Page 9 of Hockey 101

Hey. I brandish my fork threateningly, but I’m pretty full. Good thing I didn’t get the whipped cream too.

How will it be working with Bryce on the newspaper this year? Emily wonders.

It’ll be fine. We’re both mature adults. Besides, I’m the opinions editor and he’s the editor-in-chief. I’m supposed to have journalistic freedom. He’ll leave me alone to do my job. I cross my fingers as I say this, since Bryce isn’t really a hands-off editor.

Emily shakes her head. I could never work with an ex. Did you think of quitting the Messenger?

Not really. I need the writing and editing experience to help in getting a job in journalism once I graduate. Monarch is a great liberal arts college, but as an English major, I’ll be competing for jobs with actual journalism grads. Besides, I wasn’t going to let Bryce keep me from doing something I really love.

I finally pass over the remainder of my waffle to Dawn, who enthusiastically demolishes it. Once we’re done, we roll our overstuffed bellies back towards campus.

Shall we walk out to the lakefront? I motion to the wide path.

I can’t come, I have to go back and finish an essay, Emily complains. We hug her goodbye, then go for a stroll.

On a bright fall Sunday like today, St. Viola is a postcard-perfect town. The pretty main street is lined with little shops and cafés. Trees in a riot of reds, oranges, and yellows dot the town. Today, tourists stroll down the sidewalks enjoying the fall foliage, but we make our way towards the lakefront.

We mosey along the path created by the breakwaters along the shore of Lake Superior. Today is a perfect day since the lake is calm, but during the stormy winters the waves are scarily rough. Even though I grew up in Minnesota, living here on the shore of a Great Lake is completely different.

It’s our last fall here, I say.

True. I wonder if we’ll come back after graduation? Dawn’s tone suggests fat chance.

I nod. We’re not the reunion types. But maybe that will change once we’re older. It really is pretty here. The fall breeze ruffles the trees and scatters leaves onto the dark lake.

Too bad that most of time we’re here, everything’s covered in snow, Dawn grumbles.

When we’re back on campus, I suggest walking by Dawn’s mural once more to appreciate it fully. Her artwork covers one long wall in the Student Union Building. It took the entire month of August for Dawn to paint this.

It’s inspired by the view of Lake Superior we were just enjoying, but Dawn transformed the landscape into a series of flat triangles in a rainbow of colours. At first, the mural looks like a geometric abstraction. But, when I squinch my eyes half-shut, the shapes of the landscape jump out at me. It’s like real life on colour steroids.

This is going to be so great during the winter when everything is grey. I feel happier just looking at it, I say.

Dawn flings an arm around my shoulder. Ah, praise. Please go on.

I have a great idea. We should eat lunch right in front of your mural this week and listen to all the compliments from passersby.

My sweet summer child. Now the unveiling is done, nobody will notice my mural again. Public art gets ignored.

Even if it’s twelve feet tall and uses every colour in the spectrum? I scoff. Then I look over the huge surface. How did you actually paint the whole thing? Was there a ladder or scaffolding?

Dawn is in the midst of explaining about boom lifts when a deep voice calls out, Hey, Andy!

I turn to look and it’s Big Ass Boy from last night. I groan inside. What have I done to deserve this?

I wait until he reaches us, which with his long legs and undeserved energy, takes only two seconds.

Oh, hey there, I say. Of course I remember his name, but I don’t want to inflate his ego any further.

Remember me? Jack, Jack Sinclair. He beams at me and then Dawn in his puppy-on-meth way. She introduces herself with an over-the-top friendliness, which means she thinks he’s cute. Today he’s fully clothed in black jeans, a frayed T-shirt, and a navy hoodie. It’s great to meet again when we’re fully dressed.

Dawn giggles, but I stay straight-faced. At least I was wearing actual clothing last night. But maybe it’s a typical jock icebreaker that makes women giggle and simper. Not me, of course. I say nothing and wait for his next inanity.

So, thanks again for last night. I went by your room to return your stuff, but you weren’t there, he begins.

Really, there’s no need. I told you I don’t want those clothes back. In the unlikely case that Bryce demands his sweatshirt back, I’ll send him directly to Jack. Picturing my ex forced to walk into a locker room full of sweaty jocks is a delightful fantasy.

Jack flashes me his brilliant smile. I hate to ask you a favour since you’ve already done so much, but I was wondering…is there any way you can help me get my stuff back? My phone, my keys, my wallet, and those were my favourite jeans. I could knock on Jenny’s door, but what if her boyfriend is there? I don’t want to make things worse for her.

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