You know what sucks the most about this? I know he doesn’t really want to know. His voice is so dead. He doesn’t even glance in my direction as he asks. I know he’s only here because our drunk captains want us to stop being so hostile before practice starts. But that doesn’t stop my heart from stuttering or my palms from sweating at the weight of his attention.
“Nothing,” I say.
“So, what, undecided for now? Testing the waters?”
I look at him. He’s got a tight grip on his backpack straps, chewing hard on his gum. There’s this heavy feeling in my chest, like I know exactly what he’s getting at.
“Not here for a degree,” I say slowly, keeping my eyes on him the whole time.
He reacts exactly like I expect him to, finally looking at me with disdain all over his face. “Shoulda gone CHL, then. Why bother coming to college if the NHL is such a sure thing?”
He kinda has a point. Playing in the CHL would let me focus solely on hockey instead of wasting time on classes and homework. But Hartland is a James family tradition. I didn’t have much choice.
I adjust the pen behind my ear and turn my eyes back to the sidewalk. My face is starting to feel hot, and not just from the late-August sun. “I could ask the same of you.”
“The NHL has never been a given for me.”
I scoff. “You’ve been a top prospect for years. It’s a given.”
“James.” He says my name like it causes him physical pain, all strained and raspy. “I already had one career-threatening injury. One bad hit’s all it’ll take for me to lose this. Then there’s the fact that less than one percent of men’s college hockey players and two percent of NHL players are Black. I haven’t been set up for superstardom like you.”
I take a deep breath and let it out heavily through my nose. I can’t argue with that.
“You realize like half our team’s been drafted, right?” Jaysen goes on. I wonder how he would’ve gone about flipping out on me if I’d answered that first question differently. Because this was obviously his plan from the start. “Hell, Dorian went second round to the Kings, and he’s still declaring astronomy. You might as well have a backup plan for when that legacy blows up in your face. One bad attitude can sink an entire team. No one’s gonna risk that for your name.”
I roll my eyes and stop walking. “Listen. Jaysen.”
He faces me with his arms crossed and eyebrows pinched.
“We don’t have to do this,” I continue, voice hoarse. “You don’t have to remind me how much you hate me every time you see me. I haven’t forgotten.”
He bites down hard, the tendons in his jaw popping out. I don’t give him time to come up with another insult before I walk away.
The air-conditioning in Stratton hits me like a wall, and I take in a relieved breath of cold air, wiping sweat off my forehead. I should’ve brought a backpack just to carry around extra deodorant.
I take a desk at the back of the lecture hall and sink low in my seat, leg bouncing as I watch people come in. Jaysen trails in right behind me, but he sits closer to the front, thank god. I prop an elbow on the table and scrub at a drawing of a dick in Sharpie with my thumb while I wait for Delilah to show up. Good to know college students are no more mature than the ones in high school.
The slap of a notebook on the table next to me makes me jump. “We’re sitting up front next time,” Delilah says, Jade sinking into the seat on her other side, wearing a T-shirt that says Seventeen on the front and Woozi 96 on the back. They must’ve gotten together because of K-pop. It’s the first thing I’ve seen them have in common so far. “I need to pass this class.”
I sigh. “Fine.”
She takes her seat next to me and slides over a sweating plastic cup. “You’re in college now, kid. Time to caffeinate.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, and take a small sip of some kind of bitter iced coffee.
She laughs at my grimace. “You have to stir it first.” She jerks her chin toward the front of the room. “Try not to make so many ugly faces—you’ve got an audience.”
A few people quickly look away when I follow her gaze. “What the hell.”
“They’re selling these in the Sommer Center.” Delilah reaches into her backpack and pulls out a magazine, tossing it onto the table in front of me. The Hockey News. The cover photo has me in full gear, my new purple-and-black Royals jersey, completely unsmiling.
“The Dynasty Continues: Presenting His Majesty, Mickey James III.”