Capture the Flag

 It all started when I decided to clean out the closet. Sunday mornings were sacred——the rumble of New York City hadn't quite started up just yet, and my entire flat was silent—just the way I liked it. 

  With a cup of my homemade matcha latte in one hand, I attacked the monstrosity of my closet with sheer determination that I reserved only for Sundays. I pushed open the two, white doors of my walk-in closet. Daring red heels and black pumps lined the bottom racks whereas my various jumpsuits and little black dresses scattered the bottom surfaces. I made my way across the garment-covered floor with a few rare glimpses of the hardwood floor peeking out, wincing when I stepped on a rouge diamond earring.

 I reached the back of my closet, moved a dirty pile of clothes out of the corner, revealing the dark latch. Found you, I thought, smiling to myself. Pulling open the latch, I found my tiny cellar full of dusty memorabilia. I reached down, the yearbooks coming out first, landing on the hardwood floor with a thump . Next came the boxes of childhood letters and memories, each one packed safely away like fragile glass. 

 I started with the yearbook first, searching the pages for my best friend. Alexa Kinsler, Alexa Kinsler, Alexa...Kinsler. Where was she? My eyes scan the pages, flipping through the fourth grade section. Almost there... then I stop. My eyes fall to the blue eyes and sandy blonde hair of one fourth grader. Michael Ischer, right next to Alexa Kinsler. 

 Even in fourth grade, Michael was a heartbreaker. The pretty girls followed him around obsessively, giggling and gossiping behind him. The teachers crooned over him, showering him with extra candy when they thought nobody was looking. He was always the capture-the-flag captains during PE. My fourth grade self was awkward, uncomfortable, and I hated anything related to PE with my whole heart. The stares, the awkward encounters with the basketballs—I shuddered just thinking about PE. I always tried to sit out every game in PE until Alexa marched up to Michael one day and demanded that he pick me first for his team.

  "Pick her," Alexa hissed. Even from the opposite side of the gym, Alexa's voice was loud. "Pick Jessie. She won't play. But I promise, she's going to be the best. She's just bored." 

 It was a lie. I was absolutely horrible and definitely not bored. For a moment, Michael's eyes flickered towards me. To him, I was just a stranger from the classroom across from his, the quiet girl that stayed close to the background.

  He gave her a crooked grin, his blue eyes piercing straight through me even from the opposite side of the gym. He dropped his football. "First pick," he yelled. "You. Jessie. Girl with the journal."

 Before I knew it, he was jogging towards me. "Your friend," he nodded to Alexa who was beaming, "seems to think that you're the best at capture-the-flag. Give me your notebook." 

 I glared at him. "I'm not playing. Choose again." 

He laughed. Even in fourth grade, he was charming. He leaned closer to me, blue eyes sparkling. "Give me your notebook." 

Maybe it was his charisma or his blue eyes, but I stupidly handed over my notebook. My precious, pocket-sized notebook. 

 "Thank you," he said, putting it in his back pocket. "Now come get it." 

Then he took off in the opposite direction. 

  I ended up playing capture the flag, zipping through the opposite team. We won that day, his blue eyes crinkling with mischief and Alexa nudging me suggestively, but that was the last conversation we had for the next six years. 

  I shut the yearbooks and push them off to the side. At the bottom of the stack of yearbooks, I find a scrapbook. 

  To my best friend, it says on the cover. Alexa + Jessie— best friends forever.

 I can't help but smile. The front cover is a photograph of ourselves on the first day of freshman year in high school—Alexa beaming with her bold red dresses with her flirty smile and me—almost unrecognizable with my brown hair tugged into a messy bun and a squinty smile. Alexa's nestles her kitten Cheeto in the crook of one arm while her other arm is slung around me. I'm holding on tightly to my pilot pen and notebook. We're laughing about something that I don't remember, but this moment is preserved forever. 

 I flip open the scrapbook, and I'm swarmed with memories. Our sleepovers, staying up until 2AM to talk about our naive dreams. Our first and last football game. When we tried out cheerleading in freshman year. I can hear the cheers—"2, 4, 6, 8, who do we appreciate it? Go Bears!"

I remember tossing my pom-poms up reluctantly while Alexa threw hers so far up that she lost one. I remember the cheer captain, Natalie, screaming in delight every time our star quarterback, Michael Ischer, scored a touchdown. 

