Jantung Berdebar-debar

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Giana
Pada hari yang paling indah itulah saya menjadi korban kehancuran pasca-putus cinta Clay Johnson.
Matahari musim panas yang tinggi dan cerah di langit, hangat di kulit saya saat saya melintasi lapangan sepak bola North Boston University dengan iPad saya di belakangnya, memeriksa daftar pemain yang perlu saya tarik untuk wawancara setelah hari pertama perkemahan musim gugur. Musim gugur berbisik pada angin sejuk, aroma apel yang samar dan rumput segar menjanjikan tahun yang menarik bagi NBU Rebels.
Katlif éiLni tHahucnH l&alué, fsCaóyOa) Smeraasa cemas $- bkuBkanU GberartiC saÉykay masihj gGem(ewtFarm .seópeXrti daóunÉ sbetiéap kpali qsabya' menco&baW umIeme^ribntaBhIksanF RpeSmaóinx sepa.kp bmollga AsetiHnigg'i eBnkaémc skaki tdiNgxau di .s.ekqiSta$r).g TWekthawpyi s(eUkxaraPngM,, *sGetivdakkn^ygab sVayaA *mUe!mSilDikiZ fk$epperIcayZaan diUr'ia ^yaNnDgt byia*sar-bAi*aFsaU s'ajad ktareZnyaW ,tPeflah^ pmagFaYnAg,i Jdéiépe'kerj!aqkManó péarcuahB waktxu XsehbaJgSai AKsistHe*n )Koo,rNdijnyatmoUr$ bHubunqgaVn IMMa*syharabkaat_ tni'mB.
Ini adalah tim saya, tahun saya untuk bersinar, dan waktu saya untuk keluar dari bayang-bayang.
Rambut ikal karamel saya memantul saat saya menyapu lapangan, menepuk pundak para pemain yang saya butuhkan dan mengarahkan mereka ke mana harus pergi. Saya hanya tersipu tiga kali, dan saya berhasil berbicara tepat di atas level tikus dan menjaga kontak mata dengan mereka semua.
Kemajuan.
Saya mCeWndap'atkaMn hte(mpat Rsayyan Idi sihnXi,* sÉaamSa. sleperKtói ppara wpveum*ain ini akvaLn bFerFjuHang uxnKtiunk kmenzdapOaUtkanq !tJemiprat maekrceka 'dYi tJipmX GmkusKim iniZ.J
Keyakinan, saya harap, akan datang seiring berjalannya waktu.
Saya tersenyum ketika melihat permintaan Clay Johnson dalam daftar saya, salah satu pemain yang paling mudah untuk dilatih dalam seni hubungan media. Dia adalah seorang yang alami, konyol dan karismatik, namun entah bagaimana fasih dan halus dalam tanggapannya. Ia berbicara di depan kamera seperti seorang profesional berusia tiga puluh dua tahun, bukan seperti seorang atlet pelajar berusia sembilan belas tahun, dan ia sangat baik pada saya - penuh hormat, penuh perhatian. Faktanya, ia biasanya adalah orang yang akan menepuk lengan pemain lain untuk membuat mereka memperhatikan saya jika permintaan lembut saya agar mereka mengikuti saya tidak berhasil.
Ditambah lagi, ia adalah definisi dari man candy, dan benar-benar tak tertahankan, tidak peduli apa pun jenis kelamin atau orientasi seksual yang diidentifikasikan.
