Chapter Text
Atsumu Miya has never agreed to do an interview. Ever since he transferred to UCLA last year from Japan, immediately becoming the best collegiate volleyball player America has ever seen, he has not accepted a single one of the offers by the Daily Bruin—the school's esteemed student newspaper—to be featured in any articles.
At least, that's what Gwen Chaser, my Editor in Chief, had told me.
"All of the sports writers have given up on him at this point," Gwen had said, sipping on her coffee. She had asked me to a cafe on campus for a talk, and I had gone into it excited, hoping she was going to offer me the position for Editor in Chief of the paper next school year.
"I still don't think his story is a lost cause, though. Do you?"
"No story is a lost cause." I had replied to that, matter-of-a-factly; Gwen had smiled.
"Exactly. So I think a front page exclusive on him would be the perfect thing for you for your last edition this year, wouldn't it?"
I glanced up and saw her looking at me with intensity. "What makes you think he'll say yes to me?"
"I think anyone who has what it takes to be Editor in Chief could get an interview out of him, and to be honest Angelina, I need to see that from you."
I fiddled with the iced coffee in my hands, frowning. As a journalism major, I've been aiming for Editor in Chief since my freshman year, honing my writing and finding unique stories. But, I knew my assertiveness needed work.
"You have the talent, you have the skill, and you have the passion. I know that," Gwen continued, "But as great as your research is, I need to know that you can be pushy enough to get to the bottom of what the people want to know. I really cannot leave the paper in poor hands next year."
I swallowed. "You won't. I'll get an interview from him."
"Perfect!” Gwen’s intense look had softened significantly. “The volleyball teams have practice almost every afternoon so you should be able to find him there." She checked her phone and stood up from her chair, grabbing her cup from the table. “I’ve got to run, but let me know if you need anything, okay!”
I nodded, watching as she began to walk away.
"And, Angelina?" She turned her head back to me, long blonde hair falling over her shoulders.
"Yes?"
"Good luck. I’ll see you at the next meeting.”
Following the talk with Gwen, I had been feeling confident. Atsumu was also a junior, and I’d definitely seen him around, even if I had never formally met him. Either way, I’ve definitely heard all about him from those who had, and there seemed to be a common theme for most descriptions of him; talented yet cocky, funny, but a bit of a douchebag. I had assumed he’d done plenty of interviews for larger papers or sports channels, and was simply not giving the the Daily Bruin the time of day. He probably thinks he’s too good for it, I had thought to myself with annoyance. All I would have to do to get him to agree is just to inflate his ego a little bit—if that would even be possible, he might explode if it gets any larger.
But, now, after two more iced coffees and an embarrassingly long search history littered with the words Miya and Atsumu, that confidence has plummeted.
Any logical person would think that the best volleyball player in the country would have an extensive social media footprint, but other than his game stats, I’ve come up concerningly short. Since I got back to my dorm an hour ago, I’ve been searching for any interviews of his from the past two years and all I have to show for it is a single press conference and his instagram page. I click back to the video of the press conference, taken after the 2015 championship game last year, and posted on the UCLA Athletics YoutTube channel.
It looks like the conference was immediately after the game; his bleach blond hair is messy, with some pieces sticking to his forehead. There are still beads of sweat slowly running down his neck, and he has a towel resting around it. The lights and camera flashes on him make his tanned skin glow, as well as making the outline of his toned biceps—which are fully visible in the sleeveless jersey he’s wearing—especially prominent. To top it all off, he’s wearing an expression mixed with exhaustion and annoyance; his hooded eyelids falling heavily over his hazel eyes, making them look almost closed, or squinted in an irritated glare. There’s a slight smirk on his face as the reporters ask their questions, but if you look closely he seems like he’s biting the inside of his cheek. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, even though he’d just won the championship.
Clearly, it seems like he’s a total asshole.
I watch the full video, taking note of how brief and vague his responses to all of the questions are. Even more interestingly, he steers the topics of Japan or his personal life away whenever they’re mentioned. It was unlike anything I was expecting. By the end, I realize that I haven’t gained any more perspective on the spectacle of Atsumu Miya than I had at the beginning. Clicking back to his entirely boring instagram (the only posts are from the team’s media days or promotional shots), I stare at his photo with an irritated intensity. All I know now is that he’s much more of a paradox than I initially thought, not to mention extremely, insufferably—
“Soooo gorgeous…”
I jump up in my desk chair, closing my computer halfway in response to the sudden voice in my right ear.
“Holy shit!” I let out a big exhale. “Never do that again, I swear.”
Diana, my best friend and roommate of three years, laughed at my reaction over my shoulder. “What, am I wrong?”
Choosing not to respond, I shut my computer fully and spin my chair around to face her. “Do you know him?”
She pulled away, now taking off her shoes and opening the closet, about to change out of her work clothes. Diana’s a foods major, and usually works late hours at a restaurant on campus. Looking out the window, I’m met with the vibrant sunset that usually comes with the beginning of summer in LA. She’s back surprisingly early today, I’m usually asleep.