 "ISCHER 18 SCORES AGAIN!" The announcer would screech over the sound system. The cheers were deafening, and he would wave, sweaty and half-exhausted, at the crowd. No matter what, he kept waving and smiling, his blue eyes glowing as he searched the crowd for his girlfriend's eyes. 

 Our eyes never met—except the one time his blue eyes seemed to pierce me again, flaring up in recognition as if he was saying i-know-you. 

  Sophomore year passed quickly—I dropped the cheer team and spent more and more time in the library, writing little snippets of stories I wanted to create while Alexa stayed, her kicks and pom-poms shooting up higher and higher. Still, we stayed best friends, laughing through failed chemistry experiments and venting about our different friend groups over bites of our cafeteria food. Every Friday, Alexa was always ranting without fail about her cheer friends and the football team. 

  "Natalie and Michael are back together again. Can you believe it? They broke up, for like, maybe three seconds, and now they're back and better than ever before." Alexa rolled her eyes, biting down hard on her pepperoni pizza. 

  "Mhm, I thought Natalie was dating Aaron Lee?" I replied, half-listening as I doodled aimlessly in my journal.

  "No, that was Carol," Alexa said, annoyance flickering for a split second between bites. "Anyways, I'm sick of this cheer team. Tell me about what's going on with the literary magazine. Did you finish your application yet?" 

 Junior year was filled with studying. For this section, Alexa printed out pictures of our messy notes and text convos stressing over literary magazine deadlines, calculus, and more cheer team drama. 

 I skimmed through the rest of the scrapbook, but before I closed it, my eyes caught sight of a familiar picture. The final football season, the literary magazine team had to take senior pictures for the entire football team. By now, I was dating Aaron, the star wide receiver. Alexa added a polaroid of me and Aaron hugging endearingly while Natalie and Michael stood in the background. Natalie's back was facing the other way, but Michael's eyes were trained on Aaron and I. Alexa added a winky face at the bottom of the polaroid. I can almost hear her laugh from behind the camera. 

 I roll my eyes and shut the scrapbook shut. I move the scrapbook off to the side where the yearbooks sit and reach into the bottom of the cellar. Out comes a black box of memories from college. I pry open the lid, and I'm greeted with dozens of notebooks and letters and polaroids.  

 I dig through my notebooks, but a deep velvet notebook catches my eye. 

It's labeled "Cafe Rothem Recipes".  

  I open up the book, and a wave of nostalgia hits me as I finger through the pages. During my NYU undergraduate years, I worked at Cafe Rothem, a local coffee shop, for almost three years as my side hustle. I flip through the recipes——the "special" drink that my manager let me add to the menu. It was called MaBean—a blend of matcha powder and ground coffee beans that I created during my junior year in college.  

 The first person I served it to was a blue-eyed boy on the phone with his girlfriend. I remember the day like it was yesterday. I had just landed an interview with the The New Yorker, and I was bustling with adrenaline and creativity. Still, I rushed into work late, earning a glare from my boss and a sympathetic glance from my coworker, Jack. 

  "Better stay late these next few weeks. Boss said he's thinking about firing any lazy workers," Jack whispered, gesturing to our manager who was doing inventory .

 I smoothed my hair back, hoping I looked presentable. The only thing that raced through my mind was the interview. All these years, working on my writing everyday.. would it finally pay off? I shook my head, glancing at the line of customers lining up at the register. Now was not the time to be gushing over an interview. "Don't worry, I was already planning on it. You got the MaBean mixes ready?" 

 Jack shot me an easy smile. "Done. Let's hope it's a hit." 

 "Excuse me, I'm ready to order!" 

I rushed towards the register, all thoughts of the interview scattered. Except I found myself face-to-face with Michael Ischer on the phone, whose eyes flared in recognition. 

 "I know you," he mouthed. To his phone, he quickly said, "I gotta go, Natalie. I'll call you later. Love you." He hung up and shoved his phone in his pocket. 

 "Welcome to Cafe Rothem. What can I get for you?" My eyes met his. After all those years, he still looked like the same charismatic boy who picked me first for Capture the Flag. The same boy who noticed me in high school, eyes acknowledging me when he was out on the field. Except he was also the same boy that was still dating Natalie. 

 "Oh, uh, it's Jes, right?" His eyes dropped to the nametag. "Jessie," he corrected. 

