“Can you deny you want to be captain?”
“Let me put it this way, if they offer it to me, I’ll accept, but—”
He scoffed. “I knew it. I knew it that night your dad took us all out to dinner to butter us up. Talk about obvious.”
“I didn’t ask him to do that. I didn’t even know he was coming that night.”
“Sure you didn’t.” He let out a harsh breath. “Look, never mind. I have to finish getting dressed.”
Back at the apartment, AJ baked a chicken and prepared some brown rice and frozen vegetables he cooked in the microwave. As we dug in, I said, “Guess who I had lunch with today?”
He put on a thoughtful look. “Sultan Kösen, the current tallest man in the world.”
“I can’t believe you know that.”
He grinned. “I know many things, young Forte.”
“Obviously, I did not have lunch with the current tallest man in the world. Guess again.”
“The Jonas Brothers.”
“Wrong again. One more chance.”
“That cute girl from photography class, the one who wants to save the world from ugly kids, one surgery at a time.”
I stopped in the middle of cutting my chicken and stared at him in shock. “How did you…?”
“I saw you guys at the Marketplace,” he said with a chuckle. “But being the excellent friend I am, I left you alone and sat a few tables away. When I left, you two were still talking. I hope you can introduce me to her friend. She’s a babe.”
“Well, I would, except I fucked up royally and I’m not sure Indi will ever speak to me again.”
“What the hell did you do?”
I sighed. “I…I kind of accidentally implied that she wished she was white.”
AJ looked at me, horrified. “How in the living fuck did you do that?”
I explained what happened and how it was just a misunderstanding.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he said reassuringly.
“I was just trying to confirm that she just wanted to look like her parents and it came out all wrong.”
“Well, my friend, seems like your only course of action is to apologize and explain, otherwise, she’ll go on thinking you’re the BROC.”
I gave him a questioning look.
“Big Racist on Campus.”
“Fuck you.” I said, unable to hold back a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll definitely approach her, but I probably won’t see her again until class, next Monday. Damn it.”
“You could always haunt the Marketplace and hope to run into her again.”
“And have her think I’m a stalker as well as a racist? No thanks.”
AJ shrugged and ripped a big bite off his drumstick.
“I’ll just wait until class and implement my dad’s relationship reboot.”
AJ blinked at me. “I’m sorry…what?”
“The relationship reboot. It’s this thing my dad does when he fucks up with my mom. I swear, it’s practically foolproof. Works, I’d say, eighty percent of the time.”
“Your dad’s a relationship expert as well as an ace hockey player?”
I shrugged. “He played the field when he was younger but once he married my mom, all that stopped. He’s devoted to her and they’re pretty happy.”
AJ laid his chicken bone to the side of his plate and wiped his hands on his napkin. “Okay, tell me how this reboot works.”
“There are three important aspects. First is the apology. It can’t just be, ‘I’m sorry.’ You have to be specific. ‘I’m sorry for—’ then you fill in the blank. That’s really important. The details make it more sincere.”
“This is fascinating,” AJ said.
I narrowed my eyes and he held his hands up in a gesture of innocence.
“No, really. I’m not being sarcastic.”
Because he did seem sincere, I went on. “The second thing is related to the first one. You have to look her in the eye. That’s how she knows you mean it.”
“Do you have to mean it?” AJ asked. “I mean, can you just go through the motions?”
“My dad insists you don’t, but like I said, it doesn’t work every time and maybe that’s because he doesn’t always mean it.”
“Makes sense. What’s the last part?”
Grinning, I picked a piece of food out from between my teeth and sat back.
“Aw, come on. Don’t be a dick. What’s the last part of the formula?”
“What’s it worth to you?”
“I’ll do the dishes.”
“Done.”
Our normal deal was AJ cooked, I cleaned up, so just by sharing my dad’s pearls of relationship wisdom, I was going to have a dishes-free night.
“So the last thing you have to do is ask her, ‘What can I do to make this better?’ Then, you have to do it, of course.”
“Yeah, but what if she asks for something you don’t want to do?”
“I’ll tell you what my dad said when I asked that same question—that’s the price of fucking up.”
I’d told AJ the reboot worked about eighty percent of the time, but I was still worried. I really liked Indi. Beyond her rocking body, she made me laugh and I wanted to find out more about her. I admired the way she’d handled herself when my teammate made that rude comment about the kid in her presentation and how she seemed as passionate about medicine as I was about hockey.
8
Indi
Nodding at Hudson, I said to Ruby, “There’s the creep.”
He’d just entered the photography classroom and was standing near the door scanning the room. When his eyes lighted on me, he took a deep breath and started toward us. I’d hoped we could politely ignore each other for the rest of the semester, but he wasn’t cooperating.
“Oh my God,” Ruby said. “Want me to run defense? Tell him off for you?”
Before I could answer, Professor Larkmont blew into the room and started talking before she even got to the lectern. While Hudson went to sit in the back with his teammates, I faced front and tried to pay attention to her presentation about the history of photography.
