Page 4 of Kitty Season
“That’s the house I grew up in.” She smiles, when I’m sprung studying a nest of photos hung on the wall. “Sydney,” she adds while placing our drinks on a coffee table opposite me. “My family moved to Boston when I was twelve. Perhaps you noticed the accent?”
“I did. Just a bit, though. Most people wouldn’t even notice.”
“You notice many things, I suspect.”
The fierce blush I hate more than anything about myself, heats my face. “Dunno about that.”
Plum twists her lips to the side and takes a seat in a yellow, checkered high back, crossing her right leg over her left at the ankles. “Often, when one feels like an outsider, we observe andmimic, or parrot those around us in an attempt to fit in. You, I notice, haven’t done that.”
Perplexed and suddenly parched, I lean forward, guzzle the entire glass of water and ponder what to say that won’t make me look as dumb as I feel. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”
“Do you want it to be a compliment? Because that in itself would be quite telling.”
“Umm.” I scratch my forehead, ‘cause honestly, I’m lost. I came in here expecting to have my ass chewed out, not to be psychoanalyzed by a hot teacher.
Undeterred, Plum continues. “Does speaking about yourself make you uncomfortable?”
“Yes. Yes it does. Very much so.”
“And why do you think that is?”
What the hell is going on here? I reach out to claim my water. I’m not thirsty now, I just need a distraction. It’s in my hand, paused halfway to my lips when I realize I drank it all already. Still, I stupidly tilt my head back and attempt to suck out the remaining drops. “Not sure,” I say, avoiding her studious gaze. “I’ve always kind of stuck to myself. Guys at school spend the day rating girls, chasing girls, and bragging about the girls they reckon they caught. If it wasn’t that it was footy, and I always preferred?—”
“Hockey.” It’s a statement not a question, one that curls the corners of my lips and helps me to breathe a little easier. Apart from my family, hockey has been the one constant in my life. I know who I am. I am different somehow and I’m okay with that. But on the ice … on the ice I’m just one of the boys. A leader. Not a loser.
“Yeah. Hockey.”
The pitter patter of rain tinkers above and Professor Plum and I fall into a conversation about home that lies in thegray space between comfortable and awkward, and only ends when my phone begins to chirp in my backpack. It’s a muffled reminder to haul-ass to training, but an odd feeling sinks into my bones as I work on the courage to ask permission to leave. I came here thinking I was in trouble, ended up chatting for longer than I have with anyone since Noah left, and I’m not sure I want to go.
I’ve enjoyed talking to a teacher.
Shit …
Am I …
Lonely? To make things weirder, the hallucination of Troye and Quinn propositioning me forces its way to the back of my mind.
Again.
Now there’s two people who are decidedly un-lonely.
“Brady, are you okay?” Warm hands capture mine, bringing me back to the kaleidoscopic space I’ve shacked up in for over an hour. “You zoned out on me. Do you need more water?” Plum is hovering above me, her honey-colored hair dangling in my face and I have to resist leaning into her touch.
Yup. I’m lonely.
I snatch my hands away and stand so abruptly I almost knock her off her feet. “Sorry Prof?—”
“Faith, you can call me Faith when it’s just us.”
“Oh, okay,” I mumble, my blush again blooming. “Faith, I have to go to training. Sorry again about the troll.”
“I wasn’t bothered about the troll, Brady. I have the sense that you’re struggling a little and I just wanted to let you know I get it, and I’m here if you need. Now, off to training young man. I don’t want an angry call from Coach Harris. That man scares the puck out of me.”
Try being his goalie and lusting after his daughter.
The team is alreadyon the ice when I stumble down the chute and through the gate. One pad hangs haphazardly off my left leg and I think I have our back-up goalie, Christian’s gloves on, ‘cause he is a twerp and these suckers are tight. There’s no time to go back for mine now, not with Coach staring daggers at me, foot tapping as he waits by my crease. Head down, I skate towards him, my body tensing on each stride.
“Glad you decided to join us, Basse.” His words are grumbled but still loud enough for every head to turn in our direction. “Not like we have the biggest game of the year tomorrow.”
