Security blocked me, so I called Jason.
He replied coolly, "Got it."
Background noise mingled with music and laughter.
Then the lobby phone rang.
"Yep, letting her in now."
He handed me a beat-up umbrella, missing the neat row of new ones stashed in the back room.
The downpour made the twenty-minute walk feel like an eternity.
I remembered Jason's harsh words in a spat.
"Grace, you're 19. Others have conquered the world at your age. What's your end game? Why can't you be with me? What do you want that I can't give?"
Back then, I thought he was just mad, but he truly looked down on me.
During the team selections, his new squeezes rotated in and out.
Some comments quipped, "Bro, isn't your girlfriend gonna flip?"
He retorted, "I waited a year, and she didn't care. Why should I? Am I running a charity?"
Perhaps I was always a joke to him.
My dedication was laughable. I'd been hitting shuttles since I was five, fourteen years of sweat, and still no spot on the state team.
I was nothing next to what he had.
"Miss, who are you here for?"
The door swung open, revealing a chic crowd in the lobby.
I stashed my umbrella outside and said, "Hello, everyone, I'm here for Jason Wright."