will be starting with a basic review of the laws of supply and demand, which I assume you are familiar with.”
He began to write on the board, and I felt my spirit start to rise to the challenge. I wasn’t Cindy Spencer, valedictorian and tennis stand-out here. Here I was just student #410137012. For now, at least.
***
I knocked on Coach Holiday’s door, my heart tripping along a little faster than normal.
“Come in!”
I opened the door and stepped inside the office. “Hi, Coach. You wanted to see me? Cindy Spencer?”
The dark haired woman on the other side of the desk laughed. God, I felt so country around her. “Cindy, I know who you are. I recruited you, didn’t I?”
I blushed. “Sorry, I just, I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine. Have a seat.”
I obeyed, forcing myself to relax.
“I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re adjusting okay. I don’t have any questions about your academic ability, of course, but this place can be overwhelming to anyone.”
“Well, I think I know where all my classes are now. And I really appreciate you giving me the chance to walk on this spring. I won’t let you down.”
“Oh, I know.” She leaned across the desk. “Look, I’ve seen you play, you’re going to be fine. And the only reason you’re ‘walking on’ is because with your grades and test scores I was able to get you an academic full ride.” She sighed and shuffled some papers at her desk. “What can I say? We’re not the football team. Our resources are limited.”
We talked for a while, and I felt better by the minute. This was the first time I’d actually met the coach in person, although I’d skyped her with her a few times. To be honest I’d been stunned when Georgia had called. I mean, I hadn’t lost a competitive match since I was a Freshman, but we were a small school playing other small schools. We’d won the 2A championships two years running, but I’d seen Carrie Mitchell play in the 8A finals, and she was something. I don’t know if I was on her level, but I’d love to find out. She’d had multiple division one offers, I’m sure.
Coach closed my folder. “Thanks for coming by. If you need anything, tutoring, issues with school, just let me know.”
“I will. Thanks, Coach.”
“Obviously we can’t have official practices until next semester, but I do want my incoming freshmen to meet with the strength and conditioning coach now, so we can hit the ground running in January. It’ll also give you a chance to meet the other freshmen recruits.”
“Sure, just let me know where and when.”
“Four o’clock, Thursday at the sports complex. I’ll send you an email with everything.”
***
I was fifteen minutes early to the meeting, but I still wasn’t the first one there. I had to pick my jaw up off the floor when I walked in and saw Carrie Mitchell sitting there alone.
She stood up and smiled, holding out her hand. “Hi! Carrie Mitchell.”
I shook her hand, and she did have quite a grip. “Cindy Spencer. Hello.”
A look of recognition passed over her face. “Marin High, right?”
“Yeah, how did you…?”
“I heard about your unbeaten streak, and I made sure I got to see your match at the finals. You’re really good.”
“Not as good as you.”
She blushed a little. “Well, I’m glad we’re on the same team now.”
I took a seat. “So what are you majoring in?”
“Honestly I’m not sure yet, but I’m leaning towards Kinesiology. How ’bout you?”
“Economics and banking.”
Carrie grimaced. “Wow, that sounds like a lot of math.”
“Yeah, well, I was always good at math.”
“That makes one of us.”
We chatted for a few more minutes before anyone else arrived, a tall quiet girl who sat in the corner. She acknowledged us with a nod, but nothing else. I made an ‘oh well’ face and turned away, and that’s when it happened.
“What’s up ladies! We are going to kick some ass this year!”
I looked up at the door where a girl had just walked in, like right out of a gay rights poster. She was wearing a tight black T-shirt and loose jeans with black sneakers. Her hair was short, parted on the left with the bangs swept up and over.
I’ve mentioned the lack of diversity in my life, and I was prepared for a lot of things, but for some reason not this. My church had preached love for all peoples. We supported missionaries in Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and other places. All people are made in the image of God. Except for gays, of course. They were vilified, condemned out of hand. As far as I knew there hadn’t been a single homosexual in my school. I know now that the chances of getting three-hundred random people in one place and not having some who are LGBTQ+ is next to impossible, so most likely more than a few were hiding. But at that time I was living in a small fantasy world where the bad guys lived far away. But when I did picture them, the female ones at least, they dressed like her.
But there was something else. She had these piercing blue eyes that took my breath away. And she wasn’t ugly. Lesbians were supposed to be, you know, mannish and square jawed. Plain to downright homely. Instead her face was this androgynous combination of handsome femininity with soft lips and high cheekbones. I had to make myself look away.
The newcomer tossed her bag onto a table and held out a hand. “Hi. Mitch Kirkpatrick.” Carrie shook it and introduced herself. Mitch turned to me and held out her hand again, and I took it lightly, wearing that same expression my mother used when she had to greet people she didn’t like. Somewhere deep inside me I felt shame in my attitude, but I wasn’t able to overcome it on such short notice. But I did notice how warm her hand was, and how that heat seemed to radiate up my arm. As she turned to introduce herself to the other girl in the back I looked quizzically at Carrie, mouthing ‘Mitch?!’ Carrie just shrugged.
Soon enough the strength and conditioning coach came in and we got down to business. I did my best to focus on what he was saying, but I could feel Mitch’s eyes on me from the row behind, and it made me deeply uncomfortable. I was constantly fiddling with the strings on the neck of my halter top, and I was bitterly wishing I’d worn something more concealing.
Finally the coach dismissed us to the locker room to change, and I made sure that I sat far away from Mitch, trying not to glance at her out of the corner of my eye.
When I got out into the weight room I hopped onto the bench press, and Mitch immediately jumped in above my head to spot.
“You ready?”