All five pictures that I submitted to Grey ended up in the Monday edition of The Daily Scoop. I wasn't expecting it, but with a lack of other news around campus last week the Homecoming game was the biggest point of interest. The picture of Taylor's celebration dance after his second touchdown made the front page. I sent him a screenshot as soon as I got the proof. 

Taylor Reed: PHOTO COURTESY OF CAMRYN QUINN!!!!!

It was immediately followed by another text, this one more serious in tone, congratulating me again. I reminded him that I pointed a lens and clicked He was the one who had to burn a thousands of calories and collect more bruises from tackles than I wish to see in a lifetime.

He could barely sit down without wincing when I saw him yesterday, even though it's been days since the game. He then proceeded to pull down his pants simultaneously giving me a heart attack and heartache at the same time. I was worried about what he was showing me, but then disappointed when the glimpse of his skin was limited and filled with a giant purple and black spot on his left butt cheek. It's the aftermath of a nasty tackle. I quickly looked away and he teased me for blushing over his butt. Taylor, of course, offered to show me more and reminded me all I had to do was ask. If I wasn't such a wuss I would. Just to see if Taylor is all talk, or if there is anything more beyond the words he so often jokingly says to me.

I've spun myself into a Ryn sized tornado multiple times this week overthinking thoughts that have no right to be in my head. Taylor and I have quickly become just as bad as Alyssa and Anderson. I used to think she was crazy for making herself scarce around our dorm. Returning most days to only gather a few more days worth of supplies and then retreating back to Anderson's house. But I've become no better. I've been at Taylor's house everyday for the past five days. Mostly under the pretense of tutoring seeing as our sessions almost never actually take place at the tutor center anymore. Or I'm there because of the list, the one Taylor is determined to help me complete. My visits quickly turn into other things, though. Like making dinner, hanging out with his roommates or just the two of us in his room.

It reminds me of making a best friend as a little kid. You start a new school year and leach onto the first nice person you meet in your class. Quickly, you gravitate to that person at lunch and recess. And then you beg your parents for a play date because the weekends are too long without them. That person is suddenly always there, a permanent fixture in your life. Taylor has become my best friend. Seemingly overnight, my world shifted to create a new space for him to nestle into.

We've weaseled our way into each other's life, sharing more than either of us could have every imagined.  Even with our comfortable nature, I haven't yet asked about the topic I really want to. We haven't kissed again, not because I haven't wanted to, but because I'm too chicken to bring it up. Taylor hasn't either, but I think he's covered in feathers too.

Just because he hasn't kissed me, doesn't mean he's shied away from letting his hands touch my body. The typical ones from him like a poke here, or a tickle there have evolved from our first encounters. It feels like he finds reasons to touch me. I live for the moments his hand rests on my leg as we play games with his roommates, or the way he reaches for my hand and squeezes it as he walks by me. A few times as we said goodbye, after he walked me back to my dorm, he rested a hand on my cheek. The closest thing I've gotten to a kiss is when he presses his lips against the back of my hand before he leaves. And every time, with every touch, I lean in further. I want it to convey what I hoped the kiss did five damn days ago. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out expecting to see Taylor's name, but find an incoming call from my dad instead. I blink hard, take a deep breath, and hit accept.

"Camryn," he says formally, so I return it with, "Ryan."

"Since when did you stop calling me dad?" he asks.

"I thought we were going for business formal," I reply, my pattern for snide remarks taking over. Taylor's voice quickly pops into my head, reminding me of what I'm working towards and that my old habits won't help me.

"I saw the paper this morning. I didn't know you were still taking pictures," he says, as if he had ever paid attention enough to notice I had stopped. I should have known this was coming, though. He reads anything published about himself, or his team. He always has.

"Uhm, yeah. I joined The Daily Scoop." 

My father is silent for so long I pull away to see if the call has been disconnected, unfortunately he's just being dramatic. "Really? Finally something productive."

I bite my tongue so hard I can taste copper in my mouth, but I push past it and tone back my sarcasm as much as I can before replying, "Just what you've always wanted."

"You've been surprising me, you know. I hope you will remember how this feels, to be on the right track. Keep it that way." I thank him for the compliment, even though to an outsider it would appear as an insult.

"What about Taylor Reed?" he asks.

"What about him?" I snap. I don't like my dad bringing him up, or acknowledge us as connected in any way.

"Been together quite a bit," he says it as a statement rather than a question. I know he's probably referring to the bonfire as if one night together is considered quite a bit. I can almost feel the way Taylor's fingers found mine as my dad and I made eye contact. I hold onto that feeling, willing it to get me through the rest of this conversation.

"He's a friend. I just see him when I see Cal," I lie. I won't let my dad tarnish my image of Taylor with his own. Regardless, he'll never know the Taylor that I know.

"Very well. Just keep it together, Camryn." With that, he ends the call by claiming another one is incoming. I hastily press the end button, nearly dropping my phone in the process.