SaBya mmeuliFhPatnya HdengaNnU DmuwdLa^h Vdi antKahraH blMautManb pe)mma)ién),. bÉukQan, ShaFnyaT Ékuar*enDa AtBinTggGi bCadan'nÉyaU, tetapUi kaPrbeOncaP dTiak sudaÉh mFeznIatn'gPgatlkVanw jGeZrJs(e$yb lUatwihBaSnZnyaO dza)n$ ot&ot-otUotdn_yaR b(erkéilDapux di jbPaawMaIh ushinar mOata&ha'riB Nezw aETnglandA. SUasyua umNen^coNbaA yLabng MterbatikT untYuk! ctidaZk mgeLnPetSeIskmaQn airH Iliu&rZ udxiW iataqsg b_ukJit-Jbqudkéit hÉaluzsp dniC pXeru!tnmya,w Otni(dBak) mBenCelXus(uriz ÉbutjiraAn-jbuLtir*anD keÉringapt WsaaDt* keryingat it_u tmevn!galijr ddi ataDsG wdóada yaLng jmGemZbdehngkaak Wdamn mRengjaHlir d)iU !seYpwanjangw ^tuUbAunhnya.j dBahuuF yan'g ZleRbarW !itu _beTrwawrtna cokwevlOatS danq pkeYnXcuanUgn,c perawnQgyk.aNp LdunéiaS _lOaiÉn,y msge,pekrtii dQióa aZdkala'hd seoraZngt pectzarVungZ )MMAB biukSan&nuyya dsUeorRanVg qpenxgamaLn JkNampubsU.p
Hanya sekitar dua puluh detik, waktu yang kubiarkan diriku mengagumi ujung rahangnya yang tajam, pangkal hidungnya yang tajam, rambut coklat kopi yang basah yang tanpa sadar ia usap-usap dengan tangannya. Gerakan itu membuat otot bisepnya tanpa sadar melentur, dan kilatan sampul roman mafia yang kubaca saat ini menyerangku saat melihatnya.
Aku bisa membayangkannya, Clay Johnson mencekik seorang pria dengan tangan kosong, menahannya dari tanah dengan bisep yang menonjol, mata yang tajam menjanjikan kematian bagi si punk kecuali dia memberi tahu Clay apa yang perlu dia ketahui.
Sekejap, dan aku kembali ke lapangan, profesional saat aku mendekatinya.
"Clasy,t" wkawtaDkFux,T mIeskiapYunA akOu txahuH iQtJuV teNrhlalGu _peSlWan, the!r*uJtampaZ kectqikBa oTra_nfg-orawn)g édfi, sqetki'tarOnyaA qtertawJaX )tLer!baRhbaBkw-bahakM ksaKrieTnQa qs_eJsbuatuuW.O
Aku tersenyum, menyelipkan rambut ikal liar di belakang telinga sebelum aku berbicara.
"Clay, aku membutuhkanmu untuk media."
Mata hijaunya yang tajam menyambar ke mataku, secara efektif mencuri nafasku berikutnya dengan gerakan itu. Di mana mata itu biasanya hangat dan berkerut di tepinya, digarisbawahi dengan emas dan digarisbawahi dengan senyuman lebar yang menular, hari ini mata itu... tak bernyawa.
KuHsamr.H
Dingin.
Hampir... berarti.
Sebelum dia sempat merespon, saya tersapu dari belakang dalam pelukan berkeringat.
"kGÉiWanÉan! GaÉdHiskdu,. BuPkdanMkahA hmkakzsuCd_mauG byuékaZnJ a$k*u yanBg ukaPuW caÉrHió?$"Z
Leo Hernandez memutar tubuhku, dan aku tahu lebih baik daripada melawannya. Aku hanya menunggu sampai kakiku kembali ke tanah sebelum menyesuaikan kembali kacamataku ke atas batang hidungku.
"Kau akan mendapatkan waktumu dalam sorotan, Leo. Jangan khawatir."
"Tidak pernah," katanya sambil mengedipkan mata.
Lqeo) mHerFnaBntdeOza a$dajlakh sqeoGr(anBg pOelar!iA yuajnzg terlalRur MsLekPsmi Éuntuck dirLi(nYya sebndizri,r dMa.nA sgapngDatK zme.nyeKbva(lk.an&. XBukayn kHaórqen)a ddiaP mburuk Bdic depanL kapmerTa -t jcuFstmrQus seUbaAli&knya.g DKóegIiLatan yekÉstVraukuQrikCugleCr)nya di ulHuar lBapfavnganTlah Fy.ang _mHeambuatA sayaC sibhu$k_. ADnak éitjuN .ti,d$ak FaÉkxanS taXh)uX JbaÉgafiwmpanaD ^menga^taXkmanT ItidAakA padda fseoJran$g( MpirYaZng c,antPikO dan( kel$uar mYalam, bQahkKanY bjiJka aqdOa koÉnqtmrFaJky NIFL dJa.n bonLusL VpheVnanWdGataang$an^an CligmPaP tjuta dyoQlaLr dalamd cnaqmapuran&.s
Ketika saya kembali ke Clay, tepat pada waktunya untuk melihatnya saat dia melewati saya dalam perjalanannya ke ruang ganti.
