Page 7 of Hockey 101

Playing well is the best way to win the respect of your teammates. What you do off the ice doesn’t matter. Mats sounds completely certain. Besides, you didn’t say anything about what you wanted. Why were you attracted to her?

She chose me, I blurt.

Mats’s unimpressed expression is his answer. Why does everything seem so logical when I can see things from his perspective? All I want to do is play hockey and get along with everyone. Leaving with Jenny seemed like a good way to prove myself in front of the guys. But as soon as I say that to Mats, I can hear how dumb it is.

Seeking validation from other people isn’t a good way to start a relationship. And I think you’re a relationship guy. You went out with Cori for years.

I nod. Yeah. I’d rather have a steady girlfriend than a million hookups.

Okay, so forget what your sister said. You need to figure things out for yourself. Take it slow, and don’t stress, Mats cautions.

Yeah, but that’s harder than it sounds. Hockey is my priority, and I play my best when my life is in order. I like having someone in my corner.

The only good thing from last night was meeting Andy. She was funny, helping me even though she complained the whole time.

Actually… I hesitate, but decide to come clean. I sort of met someone else last night. The RA who helped me out.

Mats winces. Don’t rush into anything, Sinc.

I’m not. Honestly, I don’t think she even likes me. But she was really nice. Her name’s Andy Robson. Do you know her?

No, I don’t think so. What does she look like?

I smile as I recall Andy, grumpy and half-asleep. She’s cute. Long, black hair, dark eyes, glasses. I remember her mouth, her full, plum-coloured lips. Of course, I woke her up, so she wasn’t at her best, yet knowing how she looks in bed feels strangely intimate. She’s short, maybe 5’3”, curvy. Actually, she might be Japanese, like you.

Mats is half Japanese and half Irish. He shrugs. I don’t think I’ve met her before. He stretches, then puts his cup on his plate, stands up, and heads inside.

I remain slouched in my chair. I have to figure out how to get my phone and stuff back. And the best person to help in that department would be Andy.

3

WAFFLING

ANDY

OKAY, GIRLS. THREE orders of the fruity waffles, one without whipped cream, and a side of sausages, says our waitress, an older woman in jeans and a pink sweatshirt that says Ask Me About My Fur Babies. According to her name tag, she’s Gayle.

She distributes laden plates to the three of us.

We’re at Batter Up, a diner off campus in the surrounding town of St. Viola. They have the most amazing waffles: crunchy golden discs piled high with fruit and dusted with powdered sugar. I could write an ode to these waffles.

Sunday brunch is a monthly ritual for me and my two best friends, Dawn Wheaton and Emily Mueller. Today, we’re celebrating Dawn’s biggest artistic accomplishment to date. This past Thursday, the administration unveiled a huge mural in the Student Union Building that she worked on all summer.

Dawn has been my friend ever since we were roommates in freshman year. Well, technically ever since we traded our incompatible partying roommates for each other. We’re both dangerously honest, and we don’t take crap from anyone. As befits an artist, Dawn is famous for her ever-changing hair colours; today’s is lavender. She’s paired it with a lime green sweater, black striped pants, and combat boots. She never had to worry about conservative me borrowing her clothes when we lived together.

Emily is an English major, like me. We bonded over a terrible TA in our Renaissance Lit class. Her resting face is an optimistic smile, which matches her Mona Lisa-style brown hair and flowing, boho dresses.

And here’s the maple syrup, says Gayle. Need anything else?

Emily smiles at her. How are your fur babies?

Just peachy. You want to see? She brings out her phone and shows off photos of two fluffy tuxedo cats named Porky and Petunia. And then an extremely old dog named Jasper who seems to be missing an eye, an ear, and a limb.

Emily is effusive about the cats, but stumbles when it comes to the unfortunate pooch.

I jump in. Jasper looks like he’s had a lot of adventures.

Gayle snorts. You don’t have to be nice, hon. He belonged to my ex. It’s probably time to have him put down, but if I do he’s going to take it personally. The ex, I mean. Then she swoops off.

---