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Nerves coursed though my body. I shook out my clammy hands and looked around the coffee shop. People milled about, buying drinks and inspecting art. I silently prayed that it was enough.
Two people caught my eye as I scanned the crowd. They were Logan's mom and aunt. Based on them, I pictured Logan and what he'd look like. He'd be tall, about six foot. He'd also have light brown hair, but not a dirty blonde. Based on his attitude, his hair would be cut short, but he wouldn't have a buzz cut. I also imagined him with hazel eyes, with a slightly more green than brown tint to them. Overall...well...kind of cute.
I shook my thoughts realizing that there weren't as many people as I imagined. Of course, nothing is as I imagine. I glanced at the art...well, some things are what I imagined.
I clutched my tea tighter. I felt a burning sensation and looked downwards. I realized that my tea was seeping it's heat into my hands. I loosened my grip, taking a deep breath. My bright blonde hair slipped over my shoulders. The subtle brown highlights in my hair became noticeable in the soft glow of the lights.
The room around felt light and open. The ceilings were raised up high and the walls were a soft, light gray. There was an accent wall behind the busy barista. It was a light blue with a repeated pattern of box-like-arrows. Every once in a while, there was an arrow painted a deep blue. Overall the space felt open and inviting. Then again, maybe it was that the windows and doors were open, and that it seemed like this was the only open store on the block.
As I looked around, I realized that a lot of my art had a little sold sticker next to it. Pride swelled within me. People actually liked my art...or my cause. Either way, I needed the money. Just as I started to calm down, my heart started beating quicker and harder. I started to freak out, wondering why I felt this way. That's when I noticed I was staring at someone who walked in. Someone who meant a lot to me. Not in any romantic way either. They were one of the most important people to the one college I wanted into most. If the man liked my art, I might just get a full ride to my favorite dream. I looked to my favorite painting. There was no sold sticker beside it. My breath caught in my throat as the man spotted me and headed toward my painting and I.
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Sweat covered my body. I wiped my brow and coughed as someone slapped me on the back. I glared at my friend, a goofy grin was plastered onto his face. I shook my head and gave him a soft punch on his arm. He looked hurt and I gave him a pouting face. Then one of my other buddies came up beside us, "Hey Conner and Logan. How do you guys feel?"
Conner replied first, "My hopes are rising."
"Yeah, I feel a little confident. But, I don't know..." My disappointment radiated from my body. I tried my best to hide it, but it wasn't easy. Especially when everyone could see it.
"Hey, cheer up Logan. You'll be fine. You're just as good as us, even with your...yeah."
"It's fine Conner. You don't have to hide it. It's not like anyone can't see it." As I reassured my friend, it seemed I couldn't reassure myself. It's not like it was easy being me. With so many complications lately, it didn't seem likely I could get into my dream college. I glanced over to the people judging our abilities. I could only pray that my abilities on the court overruled my disability that reality had plagued me with.