I wasn’t too successful. Just seeing Hudson again stirred up all the nasty feelings I’d bathed in for the past two days.
Even though he and I had spent less than an hour in each other’s presence, I’d felt as if I’d been betrayed. He’d been so easy to talk to and he had this way of asking me questions that not only made me really think but that I wanted to answer. I’d found myself voicing feelings that I usually didn’t share with other people or even examine for myself. And then, like a slap in the face, he’d said that shitty thing and it had felt like someone had said, “Indi, congratulations, you just won a new car!” and then a moment later told me it was a joke.
I’d tried to forget about it and him but when he walked into the classroom today, it stirred everything up again.
Despite my scattered thoughts, I managed to take some decent notes, but at the close of the class, Professor Larkmont dropped a bomb on us.
“We’re about out of time,” she said, “so quickly, written assignment 1A is to choose two of the pioneering photographers from the list provided and write a total of five hundred words about their contribution to photography. That is due on Friday. In the meantime, you should be getting a jump on the first portrait assignment which is due on the twenty-fifth. For those of you who have neglected to read the syllabus, you must pair up with someone from class, someone you don’t already know. You hear me in the back?”
Some grumbling from the hockey contingent could be heard as she dismissed the class. They weren’t the only ones thrown for a loop.
I had read the syllabus and seen the assignment required a partner, but I’d assumed Ruby and I would work together. Now, compelled to find someone else, I broke out into a cold sweat. When I was a little girl, when a teacher told us to pair up or form a group, I was often everyone’s last choice or worse, I was shunn
ed. The person or group would close ranks or turn their backs on me. When this happened, the teacher would either force someone to be my partner or step in and be my partner herself. It was an exercise in humiliation.
I usually managed to hold in the tears in until I got home where I would tell my mother what happened. As she enfolded me in her comforting arms, she would remind me how perfect I was, that I should never change to fit someone else’s ideal and when people were mean to me, I should feel bad for them because what a person was like on the inside was more important than what they looked like. Easier said than done.
Once I learned to cover my birthmark with makeup, I didn’t have any difficulty finding a partner when required, but that didn’t stop the anxiety, or the memories, for that matter, from reappearing in a rush.
As I packed up my things, my stomach in knots, I was surprised by a tap on my shoulder.
It was, of course, Hudson.
“Hi,” he said with a tentative smile.
I nodded once, my jaw tight.
“I wanted to apologize to you for what I said on Friday. It sounded like I thought you wanted to be white, as if being white was something all non-white people aspire to, and that’s not what I meant, or believe, for that matter.” Sighing, he shifted his weight, a heavy-looking backpack on his shoulder. “I was just trying to confirm what I thought you were saying—that you’d wanted to be like your parents. That’s all. And it came out wrong. Really wrong and I apologize.”
He looked me in the eye during his entire speech and as I took in the remorse on his face, the anger and hurt I’d felt all weekend seemed to evaporate. He seemed sincere and I was no saint myself. I’d said things before that I wished I hadn’t or had come out differently from what I’d intended.
“Apology accepted,” I said and a smile broke out on his face.
Lord, that smile needed to come with a disclaimer. Side effects of this smile may include raised temperatures, heart palpitations and increased sexual desire.
“I want to make it up to you somehow,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Two voices said simultaneously, “Yes he does.”
Arms crossed, Ruby looked at the guy who was standing next to Hudson. “Who are you?” she asked.
He grinned. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
Without skipping a beat, Ruby said, “I think you must have me confused with someone else. I only have five fingers.” She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers to prove she was not the Six-Fingered Man from the movie.
“Ah, a fellow Princess Bride fan,” he said, holding out his own hand.
Ruby shook it. “Ruby Chang.”
“AJ Scoville.” He jerked a thumb at Hudson. “This guy’s roommate. Want to be partners for that portrait project?”
“Sure,” she said.
As they stepped away to discuss the details, I pressed my lips together. It was my childhood all over again. When faced with a choice, people never chose me. But I had to rise above and not let my insecurities get the better of me. I was a twenty-one-year-old woman, not a seven-year-old child.
I turned to Hudson. “Hey, you wanted to know how you can make it up to me? Be my partner for the portrait project.” I hoped I sounded carefree and not as if a lifetime’s worth of angst was in my throat.
“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he said.
My mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, but then he said, “See, you’re supposed to pick something that’s like a punishment or a chore. At least, that’s how it usually goes when my dad messes up with my mom. Partnering with you is the opposite of a punishment. I want to be your partner.”
9
Hudson
I was getting dressed for practice, thinking about how perfectly the relationship reboot had worked that morning when a burst of laughter came from the doorway. Birdy and Briggs ambled into the locker room. They seemed to be taking their time, which wasn’t smart because Coach Keller did not tolerate tardiness and we were expected on the ice for practice in a few minutes.
I was debating on a course of action when Bramley said, “You guys better get a move on or you’re going to be late.”
Birdy laughed as he plopped down on the bench and toed off his shoes. “Yeah, but you know that moment when you have one more chicken wing and no more beer to wash it down with?” Birdy pointed to himself. “That’s what happened to me. Had to have one more beer.”