 "Welcome to Cafe Rothem. What can I get for you?" I asked again, keeping my facial expression as neutral as possible. What was he doing in the city? 

 "Can I get, uh," his eyes scanned the menu hanging on the back wall, "a MaBean? Is that how you pronounce it?" 

 "Sure thing. Coming right up. Cash or card?" 

  His gaze stayed trained on me. "Card." 

I ignored his questioning gaze and turned to Jack, who was taking out the new MaBean concoction. "Hey, I gotta scram to the back for a refill real quick. Can you finish him up?" I gesture to Michael. 

  That was the last time I saw Michael for the next three years. 

 I flip through the recipe book and move onto the next notebooks. After graduating from NYU, I landed several internships at different magazines in the city and ended up dating Jack from Cafe Rothem. I wrote day and night, covering anything from news to creative, artistic form. After those initial years of interning at different publication hubs, I finally decided to start my own editorial magazine. Alexa was in Los Angeles, living out her 20s with her boyfriend, Rob, a lawyer who opened up his own firm. Even though we were on opposite sides of the country, we called each other every Friday night. 

 "So listen," she said one night as I was adding in the final touches to my new office. "I'll be in the city next month, right around Christmas. There's a Starlight Gala Fundraiser that Rob and I are going to attend. Rob claims that this is the place to be for the best networking and connections. It's invite only, but you can be my plus one. What do you say?" 

  I straighten a stack of papers and adjust the succulents that line the desk in my office, my phone pressed between my ear and shoulder. "Aren't you Rob's plus one already?"

  "Okay, you got me there. But it'll be amazing for connections! Come on, don't you want the best for your editorial magazine? When else are you going to come by this?" 

  I laughed. Same old, headstrong Alexa who always wanted to help me out. 

"I'm not sure if a gala is my kind of scene," I begin. "I don't even have anything to wear, and I'm not exactly in the right place in my life to just buy an expensive outfit. I have to get this magazine up first. " 

 "Nonsense. This is technically work. Well, technically, you'll get to hangout with me, but it's still going to be great for your magazine. I know it, Jessie. Just say yes. That's all you need to do. I'll take care of the rest." 

  "You make a convincing offer," I say, smiling through the phone. I reach for more succulents to line my desk.

  "Yay! I'll text you the details. Love you, Jes." She hung up. 

A month later, and I found myself hugging Alexa at the Gala. She lent me a sleek, silvery gown, which was the silver twin to her gold gown. 

 "You won't regret this," she promised me, hugging me tight. I make eye contact with Rob, who mouths a half-joking apology. 

 Alexa lets go of me, and we spend the evening conversing with the New York City elite. I meet dozens of CEOS, big-time lawyers, and reporters. My face hurt from pasting on a smile all night. 

 Halfway through the gala, I managed to break free from the crowd and make it to the refreshments stand full of champagne floats.  

 Only to run into Michael Ischer. Blue-eyed Michael, charismatic as ever, looking every bit of the handsome boy he always was, clad in a black suit. 

I shake my head from the memories. I didn't even realize that I was digging through the photo albums that I printed off from the gala that night. There's photos of Alexa and I, smiling as we have our arms slung around each other. There' a few pictures of Alexa, Rob, and I, all three of us holding up champagne floats, drunk on the expensive alcohol. And of course, there's a picture of Michael and I, both of us smiling but looking uncomfortable. And finally—a picture of Michael, Rob, Alexa, and I—all four of us smiling for the camera. 

There was a knock at my closet before my husband, dressed in a white button down and khakis, peeks his head in, his hair gelled back. "Jessie?" 

 I turn around, my lips tugging at the corners immediately. "Babe, come here. I have to show you something."  

 He raised an eyebrow but makes his way over. He shakes his head at the mess on the floor. "You know, Jes, your closet really never changes no matter how much time passes." 

  I ignore him and pull him toward where I'm sitting on the ground, smiling. "Look who I found." I hold up a picture. 

He takes a closer look. "Let's see... Alexa... Kinsler? And Rob?" 

  I grin. "Remember playing capture the football in fourth grade?" 

Michael presses a kiss to my cheek. "Of course, babe. Come on, let's go before we miss our baby shower." 

  I let him pull me up from where I'm sitting. Michael, after all this time, finally in my arms.