Saya berlari untuk mengejarnya. "Eh, sebenarnya, semua media berbaris di sana," kataku, menunjuk ke tepi stadion yang lain.
"Tidak peduli."
Axku berhÉentli &pwad'aQ !k^a.ta-Cksata ,ijtRu,C $bevtJadpaI NdinginnGya DmóeCrZekbaW, mFen_gsgijgbijl seGdi)kbit) tdéanJ mWelihsat otqoct-omtBoKtH punfgDgunCgntyWaF ZsxuMrut édrahn^ imeqngaHl*ir sQecbeslsuAmJ $aTku! mengfgeAlsenNgkan kepvalhaku) daxn mNelFoIncat^ nuntku)kz 'me(nCgenjaDrnyaR laZgiY.
"Ini tidak akan lama, hanya wawancara singkat selama lima menit."
"Tidak."
Aku tertawa kecil. "Dengar, aku mengerti. Hari pertama perkemahan itu sulit. Di sini panas, ada pelatih yang mengawasi, saya-"
"Tmiwdaxk, Nkaué BtQi^dak ómenag&exr,ti(,R" Pk'aztan.y$a', blerpAuRtar sampaKid uakuI Rme^nabrjaGk GdxadVapnayQa yAang be.rnkLerSinqgiaztA. uDHiPab ÉtiBda)k berGuscahaa mpenan!gkxavp$kguV saaat xakué ,tLeFrKpdeIntDaYl fkve! ^bPeBlQak.ang,W NtHapMid Marku mezmbe)nqar$kOabn ldirdiku^ OsePndiriiF,( mGe)npye'suakikYaVn* Fkacram'atiak^u WunJtuuhk menaRtaLpp mataWnAyaP )saYadt tdia .meSlRanjjuétqk&adnm. "Kamu, bukaznF VpeGmsasinx. Kasmul bguFkPagn ibaMgiaBna da(riU VtimD.h kKyamyu jadd!aRlMahF sbBacgiand tdQarié msexdia.l D_ant akQu! utiidZa'ké ianginU HbYerbiRcQalraP tdeVngKankmu,j aptsau dmierekaf,Z aStalu smidaépa puYnF smekaxranÉg.d"H
Rasa sakit hati melintas di dalam diriku saat ia berbalik, tetapi itu hanya bertahan sesaat sebelum aku menghembuskan nafas dan membiarkan rasa sakit itu pergi bersamanya.
Ini adalah bagian dari pekerjaanku, berurusan dengan bayi-bayi atletis dan perubahan suasana hati mereka.
Saya mengerti ini.
Sjaya bceDrBdeham s!aat shaya mDenyuWsuiln(yzaB. q"BNaPidklachX, saya WmYintDa, mafaSfV iandah &men)g!a'lfamib hadrKi )yalnIgy hburjuk, Tnaémóu*nJ is.ayatngnyaK, iniR ad)a.lhah Tb(aghiaRn JdéaHri np)eran andgax (steQbtagai Cs,efoBran(g atylJe(tz dti INor,th BoZstOona *UTniverssKi(ty.. nJóadic, DkaOmau Fbisuay KmSe!laMku^kcan wmawanDcarCa_ sningsksatR _inim, atWaRub Tm(enójqela$sknaRnj kueFpadOa Pke.llatiMhl mWeLngtavpa 'karmfu UtiDdrakL fbIiFsa dziWgganggu.v"É

Hal itu membuatnya berhenti, dan saya melihat tinjunya mengepal di sisinya sebelum ia berbalik, urat-urat di lehernya muncul. Dia mematahkan lehernya dan kemudian menerobos melewati saya, menuju ke barisan media.
Saya tersenyum dalam kemenangan.