“And I couldn’t let him drink alone,” Briggsy said. “Tha’s against the bro code.”
“You guys can’t drink before practice,” I said. “Holy shit.”
“You’re freshmen. How did you even get served?” Bramley asked. “Were you at the Biscuit?”
Briggsy nodded again. “That new girl, Tina. She serves us if we tip her ahead of time.”
“So you bribe her,” I said.
Birdy lifted his chin. “I prefer to think of it as a pre-tip.”
While Bramley again told them they were going to be in deep shit if they didn’t start dressing, I turned to AJ.
“See if you can scrounge up some coffee,” I said.
AJ finished tying his skate. “On it.” He took off as I reached out, snatched up someone’s Axe body spray and spritzed the beer-guzzling lunkheads.
“Hey! What the…?” Birdy exclaimed.
“You smell like a biergarten,” I said. “Get dressed. Fast. If you’re late, you’re going to call attention to yourselves and believe me you do not want Keller to find out you were drinking before practice.”
Some of the team had already left the room, but most stayed behind to watch the drama.
“If Coach finds out,” I went on, “you’ll be sitting out three, maybe four games.” I turned to Bramley, who shrugged.
“Maybe more than that,” he said. “Depending on your blood-alcohol level. He has a Breathalyzer, you know, and I saw him make a guy breathe into it once in front of the whole team. Worse, if you’re under twenty-one, he calls your parents.”
I was pretty sure Bramley was pulling all this out of his ass, but I didn’t say anything, especially when it seemed to work. Gone was their “I don’t give a shit” attitude. They were all business now.
AJ came back with two lukewarm cups of coffee just as they were pulling their jerseys on.
“Drink that while Brammy and I lace you up.”
About ninety seconds later, I checked the clock on the wall. We had one minute. That wasn’t enough to get to the ice. You can only walk so fast wearing skates.
As they sprinted toward the door, I said, “Hold on,” and hustled over to the clock on the wall where I turned the hand back three minutes.
“What are you…?” AJ asked.
“Never mind. Just act as if nothing’s wrong. Walk at normal speed. Let me and Brammy do the talking.” I turned to Brammy. “Follow my lead.”
Coach Keller didn’t look happy when we passed through the gate onto the ice.
“Nice of you to join us, gentlemen.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, all innocent like.
“You’re late. When the little hand is on the five and the big hand is on the twelve, that means your asses need to be on the ice.”
“Sorry, Coach. We’re right on time according to the clock in the locker room.” I inclined my head in that direction.
Bramley backed me up. “Yeah, Coach. Go look. We’re right on time.”
I couldn’t tell if Coach believed me or not, but I had never given him any reason not to trust me.
After what seemed like a lifetime, Coach Keller called out to one of the equipment guys to check the clock and adjust it if it needed adjusting, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Crisis averted.
Ironically, after practice, we went to the Biscuit in the Basket—the scene of the crime. AJ didn’t feel like cooking so he convinced Birdy and Briggsy—or the Brewski Brothers, as they’d been dubbed—to buy him, Bramley and me dinner.
More sober now, they realized we’d saved their asses and wanted to show their appreciation, and I wanted to tell the manager, Kippy, his new hire was jeopardizing his liquor license. Win win.
The Biscuit was a homey place. In fact, table seventeen—a long high table with about twenty stools around it—was usually ours. The wood-paneled walls were covered with photographs of Burlington U’s sports teams through the decades.
I got a double order of their whiskey maple chicken wings, cole slaw, fries and a pitcher of beer that was obviously off limits to Birdy and Briggsy.
“That was a pretty slick move, Forts,” AJ said. “That thing with the clock.”
“I hate to say it, but I have to agree,” Bramley said.
I lifted my mug of beer. “Thanks. But that’s a one and done stunt. Keller won’t fall for that again.”
AJ turned to the Brewski Brothers. “No offense, but if Forts and Brammy hadn’t done anything, I’d have probably sat back and watched the shit hit the fan when Coach smelled the beer on you.”
Judging from the nods, most of the other guys would have stayed out of it too.
“He wouldn’t have noticed,” Birdy insisted, pouting a little.
“I don’t know about that,” AJ said. “You both looked a little wobbly out there. Especially you, Lord Briggerton.”
“Regardless,” I said, “you don’t drink before practice or games. Period. End of story. If it happens again, we won’t lift a finger to bail you out and no one else should either. I believe in second chances, but not thirds and fourths. We’re a motherfucking Division 1 school. That means you step up and represent.”
“Hear hear,” AJ said, raising his stein.
Jonathan Kurlander, a mouthy senior defenseman, said something I didn’t quite catch.
“Fuck you, Kurly,” AJ blurted.
Whoa.
“Hey,” I said, “I missed that.”
Kurlander shrugged. “I said not all of us think of hockey as the end-all be-all. Some of us are actually here to get an education.”
Darkroom: A Moo U Hockey Romance Page 5
