by Lucy Smoke
“Hayden…” Christian started reaching towards me; his forehead wrinkled with disbelief.
I held up my hand to stop him. “Do not stand there and give me some bullshit story. I don’t want to hear it. This right here…” I shook the folder. “…this is fucked up. Scoring women on their performance in bed and making them compete against each other to win some crap crown? Are you serious? Who the fuck do you think you all are? What makes you so special that you can degrade a woman like that? Hockey Players? Star athletes? Let’s see any of you get drafted once this story gets published. You will have breached their morality clauses before they even sign you,” I threw at them; the poisonous words started the beginning of the end. I was blowing up their dreams, their future. And I wanted to watch it all burn.
My anger had melted away everything else, my focus crystal clear. To me, my name being put on the board, firstly without my permission, and secondly without any of them having had sex with me, was just the icing on the cake. The Puck Games was the epitome of what was wrong with the college sporting world. Woman being demoralized, deterred from reporting immoral sexual practices in an attempt to protect the star athletes’ promising sporting careers, instead of protecting the mental and emotional health of the woman, as well as the right to confront their abusers. This article had become more than just about myself, Steph, and the Puck Games. It was a massive middle finger to the entire sporting industry.
I had spent the last few days in hiding, avoiding the entire team everywhere I went. Hiding had been easy since last night, having holed up in my dorm room with Steph as I wrote the article, getting lost in the words. Now that I knew about my name being on the Puck Board, I’d declined the three TutorAid requests I’d gotten earlier in the week having cross checked them with the names of the hockey players and found them all on the list.
This afternoon on my way here, I’d been confronted by two of them, asking if I wanted to go hang out with both of them tonight. They’d cornered me for a bit until a security guard I’d recognized from the Winter Wonderland had walked by. He’d asked me if I was okay, I’d responded with a request for help getting to the admin building, not wanting to tell those two players where I was going exactly.
“Why?” asked Justin, bringing me back to the moment; his stricken face was leeched of all its color. I could see the hurt and confusion on his face.
I laughed mirthlessly. “Because one of your players messed with the wrong girl. You met her Christian. Steph, my best friend, you remember her, right?” I asked pointedly looking at him.
He turned his face from me, clenching his jaw, hands jammed into his coat pockets and nodded his head once.
“Just after Thanksgiving, I walked into this room to find her crying. Her heart was broken, she was betrayed, all because some guy had tricked her into liking him and then entered her into the Puck Games without her consent. Once I’d understood what was going on, I knew I had to shine a spotlight on it. The Puck Games? Really? On what planet did you think that shit was okay?” My incredulity was almost unbelievable, causing my voice to catch.
I took a deep breath, trying to contain myself, knowing that I needed the answer to this question even if it showed some vulnerability on my part. “Why was my name on the board? My source told me that a girl had to actually sleep with a guy to be made a Puck.”
Vinnie looked at me with sad eyes. “It was an accident. You were seen with all of us on Friday night, at the Winter Wonderland. Apparently, that broke the rules.”
“Who gave up my name?” I demanded.
“Davidson knew it from his emails with you,” Christian replied, not able to make eye contact. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vinnie look at Christian.
Right. The email to the captain; it would have had my student profile picture attached to it.
“H, we never meant for your name to end up on the board. I speak for all of us when I say it was the last thing we wanted. You have to believe us,” Justin pleaded with me.
“Why should I believe that? Not a single one of you warned me about the Puck Games. And none of you asked me to be your girlfriend.” I raised a skeptical eyebrow as I scanned their faces.
Vinnie and Christian looked away. Justin was the only one who attempted to say something, but I stopped him to break the cardinal rule of being a journalist.
“Just to be clear, you expect me to believe that three guys who were active participants in the Puck Games, three best friends and roommates, all went after the same girl, the same Puck Potential, and didn’t mean for her name to end up on the board?” I reiterated. “I saw all of your names and that you all had numbers. Vinnie, congratulations on being Puck King last year. Well done.” I tucked the folder under my arm, pinching it between my body and giving him a slow clap.
“Scoop, please, just hear us out,” Vinnie started; his face fell with shame as he attempted to ignore my clap. “It was exactly like Justin said. We never meant for that to happen, we’ve never gone after the same girl—”
I cut him off holding up my hand to stop him mid-sentence.
“I met Tori.”
All of their eyes widened at that. The satisfaction that I felt as I watched their expressions morph from disbelief, to shock, to disappointment, and then finally to resignation was immense. I wouldn’t get to see the looks on the entire hockey team’s faces when the article got published tomorrow morning, but this was enough.
