Page 10 of Hockey 101

I roll my eyes. I’m impressed that you even remember her name. Is there anything else I can do for you? Maybe write your essays for the term, or finance your trip to Europe? Seriously, he’s not even one of my residents.

He blinks his long lashes. No, this is it. And I’ll owe you one. A big one.

It’s hard to imagine what you could do for me.

Dawn chortles in a most suggestive way. She thinks there’s one big thing that the jacked Jack could do for me.

You never know. Maybe you’ll need furniture moved or something. I have a pickup truck, he offers.

Before I can refuse, Dawn announces in a saccharine voice, Of course she’ll help you. What are RAs for if not to solve student problems?

Thank you so much, Andy, Jack gushes, as if I were the one who agreed. He hands me a crumpled piece of paper. This is my teammate’s phone number. You can message him when you’ve got my stuff, and I’ll come over and pick it up. You’re a lifesaver.

Then he gallops off to do whatever golden retriever puppies do on a Sunday afternoon.

Dawn watches him go. Oh, there’s a whole pack of them. Or whatever you call a group of hot guys. A sizzle?

I believe the collective noun for brain-dead jocks is ‘a hockey team,’ I grumble as we head towards my residence building. Why did you volunteer me to help him?

She blows out a raspberry. If he’s the guy you saw naked last night, I’m disappointed you’re walking straight today. You should have ridden that pony hard and put him away wet.

I make a pained face, but she continues. Come on. You haven’t even dated since Bryce, and you need to get back in the saddle.

I sniff. While I admire your ability to spew equestrian clichés, I have no interest in having sex with an idiot who majors in one-night stands.

Andy, it doesn’t matter how smart he is, because you won’t be talking. He’s built like a brick house. Too bad you didn’t see his peen.

His penis quality doesn’t matter. He’s a freshman, so he’s, what? Eighteen years old? I’m not into boy toys.

Dawn sucks in a breath. Well, he certainly doesn’t look like he’s eighteen. But the real question is, are you into him? Because I think he’s into you.

I don’t even acknowledge this observation. Both Dawn and Emily have way too much imagination when it comes to men. They see potential relationships everywhere. But there’s no way that Jack is interested in me. He’s a hockey god, and I’m a mere mortal.

Besides, he’s just your type, she declares.

I can’t help asking, How do you figure that?

Because when we watch movies, you’re always into those beefy man-child characters. Like that guy in The DUFF., or Noah Centineo in To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. Or Channing Tatum in The Lost City. Actually, Channing Tatum in any movie, really.

Movies are one thing, but real life is completely different. I wouldn’t have two words to say to a jock. We’d have zero in common.’

Dawn perks up like a pointer dog scenting prey. Wait. Does this have to do with that guy you had a crush on in high school? The football player?

Damn. Now I regret all those nights we stayed up late in first year, confessing our secrets in the dark. If only I’d known then that Dawn has near-perfect recall.

I try desperately to change the subject. You still haven’t told me about your process for the mural.

For one moment, I think it’s going to work. There’s nothing artists like more than discussing their process.

Dawn narrows her eyes at me. Nice try. I’m right, aren’t I? Just because people at your high school were ignorant doesn’t mean that all athletes are going to be like that.

It’s not like I was rejected by some jock and that scarred me for life, I scoff. I had a fleeting crush on someone who wasn’t interested. Period.

In fact, it was my best friend at the time who clued me in to the truth. There was a certain kind of girl who dated star athletes, and she was never going to be a studious little Asian girl with glasses and attitude. And once I examined the girls who dated the football players at our school, I realized my friend was right—their girlfriends were glossy, pretty, and usually blonde. So, I kept my crush on a certain friendly linebacker to myself.

Andy, you have a lot of preconceptions about people. You really need to get over them, because they’re going to hold you back. Not all athletes are alike, just like not all artists are alike, Dawn argues.

While I won’t admit it, Dawn has a point. We’ve all matured a lot since high school. But it’s all hypothetical—when do I ever interact with athletes now? Once I’ve tracked down Jack’s missing wardrobe, I’ll probably never see him again.

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