Page 14 of Hockey 101

She lets out a huff. Seriously? Fine. I’ll give you three reasons why we are completely incompatible.

She holds up one finger. First, I’m a senior and you’re a freshman.

Before I can argue, she shushes me. Let me finish. Maybe it’s silly, but that’s a huge age gap in this phase of our lives, especially in terms of maturity and life stage.

A second finger goes up. Two, you’re a player. The kind of guy who hooks up with women whose names he doesn’t even know.

Wait, that’s not— I protest, but stop the moment she grasps my wrist. The touch of her soft fingers on my skin feels electric. Then she gently twists my arm to reveal Jenny’s swirly writing.

See? You couldn’t even make it here without getting some poor deluded woman’s phone number. She’s the one you should be going out with. Andy drops my arm, but the heat of her hand is branded on my skin.

She holds up a third finger. Finally, you’re a jock. I hate sports. I have no idea why people waste so much time even watching them, much less playing. We would have nothing to talk about.

Well, that’s the only thing I can’t argue about. Hockey is a huge part of my life. Andy sounds completely sure of herself. I can hear my sister Amelia saying, Telling a woman why her opinion is wrong is dumb and futile.

My shoulders slump. I stuff the bag with my gear into my backpack and zip it up.

Okay. See ya.

At that, I turn and leave, closing the door softly behind me. So much for fate arranging our meeting. I can’t help but feel disappointed that Andy wouldn’t even give us a chance.

5

GOOD NEWS/BAD NEWS

ANDY

I’M SURE YOU’RE all wondering why I called you in here for this special meeting, Bryce begins.

Not me. It’s typical of him to orchestrate events to emphasize that he’s in charge of the newspaper and we’re not. He’s setting the tone for my torturous last year. I’ll have to endure weekly editorial meetings here in our shabby office, but the rest of my duties can be done remotely.

I notice that although my ex hasn’t managed to acquire the new office chairs we desperately need, he has arranged for Bryce Myrtle to be added to the historic plaque of all the editors-in-chief of the Monarch Messenger.

Our breakup flipped my opinion of Bryce. Traits I once found quirky are now irritating without the lubricant of good times to counter them. His lecturing voice during arguments, the way he critiqued films while we watched them, even the tweedy jacket he’s wearing, which he thinks looks professorial. However, it’s unseasonably warm today, so he just looks sweaty—and not in the good post-exercise way.

Ugh. I need to reel in these negative feelings if we’re going to work together all year. After all, we did have some good times. I’ll try to focus on those when Bryce bothers me. Like anyone, he’s complicated—intelligent and petty, erudite and snobby, funny and insecure. We first became friends during late-night working sessions in this very office, then evolved into a couple. At one point, I even imagined our future together. Not a tuxedoed-Ken-to-my-white-gowned-Barbie wedding—but the two of us living an intellectual lifestyle in New York City.

Luckily, I never voiced that fantasy to him. I tune back in to Bryce’s droning.

I wanted to get all the editors together before our intro session. The Messenger has been a great source for student news, but I’m looking to make us more contemporary and compelling.

He projects a slide outlining the changes, which look like great ideas. Probably because I helped brainstorm most of those ideas last year, when we were complaining about the previous editor-in-chief. I speed-read to the last item on the list: staffing changes.

What staffing changes? I ask.

Patience, Andy. I’ll get there, he says in a patronizing tone usually reserved for nagging toddlers.

Focus on his good qualities, my angelic side urges me. Meanwhile, my devilish side is busy calculating the distance between the toe of my ballet flat and Bryce’s ass.

I retreat to my happy place, which is thinking about the bicoastal internships I’m going to apply for. I long to live in a big city, like New York or Los Angeles. Somewhere that’s diverse, exciting, and cosmopolitan. Monarch may be a small college, but it has an excellent academic reputation, and the campus newspaper has a storied history. One day I’d love to see my name on the list of graduates who have gone on to win writing prizes and awards. As long as I maintain my grades and keep up my relevant newspaper experience, I have a good shot at an internship.

Finally, there will be a couple of changes to the editorial staff assignments. Bryce’s gaze lands on me, and there’s a disconcerting glint in his eyes that grabs my full attention.

We’re going to be flipping the responsibilities of two editors: Travis Hanson and Andy Robson.

What? Embarrassingly, my protest comes out as a screech.

Bryce’s smile takes phoniness to new heights. Congratulations on becoming our new sports editor, Andy. You’ve been a long-time proponent of subverting traditional gender roles in our industry. This is one huge step in that direction.

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