Page 78 of Hockey 101

WAS THAT AN easier class, or am I actually getting stronger? I ask as I pull on my sweater. Emily, Dawn, and I have been attending the early boot camp sessions pretty regularly. Now that it’s too snowy to run outside, it’s a good way to exercise.

It’s you. You’re so full of energy these days. And you’re always in a good mood, says Emily. Are you taking vitamins or something?

Vitamin J, maybe. She’s getting regular injections, says Dawn.

Very funny. Of course, Jack and I are still having amazing sex. But beyond the sex, we have issues. I’m really happy with the way things are. It’s way too soon to talk commitment. Except that’s exactly what Jack wants, which makes me feel guilty. Ugh.

Since I worship at the altar of avoidance, I change the subject even with my girlfriends. Did you ever get together with Tyler Bergstrom, Dawn? For your sculpture class?

Dawn flushes and drops her gaze—for the first time ever. Um, yeah. We met up at the studio and I did a casting of his torso.

When she doesn’t continue, Emily probes, How did it go?

The casting went fine. The sculpture turned out well. Dawn pulls out her phone and shows us a photo of an armless, headless chest.

Wow, Emily says. That looks like a real Greek statue. What’s it made from?

Plaster. I made a mold from his actual body, then cast plaster in that.

It’s odd that she doesn’t say anything else. Dawn usually loves to share all the details of her artistic process.

I peer at her phone. Bergy is more muscular than I expected. Not as built as Jack, of course, who has ruined me for all future boyfriends.

So, the sculpture turned out. But did something else go wrong? Emily presses. We’re both suspicious of how Dawn is reacting.

It’s clear that Dawn is mentally debating whether to put us off or tell the truth. She sighs and settles for the latter.

When you make a cast of someone, you wrap them in plaster cloth—thin sheets of gauze covered in plaster that you wet first. Like what doctors use to make a cast. When the cloth dries and hardens, you cut it off and make a mold from the dried shell. But first you protect the model’s skin with a layer of cling wrap and Vaseline, especially anywhere with hair. I did all the steps, but I didn’t use enough Vaseline, so…

Dawn gives us a guilty look.

Well, when I removed the plaster cast, I basically exfoliated Tyler’s chest and underarm hair. And part of his happy trail. She grimaces.

I wince. Ouch. How bad was it?

Beyond all the initial screaming—who ever said hockey players are tough—he’s totally hairless now. I’m pretty sure they’ve been teasing him in the dressing room.

Emily and I collapse into snorts of laughter, but Dawn doesn’t join in.

You haven’t even heard the worst part. I felt so bad that I agreed to go out on a date with him. I’ll probably end up giving him a handie out of guilt. She puts a hand to her forehead. One must suffer for art.

Apparently Bergy did, I say. This explains some of the teasing I’ve heard lately when I’m at Jack’s house. His roommates are like his second family, and I envy him that. Not so much the constant insults though.

Emily and I are still giggling by the time we head off for our classes.

AFTER MY LAST class, I head over to the newspaper office. Although I avoid going there as a rule, I’ve been trying to maintain more of a presence lately for C.J. She needs to make connections if she’s going to be a good sports editor next year. Naturally, Bryce wasn’t happy with my choice for deputy sports editor, but given that she knows so much about hockey, he couldn’t object. Besides, Bryce has barely spoken to me since I let him down, but that’s a silver lining.

Honestly, he should be happy. The sports section is still humming along. Margot Ford ended up taking over as opinions editor, and she’s doing a good job so far. Travis wasn’t happy about being the one without a chair in the game of musical editors, but that was his own fault. No, to be fair, Bryce created the whole mess—something he could have avoided if I’d stayed the opinions editor in the first place. Of course, that would also be a life without Jack. I blush like a silly schoolgirl just thinking about him.

I walk into the newspaper office. Bryce is here, of course. There’s also Jaz Nelson, the deputy editor-in-chief, Margot, Heidi, and a couple of freshmen researchers.

Andy. Exactly the person I need to see, says Bryce by way of greeting.

Really? What’s up? I slide into the seat beside him. He stops working on whatever journalistic pearls he’s polishing and turns to face me.

He’s smirking like a cat that not only ate the canary, but an entire case of Fancy Feast too. Uh oh.

Ah, yes. Our esteemed sports editor. He leans back and tents his fingers together like the supervillain he strives to be.

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