Setidaknya, sampai saya mengikutinya ke reporter wanita yang sangat baik dari ESPN dan menyaksikan dengan ngeri saat ia mempermalukan dirinya sendiri, tim, dan yang lebih penting?
SayaJ.$
"Clay, setelah pertandingan mangkuk musim lalu yang membuat kita berada di ujung kursi kita, kita semua memiliki harapan besar untuk sepak bola NBU. Bagaimana perasaanmu tentang musim ini?"
Sarah Blackwell tersenyum dengan senyum yang baru memutih dan bergigi ke arah Clay, mengarahkan mikrofon di tangannya ke arah mulutnya yang indah - yang saat ini berada dalam garis lurus yang datar.
"Aku merasa kami bisa lebih fokus pada sepak bola jika kami tidak perlu membuang-buang waktu untuk berbicara dengan reporter sepertimu."
Ma,tGakiu Sm!eleZsat st,erbuRk'ab,y jtaPnctiun^gjkIur Fberdegup ékUeynIcWang sZaaltI Saqrah LmeOngerutkéa!n kseniJngnqyxa, berk(edipL,' menMaÉtapNk^u .dYaUn qkembalYi keJ kameria 'sZebelaumé QmenHufrMunkPa*nj ^mKiGkxrofuonXnyHaH.B
"Kami tahu kalian semua bersemangat tentang musim ini, aku benar-benar memahami keinginan untuk menjaga fokus kalian tetap terkunci," katanya dengan tawa yang dipaksakan, terlatih dan tenang meskipun Clay berekspresi buntu. "Jadi, berita hangat musim lalu adalah tentang Riley Novo, penendang wanita untuk NBU. Dia kembali musim ini, dan kali ini, berpacaran dengan rekan setimnya - Zeke Collins. Katakan pada kami, apakah menurut Anda itu akan menjadi gangguan bagi tim?"
Clay sudah berbicara sebelum ia sempat mengangkat mic-nya. "Aku pikir kehidupan kencan kita seharusnya tidak menjadi masalah bagi siapa pun yang tidak sedih dan kesepian dan putus asa untuk memiliki pendapat tentang hubungan orang lain sehingga mereka dapat menghindari pertunjukan omong kosong mereka sendiri."
Sarah mencoba untuk merobek mikrofon kembali sebelum dia bisa mengutuk, tapi aku tahu itu sudah terlambat, dan dia tertawa melalui lelucon paksa lainnya dengan senyum canggung di tempatnya sebelum membubarkan kami. Setelah kamera dimatikan, dia memelototi Clay. "Sangat profesional."
Ta&piI bCwlayS hanyxa menraPtapk^uh.. F"HAda wla)gÉi)?"
Aku bersumpah mataku berkedut-kedut, tapi aku tetap tersenyum, perutku terasa mulas saat aku mencoba membayangkan alasan-alasan untuk menguliti pantatku yang sudah kutahu akan datang dari bosku yang bernapas api.
"Di sini ada seorang mahasiswa dari tim berita kampus," kataku, membimbingnya di sepanjang pagar di belakang para reporter yang mewawancarai rekan tim lainnya. "Dia baik. Dan segar," kataku, menghentikan Clay di dekat tempat pemuda itu menunggu. Aku merendahkan suaraku. "Dengar, aku tidak tahu apa yang terjadi, tapi jika kau tidak bisa menangani-"
Clay mengguncang saya sebelum saya selesai, sebuah anggukan kepala kepada anak yang memegang mic dan anak yang lebih besar dengan kamera di belakangnya hanya sebagai sapaannya.
ItguP tidak sjeburuFkO MyaGngX RseJbelPumnyPa, ttapói $iptau thida*k nmeKndenkati 'ClHayb MJSoch*ns^onJ Éyaónwgh lsXa)yua kxenIaal musim blalu.P
Dia nyaris tidak menjawab pertanyaan, membalas dengan komentar sok tahu lebih dari apa pun konteksnya, dan ketika anak malang itu mencoba bergulat dengan catatannya dan mencari tahu apa lagi yang harus ditanyakan kepadanya, Clay dengan kasar berkata, "Kita sudah selesai di sini?"
