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Casey sticks her tongue out. “Friday, at the Ice Box. Get out one of your sexy dresses, because I want you to finally get laid, too. I can’t stand to see you moping around any longer.”
“I haven’t been moping,” I protest.
Okay, I’ve probably been moping.
But, going to a party … I’m not really sure I’m ready yet.
Then again, will I ever be sure that I’m ready? Can anyone ever be sure they’re ready for anything? Isn’t it so seductively easy to put something off just because you’re not sure you’re ready for it, and then, before you know it, time’s gotten away from you, and you never even tried?
I don’t want to just not go to any parties for the rest of my senior year. I want to have fun and enjoy this time in my life like I should.
“Alright,” I summon up the will to answer. “Let’s go.”
Casey squeals in delight and claps her hands together. “Girl, I can’t wait to hear the noise you and the hot guy I help you find make coming from your room.”
I roll my eyes, but there is a warm, tingling feeling low in my stomach that makes that sound not totally unappealing. “No promises there, Casey. What’s the Ice Box, anyway? A new club?”
“Right, you’re a newbie here at Ridley. It’s what they call the house where the hockey players live.”
Suddenly, that tingly feeling in my stomach turns into something more tense.
“Theicehockey team?”
“Yes, Phoebe, the ice hockey team,” Casey answers, killing my short-lived hope that she might have been talking about the field hockey team instead. “Hence the name,IceBox.”
Now I’m starting to regret that I agreed already. It’s too late to back out now, though.
A house party on Hunter’s own turf—what’s the worst that could happen?
10
HUNTER
It’s the third period of our first pre-season exhibition game.
Exhibition games are supposed to be low-stakes, low-intensity affairs to help shake off cobwebs and get reintroduced to the ice before the actual season starts and things get real.
Of course, you want to win—you always want to win—but it doesn’t feel like a matter of life and death. Sometimes they feel more like a workout, or a special practice session, than an actual competitive game.
Tonight, though, we came in with a different mindset.
Even though this isn’t a “real” game, it’s still the first game of any kind that the Hot Shots are playing with our new first line.
All of us came into this game wanting a victory bad. Even though it won’t help our standings once the season starts, it would be like a proof-of-concept to ourselves that the new configuration of this team has what it takes to live up to what the name Hot Shots has meant.
It’s a Friday, and we’re playing at home; so, we even went ahead and put an extra bit of pressure on ourselves, advertising a post-game victory party at the Ice Box—advertising it as such before the game even started, of course.
Good thing you can’t be sued for false advertising over college party posters.
We’re down 2-0.
Honestly, that score makes us sound better than we are. The only reason we’re not down 6-0 or more is because Aaron is a stud in the net. Our opponent, Fernway College from Maryland, keep peppering him with shots because our defense can’t get on the same page, and he’s blocking almost every one of them.
At least we know we’ve got the right guy inside the crease. As for everything else, we’re in shambles.
There’s just no communication. Forget about not being on the same page—hell, forget about not being in the same book. We’re not in the same library.
I’m the first to talk when we get back to the locker room after the game ends with 2-0 remaining our final score.