“Atsumu? I thought everyone knew him.” She looked back at me, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Want me to set you up?”
I roll my eyes. “I just got assigned an article about him, so I need an interview.” I get up, sighing as I climb up into my bed and lay flat, staring up at the ceiling. “And I need any kind of information on him, but I literally cannot find any anywhere.”
“Yeah he is kinda weird about the press for some reason. Isn’t it so mysterious?”
“It’s so annoying. What kind of athlete doesn’t do interviews? Isn’t that like, half of their job? You would think he of all people would love that type of thing…” I ramble on until Diana finishes changing, and I hear her leap onto her bed.
“I don’t think they really care as long as he’s playing like he does.” She turns over to face me, and I do the same.
“Y’know Lina, I really could set you two up,” Diana continues, “his brother is in like half of my classes.”
I sit up. “He has a brother?”
“You don’t know Osamu?” A shocked look is sent my way. “They’re identical twins, so equally beautiful” She sighs softly, turning back onto her back. “Honestly, Osamu might be even better.”
Diana keeps talking, but I don’t listen, thoughts of worry racing through my mind. If the fact that he has a brother is already too much for him to share, then what will he? And how am I supposed to get him to agree to any of this?
“What else do you know? I’m gonna need to know way more about him if I want to convince–”
“You should just go for it.”
“What?” Diana has turned back to look at me, her brown eyes serious.
“Just go for it!” she repeats. “You can’t just sit, and wait, and think forever and ever just waiting for something to happen. Sometimes you just need to act and see what comes from it.”
I open my mouth, about to respond, before I’m cut off. “And don’t pretend like you weren’t just about to overthink 20 billion different ways of approaching him in your head, cause I know you.”
“What—”
“I mean when was the last time you actually just went for it and did something interesting? You don’t even go out anymore.”
My head leans back and I stare up at the ceiling; she’s right. The last time I seriously got drunk was almost a year ago at this point. I had just found out my ex had been cheating on me, and did not respond well. Since then, I told myself I would just focus on my studies and my career over anything else.
“It’s about time, Lina.” My mother had said to me when I told her about the breakup. “That boy was far too much like your father. I knew he would betray you. They all do.”
I had held my head down, facing the elegant table of the restaurant we were at. I always felt her disapproval hitting me in waves. At that moment, though, I felt an immense guilt that I couldn;t fully place.
“You know, when your father left us, I didn’t regret having you one bit. I only regret having you with him.” My mother’s eyes looked exactly like mine: jade green, with a ring of blue surrounding her pupils. But hers had wrinkles around them, and she was squinting at me slightly with love in her expression.
“I should have been working to give you a better life before he left, and even before we moved here. But I didn’t, and I regret it every day. We had to struggle so much because I put all my trust in him.”
I had looked at her again, noticing how different she had become from when I was younger. Her long hair, that had once been tied into messy ponytails as she studied and filled out paperwork at the wobbly kitchen table, now curled perfectly and shone in the way one would expect it to after going to the hairstylist routinely. Her clothes were now of the highest quality, compared to the few dresses she used to mend herself. She looked almost unrecognizable from the impoverished Argentinian woman who put herself through years of law school in America and started her own million dollar firm from nothing. If it weren’t for the wrinkles and tired eyes reflecting all of her hard work from over the years, she would almost look like she was born into wealth.
My mother had continued, not breaking eye contact. “You cannot go through that regret, Lina. You cannot give yourself to any man before you are sure you can sustain yourself. Do you understand me?” She grabbed my hands in hers from across the table, and squeezed gently.
“Do not ever give your trust to a man who will give you nothing in return. Do you understand?”
I had let out a shaky breath, looking down again before looking back up into eyes identical to mine, but so much wiser, and so much stronger.
“Yes, mama.”
I’ve internalized every word of what my mother had said to me since that day, completely fueling my drive and my one track mind. When I had gone to UCLA after getting rejected from the ivy schools I had applied to, she had been completely disappointed in me. Becoming Editor in Chief, and getting a job with a major company is probably the only way I’d be able to fully redeem myself.
“Lina?” Diana’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “Sorry, that sounded kinda bitchy. But you know what I mean right? I just want you to put yourself out there…you can do whatever you want though, I wont judge or any—”
“No.” I cut her off. “You’re right.”
Just go for it.
“I’ll ask him tomorrow. They’ll have practice, right?”
I looked over again at Diana, to see a slightly smug grin on her face.
“Probably, they’re in season.”
“Hm.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“The Froyo machine downstairs just got fixed.”
I sit up, my feet dangling off the side of my bed. “Oh my god, actually?”
She mirrors my position on her bed. “Yes! Can we go?” She hops off of her bed, slipping on her flip flops before even waiting for my answer. I follow wordlessly, putting on mine and heading out the door and down the hallway.
Tomorrow.