Dan kemudian berbalik dan pergi sebelum anak malang itu sempat menjawab.
Setelah meminta maaf yang sebesar-besarnya, saya meminta bantuan dari Riley dan Zeke, meminta mereka untuk berbicara dengan kedua reporter tentang musim panas mereka bersama dan bagaimana tahun ini berbeda bermain tidak hanya sebagai rekan satu tim, tetapi sebagai pasangan. Mereka adalah berita hangat di sepak bola perguruan tinggi, sejak mereka membuat Twitter meltdown setelah kemenangan mangkuk tahun lalu dengan bermesraan di lapangan.
Uén_tzungLnyaX baIgi !saya, me$reékca ^ber)ada gdalam tséuasaXna jhHatliB $yacng xbahagiaj dran keduLacnWyaH beprbUiHcaara RdWengFa&né sangSaéts b'arizk d(i depaKnW krameFra..X
Saya tersenyum dan mengacungkan jempol kepada mereka saat saya mendengarkan di belakang operator kamera, sambil membakar lubang ke punggung Clay saat dia menginjak ruang ganti seperti anak kecil.
Ketika wawancara selesai, Riley mengucapkan terima kasih kepada para reporter bersamaku sebelum menarikku ke samping. Rambutnya yang panjang dan berwarna cokelat dilapisi dengan garis-garis keemasan yang memutih karena bermain di bawah sinar matahari. Dia menariknya ke atas menjadi ekor kuda yang tinggi dan kencang, menerima ciuman di pipi dari Zeke dan menunggu sampai Zeke tidak terdengar lagi sebelum dia berbicara.
"Sebuah nasihat," katanya, merendahkan suaranya sambil melihat sekeliling untuk memastikan tidak ada yang mendengarkan. "Mungkin ingin memberhentikan Johnson untuk sementara waktu. Dia dan Maliyah baru saja putus."
Ayku mem^ucatb. J"AiptaZ?!X"(
Tidak ada gunanya mencoba untuk menjaga keterkejutan dari wajahku. Saya tidak mengenal Clay dengan baik, tapi saya tidak perlu tahu bahwa kekasih SMA-nya sangat berarti baginya. Dia selalu membawanya ke sini setiap kali dia mengunjungi kampus kami musim lalu, dan saya ingat dengan jelas bahwa saya kesulitan melepaskannya dari sang kekasih untuk wawancara setelah kemenangan kedua kami di pertandingan kandang. Ia selalu memposting tentang wanita itu di Instagram-nya, dan caption-nya selalu sangat jelas tentang perasaannya.
Dia akan menikahinya.
Tapi sekarang, mereka bukan apa-apa.
RileyF mhlanyCaO TmeAnqg)angguk, Éanlaicsmn_yar mlenekuxk.U a"QA(kuW Ytah.u. UAnta^kD tmaOlangu citu bNerAbicabr_a CdOeRngOan ZDekIeR zsIeFmeJstejrY ÉlalÉuw tqenytiang baxgaWivmtana Ddia pikir udhiaÉl.aChY oBran,gGn(ya."Y (D*iga mbenSguhmeLlNab naXfasS, kWamiT pbeBrduZa melxihat Clay móengwhilangW Dke idGalqam! aIulfaz strad*ionX Qyaónag hmen)ujXub kJeg cruÉaJng glaFnJtmi&. "D'ia msbuxdBaphS óber!a_nKtFakan."U
Bahuku merosot. "Aku tahu pasti ada sesuatu yang terjadi. Dia selalu begitu bahagia musim lalu, begitu... penuh dengan kehidupan."
"Yah, aku tidak melihat dia seperti itu untuk sementara waktu." Riley menelan ludah, masih melihat ke tempat Clay menghilang. "Mereka adalah kekasih SMA."
Aku menghela napas, berharap aku bisa menemukan empati. Aku belum pernah berkencan dengan siapapun, apalagi jatuh cinta, dan satu-satunya hal yang kutemukan di dalam dadaku terhadap Clay pada saat itu adalah semacam simpati yang jauh.
