“It is. Trust me, a few scrapes and bruises are nothing compared to the thrill of being on the ice.” I glance over at her. “Do you skate?”
“Not really. I mean, I have skated. But I usually just go around in circles on the rink. I’ve never had to hold a stick or chase a puck around.”
“Is that what you think hockey is?” I ask with a grin. “Holding a stick and chasing a puck?”
“Of course not. I know there’s a lot of skill involved, and it’s definitely intense to watch,” she admits.
“It’s intense to play.”
She perches on the edge of my bed, tilting her head curiously. “Have you always wanted to play? Or is it something your dad forced you into?”
I tense. “What makes you think that?”
Hannah shrugs. “Someone told me your dad is like a hockey superstar. I know there are a lot of parents out there who force their kids to follow in their footsteps.”
My shoulders are even stiffer now. I’m surprised she hasn’t brought up my father before now—I doubt there’s anyone at Briar who doesn’t know I’m Phil Graham’s son—but I’m also startled by how perceptive she is. Nobody has ever asked me if I actually enjoy playing hockey. They just assume I must love it because my father played.
“He pushed me into it,” I confess in a gruff voice. “I was skating before I even hit the first grade. But I kept playing because I love the sport.”
“That’s good,” she says softly. “I think it’s important to be doing what you love.”
I’m afraid she might ask more questions about my father, so I clear my throat and change the subject. “So which philosopher should we start with—Hobbes or Locke?”
“You pick. They’re both incredibly boring.”
I chuckle. “Way to make me enthusiastic about it, Wellsy.”
But she’s right. The next hour is brutal, and not just because of the mind-numbingly dull theories. I’m absolutely starving because I slept through lunch, but I refuse to end the session until I’ve mastered the material. When I studied for the midterm before, I focused only on the major points, but Hannah makes me examine every last detail. She also forces me to rephrase each theory, which I have to admit, gives me a better handle on the convoluted crap we’re studying.
After we’d muddled through it all, Hannah quizzes me on everything we’ve read these past few days, and when she’s satisfied I know my stuff, she closes the binder and nods.
“Tomorrow we’ll start applying the theories to actual ethical dilemmas.”
“Sounds good.” My stomach grumbles so loudly it practically shakes the walls, and I wince.
She snorts. “Hungry?”
“Famished. Tuck does all the cooking in the house, but he’s not home tonight so I was going to order a pizza.” I hesitate. “Do you want to stick around? Have a couple slices and maybe watch something?”
She looks surprised by the invitation. It surprises me too, but honestly, I wouldn’t mind the company. Logan and the others went out to hit up a party, but I wasn’t in the mood to tag along. And I’ve managed to get ahead on all my course readings, so I’ve got shit all to do tonight.
“What do you want to watch?” she asks warily.
I gesture to the stack of Blu-Rays next to my TV. “Dean just got every season of Breaking Bad. I keep meaning to watch it but I never have time.”
“Is that the show about the heroine dealer?”
“Meth cooker. I hear it’s fucking awesome.”