I rest my back against the closest building and focus on my breathing. It gives me the chance to process that interaction. In a roundabout way, my father complimented me. He told me that what I have been doing is success in his eyes. Sure, he used his state of apparent shock to accompany the doubt he had about me, but that is what I wanted. It's the purpose of this whole plan, to show him in so many ways that I'm not the bane of his existence, that I made mistakes but they don't define me. Maybe now he will begin to see that when given the chance, I will rewrite his opinions of me. I've started to create a fresh start for myself, but on my own terms. Any new found confidence that I've acquired on this journey however, doesn't erase the way my heart is racing. It once again solidifies the hold my father still has over me, but my ability to re-regulate a little quicker is a step in the right direction, I suppose.

🏈🏈🏈

Alyssa smacks my hand as she murmurs about theater etiquette. She quickly changes her tone when she leans in so she can see the message on my screen. She reads as much as she can before I press the lock button making it go black again.

"Things are really heating up between you two," she says, nudging me with her shoulder.

"Shhh! The play is starting." I fix my gaze ahead, not wanting to have this conversation with her right now. Alyssa and I's relationship has grown stronger along a similar timeline to Taylor and I, but I still haven't given in fully to the girl talk. I still opt for blowing up Gabi's phone whenever I can. Although her response time has grown exponentially long too.

I spend the entirety of the very off Broadway campus version of Sweeny Todd over analyzing Alyssa's words and the driving force behind them. Gabi hasn't responded to my messages in days. I'm left with no choice but to indulge Alyssa. I wait until this version of Mrs. Lovett finishes her rendition of "The Worst Pies In London" before leaning in and whispering, "We're friends," I pause. "But what do you mean by heating up?"

Alyssa continues to ignore me until the play is over, carefully taking notes as we watch to give a review in next week's paper. It's only when we exit the theater walking closely to keep warm, that she turns like she's going to speak, but instead she waits for us to pass a larger group before responding.

"The two of you are getting close. I mean, I see you more now than I ever have, but it's at his house instead of our dorm." She loops her arm in mine as we continue to walk.

"But has he said anything to make you think there is heat? On his end I mean?" Alyssa eyes me, and I fold. "We may have shared a brief kiss a week ago, and he may or may not look at me like he wants to do it again. But he hasn't and I don't know what it means except that I want to go into hibernation and never come out."

Alyssa begins badgering me for the details, but I don't give her everything. Like the fact that I kissed him only after he had told me about his mom and was vulnerable, like prey. Even without this fact, she begins talking about how she's known it all along.

"Circle back and focus. Has he said anything to you or Anderson?"

Alyssa shakes her head. "Those boys have no idea how to talk about feelings. Their love language is more of physical touch, acts of service. That type of thing." I cut her off before she can finish her example of how Anderson uses physical touch to communicate with her through her lady parts.

"How does that apply to Taylor and I? I would definitely know if he was using physical touch to communicate with me." I motion to my body, specifically the area's I would want him to communicate with.

Alyssa laughs but continues, "You guys haven't touched like that, but he's always finding ways to be closer to you. This past week every time I saw the two of you together, his hands were on you in some way."

"Yes, but it could be friendly. Right? I mean when he gave me a hug before he left yesterday it was practically a side hug," I say.

"Because he didn't want to risk you feeling his boner through his pants," she says matter of factly.

I stumble over my words as my throat constricts, "He, no. Doesn't. Boner? No way!" My phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming call. Alyssa stops me and pushes me to the edge of the sidewalk, out of the way of others, and steadies me with both her arms before speaking. .

"Wonder who that could be?" She doesn't give me a chance to answer, not that I need to. We both know it's Taylor. Just like it has been every time my phone has sounded in the last forty-eight hours. We've communicated non-stop sans the few hours leading up to and during the away game in Nebraska this weekend.

"If you asked him he would deny it because he's a guy and he thinks he's too good for feelings or only listens to his penis and refuses to listen with his head and heart. But Ryn, he likes you. I've seen the way he looks at you and trust me, no man chooses to spend that much time with a female unless they've caught the feels. I mean look at me and Anderson. We started out having sex every now and then, but now he writes me actual love notes with sappy words and cute drawings of what our wedding will look like someday."

I can't help but smile at the way Alyssa looks right now, no doubt picturing Anderson's little baby face and Sasquatch body. I knew he was a smitten kitten, but he's full on in love.

"But how does this help me? What should I do? And I don't think Morse code will do. I need you to spell it out for me because if I'm left to my own devices I will do something stupid and instead of kiss him I will attempt to go down on him and be the only girl to ever get rejected by Taylor Reed the Demigod."

Alyssa's own phone has started to ring. She simply rolls her eyes and mutters about "These boys," before locking her eyes on mine again. For such a small girl, her gaze makes up for any size deficiency.

"Taylor loves to do things for you. He's an acts of service guy. The whole list thing was his idea after all. He's doing all this just to help you get away from your dad. So, you should do something for him. Something that would show him just how much you care about him." The gears in my head begin to work in overdrive. The perfect plan begins to form in my head before Alyssa can even finish the sentence. I re-loop my arm in hers and pull her towards our dorm in hyperspeed. I have a lot to pull off in seven days.