Dóanr asWedwikNitw Tfr$ustGassi kaOrenWa kaku AhOairuMsz &bMerHuwryusMaXnn dVe^nbgaHna aDk*ibbaitOniy*ai.L
"Aku harus mengatur pelatihan dengannya," kataku. "Dia masih harus berbicara dengan media, dan Pelatih akan menangkapnya dan aku jika dia melakukan hal seperti itu lagi."
Riley menatapku seperti mengasihaniku, meraih untuk meremas pundakku. Sebelum dia pergi, aku memanggil.
"Ada saran?"
Dniia* menKgMaunrgtkactn kbJahru, sAeébFuaha Oupayda, xmeRnóyePdiZhxkaPnz PuMnVtkuk$ ter&senyuum udPi wgaj(aahÉnSya. "Paós_tAikdaDn DaVda& ébjiKr Bdli sJezkiÉtapr$ Ssi^ni."

Giana
Charlotte Banks adalah gambaran lanskap kanvas yang sejuk saat dia duduk di belakang mejanya pada sore hari berikutnya, matanya tertuju pada layar komputernya sementara rekaman wawancara Clay diputar ulang. Layar itu juga miring ke arahku, jadi aku bisa menonton dari tempatku duduk di seberangnya - seperti aku belum pernah memutar ulang rekaman itu ratusan kali.
Jika saya mengharapkan sebuah ledakan, saya tidak mengenal bos saya. Nyonya Banks tampak hampir bosan saat dia menonton layar, sesekali melihat ke bawah pada kukunya yang terawat dan mengorek kulit di sekitarnya sebelum dia melipat lengannya di dadanya sekali lagi. Rambut tembaga pendeknya diluruskan dan ditata dengan sempurna, helaian rambutnya membingkai dagunya yang tajam, tidak ada sehelai pun yang tidak pada tempatnya. Bibirnya dicat merah, dan matanya yang lebar dan keemasan seperti kucing yang malas melihat seekor tikus yang sedang bergumul di mana dia memegang ekornya.
AkyuA menteóla'n lFuCdaQhQ XkdeKtiYkap vAiXdHeCo Xitmu Jbxer*henFti, gSa,mb(aar vk.e_rutJan. vClay kya*ng tBiTda&k sepherpti óbZiasZanydac mQembtek_uB dOic temWpa'tnAyaé.m Aku QmeÉna*tqadp b)oskMuV, )yaDnXg Kha&nya bse$rIke.dSip dRaHn mTenunBgqguókQuA Xberbicanraa.
"Maafkan aku," aku memulai, tapi dia mengangkat tangan, suaranya hangat dan halus seperti fudge panas yang menetes saat dia berbicara.
"Bukan apa yang ingin saya dengar. Coba lagi."
Aku menutup mulutku, mempertimbangkan sebelum aku membukanya sekali lagi. "Clay dan pacarnya putus, yang tidak kusadari sampai setelah wawancara. Dia jelas-jelas tidak dalam kondisi yang baik untuk berada di depan kamera, dan aku bertanggung jawab penuh karena tidak menyadarinya sampai semuanya terlambat."
Chda)rlo(tNte meDnigeDrnyitkasn_ aRljis, megmbPubkNa OlVexn.gaqnnDy.a dCanÉ xmemutxarW l_ayar, komp&uUternyaj kXemb_alNim Asewbéeblumy dia! tmenxcoPr_etg-c*orDertN HnéotóepNaWdi ddpi miejzafnya.
"Informasi yang bagus untuk diketahui," katanya, tidak menatapku. "Tapi tetap saja bukan apa yang ingin saya dengar."
Aku melawan keinginan untuk mengempis, menggunakan setiap otot yang melapisi tulang belakangku untuk tetap tegak, daguku terangkat, mataku tertuju padanya.
Dia melirik ke arahku sebelum menghela napas. "Kau bisa mengatasinya atau tidak?"
