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“Please. Had I known you’d be the alcohol police, I would’ve roomed with Country.” He points to Jonas, who will never shed that nickname. If coming from a small town named Sugar Creek Falls wasn’t enough to earn him the title, his wearing overalls to practice while listening to country music sure sealed the deal.
Fashion sense aside, Country is a good guy. He’s the only team member whom the college didn’t recruit. He joined the team during team tryouts our first year. But he’s a hell of a defenseman, which is why Coach took a chance with him in the first place. Now, he’s a starter.
With only four guys in each house, my roommates are Andrew, Ryan, and Easton. Jonas lives with our first-string goalie, Travis, and some upperclassmen teammates.
“Truth,” Jonas pipes up and holds up an arm. “Give me one.”
Drew can pack the alcohol away without a thought, so it’s no surprise that he’s drinking at four o’clock in the afternoon, but Jonas rarely drinks. Why is he asking for one now?
Well, shit. That one-on-one talk needs to happen sooner rather than later.
“They’re talking shit because we lost our seniors. They think we’ll suck without the upper classmates,” Ryan says.
“We might’ve taken a hit losing Haim, but we’re still good. Better even.” Easton leans over the armrest, reaching for the gaming controller, his muscles flexing.
“True that,” Country says.
Only three seniors were on the team when we moved to Division One. Since they were signed with their respective teams, they abandoned the ship. The NCAA doesn’t allow people signed with teams to play, so a couple switched schools to comply, and one went to play in the Juniors.
“What these assholes think is irrelevant.” I toss the puck at Ryan, whose quick reflexes catch it easily enough. “We need to show up Saturday and prove how much we belong in the division.”
“I think Coach feels the same way. Probably why we kept focusing on our breakaways today.” Ryan tosses the puck back, and we begin strategizing over what the coaches told us during practice, but my mind keeps wandering back to the way Amanda’s face softened when she said she’d help me out for free if she could. How difficult is her life if she must work two jobs while carrying the heavy school load?
“Seriously though,” Ryan interjects, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “We’ve got the skill, but we need to sync better than Bluetooth speakers this year.”
“Preach, brother,” Andrew chimes in, nodding vigorously enough to make his curly hair bounce.
“No more solo acts. We move as one,” Easton says, concentrating on his game.
“And we need to work on our power plays if we’re going to be contenders this year,” Jonas says.
“And defense—don’t forget we’re up against some quick forwards this season. Saturday’s game, especially.” Andrew’s eyes narrow at his phone. He whips his head at me. “Since when did you get a girlfriend, Morton?”
His question is like a record scratch followed by complete silence. Easton pauses the game. Jonas and Ryan stare at me as if I’ve grown another head.
I guess the secret’s out now.
“Since last night. How’d you find out?” I feign indifference, but inside, I’m freaking out. We weren’t ready for it to spread yet. I had planned on being seen with her a few times before this weekend’s games. I was serious about the hard launch on Saturday. This needed some strategic planning.
“It’s all over C-Pal.”
That stupid social media site.
C-Pal is Cessna U’s equivalent to Facebook, developed by a software engineering alumnus. I’m sure she had good intentions, but it’s turned into a gossip site. How did anyone find out? Would she have told people?
Her shy face comes into view.
No, Amanda isn’t the kind of person to draw attention to herself. Someone must’ve seen us in the library and drawn their own conclusions.
“Is this the chick you took home Saturday?” Easton asks a little too eagerly.
I steal a glance at Ryan. He’s staring back, face pinched.Shit.
I set the puck down and sit up straighter. “Yeah, her name is Amanda.”
“And you made her your girlfriend? Like for real?” I can’t tell if Easton is mocking or genuinely happy for me. He’s a jokester, so it’s hard to tell.
“Wait,” Andrew looks from me to Ryan and back to me. “Is this Ryan’s Amanda?”