Last night after having my own little pity party, I had picked up the pieces of my dignity and heart, put them back together, and then shoved them in the corner out of my way. Any feelings I had for the guys were gone. I was a journalist: calm, deliberate, professional. I had an article to write and a deadline to meet. This was a lesson to be learned, and I was thankful it was so early on in my career. I was ice. Their misery barely even chipped the surface. If anything, it strengthened it. How many women had experienced the pain I felt right now, when their names had ended up on the board without consent? How many women had been degraded as a part of the Puck Games?
And I was the one who was going to put a stop to it. Memories of Steph sitting in The Press crying, upset, embarrassed, and frightened flooded me, shoring up my sense of righteousness.
I was done. I didn’t need to stand here and trade barbs. They could stay, but I was out of here.
Stepping away from the door, I tried to walk past Vinnie, but he grabbed onto my arm. Oh hell no. I spun around and slammed the folder into his chest. He automatically let go of my arm to clutch at the papers.
“Don’t you dare force me to stay. You have already forced the attention of your entire team onto me. Everywhere I go there are hockey players. TutorAid requests…” I glared at Justin. “…coffee shop sit-ins,” I said to Vinnie, before turning to Christian. “And lurkers in the hallways of the psych building. Propositions for group sex. If I want to leave, you are going to let me, and you will not follow me.”
I turned away from them and marched down the hall. I was around the corner and near the stairs before I realized I had left my copy of the article with Vinnie.
35
Hayden
Friday 15th December – 10 days until Christmas
I had intentionally timed my arrival to my PSY101 class to be right when the doors opened, going so far as to hide around the corner until the doors were actually ajar. I’d only had to wait a few seconds, but my nerves had gone through the roof because I’d spotted Christian straightaway leaning against the opposite wall, continuously scanning the area, most likely watching for me from the direction I usually came.
When the doors had opened, he’d stayed where he was. I’d contemplated skipping the final, but this was my final year. I had to take the exam. So, I’d sucked it up and waltzed around the corner, passing by him before he’d realized what had happened. Christian had called out to me, but at that point I was already through the door and searching for my seat.
I found a seat in the third row about five in. After I got all my stuff sor
ted out on my desk, I sat back in my chair and tried really hard not to look around for him. I’d slept like crap last night; my mind constantly showed me the images it had taken of their dejected and heartbroken faces. I’d kept telling myself they were only upset because they’d been caught, that their dreams were over. But it didn’t quite ring true.
As the last student entered, I located Christian. First row, second seat, his back to me. Good, I didn’t think I could handle knowing he was staring at me. This way he had to look forward at his own paper or risk getting removed for cheating.
The exam started, and before I knew it, I was answering the questions on the last page. I sat there stunned as I stared at the last line on the page, which stated that I was at the end of the exam. I quickly flipped it back open and reviewed my answers, but they were all there, coherent and comprehensible.
Raising my arm, I go the attention of the exam coordinator, who came and took my papers and gestured for me to leave. I stood up and gathered my things. As I drew level with Christian, I felt his eyes on me, but I forced myself not to look back. For all appearances, I looked cool, calm, and collected, but on the inside I was a nervous wreck. If I didn’t get out of there and back to the safety of my dorm room, I knew I was going to crumble.
As I rushed back to my dorm through the snow and the fight I was having with my tear ducts, which I was determined to win, my phone rang in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked the caller idea, but I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hayden Halloway.” I continued moving, not wanting to get caught out in the snow or by Christian.
“Hayden, this is Mavis from the Financial Services Department. Do you have a moment to talk?” A nasally female voice asked.
“Uh, sure. Is this about my dorm room payments?” I asked politely, not sure why they would be ringing me about that. I’d made all my payments for the year already.
“No this isn’t about your dorm room. I am actually calling to inform you that the budget for The Press has been cut, which means you no longer can afford the website. I have already rung your hosting provider and had the website taken down. This is just a courtesy call to let you know what’s going on. Your sponsor has already been emailed. Thank you for your time, Hayden. Merry Christmas.”
The line went dead. I stared at the phone, uncomprehending of what had just happened. Did she just say that the website I had fought for was gone? And because the printer was still having issues we wouldn’t be able to get any stories out until the New Year?
What the hell was going on? They couldn’t just pull funding in the middle of the year, could they? I knew we were funded by the Alumni, and that it was all donations – they couldn’t just take that away, right?
Oh my God, my article.
No one would get to read it. It was gone. My perfect article would never see the light of day. I felt my body shake as panic started to take over mere steps away from my dorm building. This couldn’t be happening. I’d just lost everything.
I needed to call my sponsoring professor. Thank God it was Professor Turner.
Swiping my screen back open, I brought up her contact, and pinched my phone between my ear and shoulder as I climbed the stairs to my dorm room, searching for my keys in my jacket pocket. I just needed to make it to my room. The call went straight to her voicemail.
“Hi Professor Turner, it’s Hayden. There’s been a really big issue at The Press with the printer and the website, and I have a story I need to publish, please call me back.” Beeppp.