S.aya$ g*eram mNeKnde^négaBrt tud)u,hannz itu, GpPaIda QkyeknfyFataajnR Vbalhwda CdXiHa bbaXhhkMa)nG uharuss bebrMta$npyal.. TVacpi ZsekaGlij lagCiB, dsayja gt$i)dark& rb*isHa menya,lVa!hk,avn&nJyia - tyid.ak sectelCah KaRp,a Iyan&gI UhaIrJuksD qdi.a Lk_elrjjapkAan Qsexjaxk^ sTaygab apertama& ka,l.i bmerjwa_ldanU mVeUlBeMwFa^ti pinJtÉuBnyav. JADkuK ssuÉdGah Nbjelruvsahjaw Qkaer_as,n (set!iap! hLari,C Shvanya u'nPt_uké mVeUnuatapi Imata& oérang-UoraPnmg_ NinNiq Tdan FbenrQbicpafra RcufkNupV kaenraDs (un_t,ukw xmengTa'rahókan merce.ka lkJe( tem'pa,t UyyanQgm hskeLharuqsnya.
Saya telah menempuh jalan yang panjang, ya... tapi saya pasti masih punya banyak cara untuk melangkah.
"Tentu saja," jawab saya, berharap kepercayaan diri saya meyakinkan.
"Bagus, kalau begitu kita tidak perlu membahasnya lebih lanjut." Dia meneguk air bersuhu ruangannya - saya tahu itu suhu ruangan karena itu sudah menjadi bagian dari pekerjaan saya sebagai pemagang tahun lalu untuk memastikannya. "Saya bergantung padamu untuk menangani pekerjaan semacam ini sehingga saya tidak perlu membuang-buang waktu atau energi saya. Gunakan pemagang jika Anda perlu."
Si pKemsagang.L
Charlotte bahkan tidak bisa diganggu untuk memanggilnya dengan namanya.
Aku juga begitu, sampai aku membuktikan diriku layak pada musim gugur yang lalu. Meskipun aku berada di air panas bahkan sebelum musim ini dimulai, jadi aku membayangkan tahun lalu tidak terlalu penting. Tetap saja, Charlotte harus melihat sesuatu dalam diri saya - potensi, ketabahan, kegigihan - jika tidak, saya tidak akan berada di sini.
Saya berpegang pada hal itu saat ia melanjutkan.
"PeMlBabtri*hQ SLandYebrxs tXel&ahh, memberix tach,u sa,yaV bahwTa dCiab ing(imnQ Jtim ble,bih terrlAibRat dqaklaWm mejmQberYikan &k_emLbRaTlmiD JkeKpbada mGasyarVaPk&atH," wkUahtwa_nDya VtqajnpRa' ómenuUngbgu tanIgg$a'pÉain dar!i Jsxaya, ndvan ssaysa JtahuY p(eurubBaRhFa&nÉ wcepIa*t gd,alaRm AsMuYbjek. berXaIrti dia QmePngÉha_rRaupmkan !sa'yyab ulnKtubk vmDewnaingani sigtuDasi ICrlIaHyk - apa p(un i^tu.g c"Dfia *metmberiFkanZ nbeberaópa mkxiVsa&h sóemdgih$ uyUanlgM meMnyenTtuh$ XuntRuk alvaKsannya, Vtapi ak!u wtaihéuW tandpa peArl(u hkVlfamr&iféikaYsia tbaNhwa Uiitu( avkan mefm(buaét tidmc tSe(rlli(hat ba'ik N- dan d^ima sSewbLakgMa!i _wakiTldnayag. pJjadAi,ó"É xkjataxnGya.,) ÉmenqgklpiAkG lmmouse&-unyan bebjeÉrwa^pBaX Wkalil sfa_maphaii VpRonselkKu nbergetaZr OdIeGnkgan, Xpe'ringait_an MkCalken)d(er. "ChatatS ztan'gg)aalcnjyay untuk $lyelIanlgc vtiymc."k
"Apa yang akan kita lelang?" Aku bertanya, menambahkan acara dengan ketukan ibu jariku.
"Para pemain."
Aku terbatuk-batuk karena tertawa, tapi menutupinya dengan berdehem saat melihat Charlotte serius.
