The professor shows up as the notifications start pouring in. My follower count has been steadily rising ever since the focus shifted to my draft class. I barely even use the thing, but I’m gonna have to turn off notifications soon. For now, I silence my phone and take the syllabus the girl a few seats over passes to me. We don’t do roll call. Instead, the professor goes around and makes each of us introduce ourselves.
In a class this size, it’ll take almost the whole hour.
Everyone’s giving their year, their majors, what they plan to do with their degree. My hands are clammy, my chest tight. What the hell am I supposed to say without making myself look like an ass?
Jaysen’s right. I don’t belong here. I should be on some CHL team, not wasting my and everyone else’s time in this classroom, taking up space on this campus.
Jaysen turns in his seat to face more people when he’s up, eyes skipping right over me as he says, “I’m Jaysen. Freshman soc major. Thinking about working in a law firm someday.”
Not a word about hockey. Jaysen Caulfield is made up of more important things.
Now I have to make it look like I am, too. Just to get him off my back.
I drown out the rest of the intros, scrambling to come up with something meaningful. Anything I like that I could make a career out of. Something I’d be happy to get out of bed for.
My mind comes up startlingly blank. Nothing makes me happy, really. Getting out of bed is a chore.
“Hi!” Delilah says, all loud and bubbly, jolting me out of my thoughts. “I’m Delilah James. Sophomore sports management major. I’m playing for Team USA women’s hockey in the Olympics next year and working for them after I graduate.”
There is no hoping or planning about it. She talks like it’s already a given. I mean, of course it is. She’s a James, after all.
Then it’s my turn. Forty-something pairs of eyes on me is nothing compared to the thousands when I’m on the ice. But this is way more stressful. Talking is not part of my skill set.
My mouth is so dry that my tongue makes this gross sticky sound as it moves. “I’m, uh…” My eyes dart around the room, looking for someone safe to focus on so it’s not like I’m talking to all of these people. It’d be weird if I stared at Delilah right next to me. So of course I home in on Jaysen. He watches me through heavy eyelids, head tilted back like a challenge.
I clear my throat. “Mickey. Freshman. Marine science major.”
And that’s all I got. Jaysen raises one eyebrow so it arches above his glasses. I look away.
The room is quiet for a beat before some guy shouts, “Go Sens!”
The Ottawa Senators are a favorite to tank this season and win the draft lottery for that coveted top pick. I sigh heavily and barely catch the way Jaysen’s face sours as he turns around. He’s a top prospect, too, but nobody made any comments like that for him.
JaysenCaulfield @jaycaul21 ? 32m
Replying to @NHL
Note how @mjames17 is behind me, just like he will be on draft day
THREE
SEPTEMBER
I get through the first few weeks of college without dropping out, but that’s only because I don’t want to deal with Dad whining about it for the next twenty years.
We got team lifting in the morning, followed by team breakfast in the players’ lounge. Team lunch in the dining hall after morning classes and suffering through afternoon classes just to get to team captains’ practice and team dinner and team Saturdays at the rink and team study hall on Sunday afternoons. But even with all this team bullshit, I still feel no closer to any of them.
Well, maybe Dorian a little, but that’s only because I live with him and he’s at least tolerable. Still, it’s not like I go out of my way to talk to him. There’s a lot of awkward silences in our room at night.
Practice gets more and more serious as the season approaches, and the captains work us hard, running through Coach’s practice plans. I leave the rink every night gasping for breath and go to the weight room every morning so sore I can barely move.
And I’ve been doing this my whole life.
Maybe I should call Dad. Ask if he felt this out of shape at this point, too, or if I’m just hopelessly unprepared for college hockey and everyone will finally see I’m not worthy of my own name.
My entire body shudders at that betrayal of my mind. Let me just call up my dad and fuel the fire of his disappointment. Right.
It’s not that he’s a terrible parent. It’s just … everyone says he had five other kids just to get to me. I’m always afraid my sisters are gonna resent me for it. Then there’s the fact that Delilah is a better hockey player than me, but Dad refuses to admit it.