36
Justin
Saturday 16th December – 9 days until Christmas
I’d been at my study table for four hours, knowing she wouldn’t turn up, staring at her empty seat and barely getting any study done. I’d messaged her several times since Thursday night, asking her to meet with me, to call me so that I could explain. I’d typed an explanation message at least eight times but deleted it every time - so much could be misunderstood. I wanted to see her, to look into her eyes as I explained everything. As I told her how much she meant to me.
I’d coasted through my exam Friday morning, barely remembering answering the questions, my mind so full of her. I’d seen through the cynicism and disdain she had thrown at us, seeing the strength and bravery that it took to stand up for what was right, even though she was hurting.
Her words had cut me deeply, leaving scars that I would regret for the rest of my life. It killed me that we had all hurt her. I was seriously struggling, knowing that she thought I was lower than pond scum. Her opinion of me mattered; I just needed to talk to her so I could explain. To tell her that I didn’t really participate, that this was my first year of playing, that it was mandatory, that I’d wanted to ask her to be exclusive, but she’d been called away. I sighed, rubbing my eyes with my thumb and index finger.
Christian had come home from his exam yesterday afternoon only to slam his bedroom door shut and stay locked in there until dinner. Vinnie and I’d been waiting for him, knowing he was going to see her at their exam. After that we’d silently agreed not to bother him; instead, we’d played video games and went through our normal routine until he’d emerged.
We hadn’t had to wait long before he explained that she’d ignored him. The whole apartment had been somber for the rest of the night. To be honest, it hadn’t been much better this morning. It’s why I was here, instead of at home. I couldn’t take it anymore. But now, I thought being here was worse.
The only somewhat good thing that had happened was that The Press’ website had been taken down first thing this morning. Christian had shown us an email that he’d received as part of a communication from his parents’ finance department stating that donations had been cut by fifty percent to the college in a tiny little paragraph in between a whole bunch of legal jargon. I assumed that meant Christian’s dad had had the paper pulled but wasn’t willing to ask.
Vinnie had been walking around like a lost puppy dog, moving from room to room, adjusting things that didn’t need to be adjusted. I didn’t know how to help him. This was possibly his first broken heart and that shit hurt. And I was dealing with my own as well. By the time Vanessa and I’d broken up, the love had been gone. I’d been sad, but not like this. Not aching so badly that it felt as though I had a physical wound.
I sighed and looked at my watch again. Four and a half hours. She wasn’t going to show. I just had to accept it and move on. Easier said than done. Hayden had become my bright spot; seeing her smiling face or getting a text message from her had been the best parts of my days. I’d let myself believe that after we’d all confronted her that things could be worked out. But that hadn’t happened. And I honestly didn’t know that it would.
I mean, there were three of us and one of her. We all wanted her. We were all half in love with her, not that either of the other two were willing to admit that. And I suspected that she might be feeling the same, about all of us. If I did get the chance to talk to her, what would I say? Would I ask her to pick me? Over my best friends? Even though I knew they felt exactly the same way about her that I did? Could I do that to them? To her?
I dropped my head into my hands and stared down at the table. What a shit show.
37
Hayden
Sunday 17th December – 8 days until Christmas
The messages from the guys had all but stopped. I guessed there were only so many times you could message a person and have them not reply. At first it was them asking me to talk, to meet up, to just chat over the phone, a return message to know I was okay. Then it changed to messages like “Just checking in, hope you’re using your flash cards x” – I was – and “Saw an eggnog stand and thought of you xx.” Vinnie was the first one to stop, then Christian. And the last message I had gotten from Justin was late last night. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
All I did know was that I was going to crush my exams tomorrow and Tuesday. This whole being locked away in my dorm room and hiding from the world was doing wonders
for my study habits. The pastel index cards helped too.
Steph had come back to our dorm room about thirty minutes ago, dropping a kiss onto the back of my head while I sat at my desk, and then she headed into the bathroom. I could hear the running water as she showered, along with her crooning a country song I couldn’t quite make out. I was trying to keep my eyes trained on my textbook with my purple highlighter at the ready, but I kept sneaking glances at the three red hearts I still hanging from the shelf above my bed. The little pieces of paper with the hastily scrawled names protected by their red wicker prisons.
After another futile few minutes of trying to concentrate, I gave up, putting the lid on my highlighter and moving to flop down on my bed. The shower had stopped but Steph was still in the bathroom. Just as I started to relax, there was a knock at the door.
“Could you get that please, Sugar? I ordered us some food.”
Sighing, I got off my bed and headed towards the door. The delivery guy from Giovanni’s was there, two boxes and a dessert tub in his arms. Mikie was the son of the guy who owned Giovanni’s, and he’d been delivering us pizza pretty much since our first year of college. He was a good guy, always had a smile on his face.
“Hey, Mikie.” A small smile touched my lips as I reached for the boxes. “What do I owe you?”