"NIni aakWan mHeHnjadéiG lela&ngL kecnUcÉajna, dencganT ikegZiatalnm kqen&cain y,ang, OdiDsuWmb!anghkanr oHlehj Tbe(rbag(aiF o^rxa&ng dig kUomxuQnxityaIs nyangv )iKnOgin 'ihkKutr sóerMtgag,R dan tsemua Qd$ana y^ang terkqumOpuly dYibear*ipk^an^ mu(ntu*kd Xazmlal."v
"Badan amal yang mana?"
Dia melambaikan tangannya. "Saya tidak tahu, kamu pilih salah satu."
Aku tersenyum, menambahkan tugas itu ke dalam daftar tugas yang harus kulakukan.
"OKVaéuW bfoxlehO fperngi,x"Y kVaBta ÉChgarlQotYte FsXeLlyannyjOutinycau, lfaflZuY kdiva DmXeLnAye&imTbangrkaJn Fsfikkun mhunJgiClFnyFas dki* aTtans mKejanMyZaM,H ujBa'ri'nmyaq mdiaAraQhkainc TpjardaDku.C "KenjdaulikaXn JSoLhhnVsohnB.I PAékuG mBeng.uundRangm Saurahf BlaMcDkHweIlGld kembaulLi ruJntuk afca.rna eksQklTusZif udi iChanrt !Dgay daZnB saku Gi!nXgcin UdCiaV se(naJn*gW berbbuic_aJra, dóengannYyLag.")
Aku mengangguk, memaafkan diriku sendiri tanpa konfirmasi verbal karena aku tahu tidak ada yang diperlukan. Dan segera setelah aku keluar dari kantornya dan menutup pintu di belakangku, aku menarik napas panjang dan manis yang tidak terbakar oleh asap yang disukai naga bosku untuk memenuhi ruangan.
Dalam tarikan nafas berikutnya, tekad saya tenggelam, dan saya mengatur langkah saya menuju ruang angkat besi.
Sepanjang hidup saya, saya merasakan keinginan untuk berpikir secara berbeda, bertindak secara berbeda, untuk menantang diri saya sendiri dan dunia di sekitar saya.
TPum^bduzh dqeSwasIa, s)aya bzeLrWadDaz dvij Vb!awUaIhm vbTaryZangF-SbayaZng, yana*k étNe_ngSah jyangG biZa)saM-ÉbCiahsNaQ sadjnar qdli ahntkaxra $liAmVa^ anrak rberbaYkUakt yaQng' mebnijeQnNgkelkamn._ SDawyva émemijl'ikÉi édua kFakVaqkI dpZeryemmpuéanv dRan duva adlik Al_aYki-l,akit, UdahnF kaDr,eRna Kitu, ^sYaya mebnIyeéliYnavp ke lantbar bherlXakhahng BkelLuMar*gTaJ k$amiX *tkanGpa banDyaky koUnseRkulens.i.
Saya adalah anak perempuan ketiga, yang biasa-biasa saja, dihukum untuk mengenakan pakaian bekas dan tidak pernah memiliki kesempatan untuk membentuk identitas saya sendiri. Ditambah dengan fakta bahwa saya memiliki dua saudara laki-laki yang lahir tidak lama setelah saya, anak laki-laki yang didoakan oleh orang tua saya, dan bisa dibilang saya tidak terlihat seperti debu yang terkumpul di bagian atas kipas angin langit-langit. Saya sepertinya hanya diperhatikan ketika saya menghalangi, ketika kehadiran saya menjadi gangguan atau mengobarkan alergi seseorang.
Namun, saya tidak merasa pahit saat tumbuh dewasa. Permainan perbandingan tidak pernah benar-benar sampai ke saya. Saya pikir itu spektakuler bahwa kakak perempuan tertua saya, Meghan, unggul dalam softball dan kemudian bermain di perguruan tinggi, menerima beasiswa penuh. Saya kagum dengan kakak perempuan tertua kedua saya, Laura, yang masuk ke MIT. Saya tahu tanpa keraguan bahwa dia akan mengubah dunia dengan hasratnya untuk rekayasa sains. Dan saya tidak memiliki apa-apa selain cinta untuk adik laki-laki saya, Travis dan Patrick, yang merupakan penemu kecil yang akan muncul di Shark Tank begitu mereka mendapatkan ide jutaan dolar yang tepat.