Page 2 of Slapshot
Here, the university is the heart of the city and it shows in every detail. Lush grounds, buildings spread out with room to walk or sit outside. The Vermont scenery is a pleasant addition, too. Fall is here. The leaves have changed and it’s that perfect time of year when you forget how brutal the coming winter months will be and just get lost in the picturesque beauty of it.
I breathe it all in. When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When it throws Vermont at you, you put on your favorite boots and admire the scenery.
The Green Bean, the campus coffeehouse, is packed. We stand at the back of the line to wait our turn. Everyone around us is wearing Burlington University green to support the hockey team. They play Michigan tomorrow night. It really pains me to know so much about a sport I despise, but Moo U hockey is a really big deal. I should know, my dad was one of their biggest stars twenty-some years ago.
“What are we doing tonight?” my best friend asks.
Usually by Thursday, we’ve already planned our entire weekend, but since hockey season started the options are dwindling. Moo U is a hockey school. When students enroll, they’re given a schedule of games and a Moo U Hockey bumper sticker with their welcome packet.
The hockey players are gods, and their games are like giant parties for the student body. Or that’s what I hear. I haven’t actually been. Nor do I intend to go.
“We could go out, grab dinner, hit the poetry slam, and then the bars,” she suggests.
“Why bother? It’ll be dead tonight while everyone rests up for tomorrow night’s game.”
“Not everyone. There has to be some cute guys in this town that don’t care about hockey.”
I glance behind us into the sea of green. “Have you looked around? The game isn’t until tomorrow and they’re already pumped to watch them destroy Michigan.”
We laugh together and then it’s our turn at the counter. Vivian orders her usual—skinny cinnamon dolce latte. I peruse the menu. I’m working my way through every flavor and variation to find my favorite. When I was in New York, I was just like Vivian. Always ordering the same thing. My favorite drink was the iced ginger coconut milk. It’s not the same here. Nothing is.
I haven’t found my favorite anything in Vermont yet.
“And for you?” the barista asks before I’ve decided.
“I don’t know. Surprise me. But not what she ordered.” I make a face as I remember the horrid taste of Vivian’s favorite drink.
“Today’s special is the puck drop.” She leans closer. “It’s just a hot mocha, but it has green whipped cream.” Her eyes widen and she flashes me a big smile. “Go Bulls!”
I feel my brows raise, but I manage to keep my snarky thoughts to myself. “Sure, the puck drop sounds fine, but no whipped cream.”
She gives me the total and I hand her my debit card.
“Where’s your team spirit?” Vivian asks with an eye roll.
“The same place yours went.”
“I’m sorry.” The barista holds up my card with a sympathetic look. “It’s not going through.”
The card swiper machine is on the counter between us.
“There must be a mistake. Let me try.” I insert my card and an uneasy feeling settles over me as the wordDeclinedappears on the screen.
“That’s weird,” I say awkwardly to the barista as I start to sweat.
“What’s wrong?” Vivian grabs her drink from the counter.
“My card was declined.”
“Maybe it was stolen, and the bank put a freeze on it.”
“Maybe.” Though as I say it, I don’t believe it. I know I’ve been cutting it close lately, but I didn’t think it was quite this dire.
Vivian uses her card to pay for my drink and we walk to our classes together. She chats away about what she’s going to wear tonight and how she hopes she meets a cute guy. I’m only half listening. That uneasy feeling from earlier has turned into a pit of doom as I scroll through the many purchases on my bank account card. Coffee, coffee, nails, boots… I really should have been more careful, but I didn’t really believe my dad when he said that he wasn’t giving me any more money this semester. I thought he was bluffing, but apparently not. And I’ll starve before calling and telling him I’m broke.
Oh my god, I’m broke.
“So, you’ll come by later and we’ll pick outfits and get all glammed up?” she asks when we get to her art class building.
