Page 7 of Slapshot
“Oh, I’m sorry. I have plans.” The lie slips out before I can stop it. Call it an automatic defense mechanism because holy shit is this really happening? Still, I need this job, so I try for a regretful smile. “I didn’t realize the job would start immediately.”
I’m going to need a day or two to let this all sink in. While I eat ramen.
Coach Keller has been around for a long time. He has an expression that’s hard to read, but I’m certain he can see right through my lie. I do have plans, that isn’t a lie, but I doubt he’d consider a night out with Vivian a very good excuse. He nods. “Okay. When can you start?”
I glance down at my coffee and wiggle my toes inside my new boots. If I want any semblance of my old life back, then it’s this job or changing diapers. I already checked the local job listings on my way to this interview. None of the off-campus jobs come close to matching the equipment manager salary. “Is Saturday okay?”
“Great.” He stands and extends a hand. “I think we can manage one more night on our own. I’ll let the boys know the good news. We’re excited to have you on board. Tell your father hello.”
I walk out of the office on wobbly legs. So, it isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my fresh start, but if all I have to do is sharpen skates and do laundry, organize equipment—things I could do in my sleep, then maybe it won’t be so bad. Still, my stomach twists.
The things a girl will do for a decent cup of coffee, a killer pair of boots, and a chance to get back in her father’s good graces.
* * *
“You aren’t dressed to go out,” Vivian says as she holds her apartment door open for me Friday night.
“I’m not going to be able to make it.”
“You came all the way over here to tell me you can’t go out?”
I lift the bottle of wine in my hand.
“Your emergency stash?” she questions. “This must be bad.”
I walk into her cute, single bedroom apartment. “I got a job.”
“A job?” Her brows pull together. I can tell she wasn’t expecting this. Why would she? We both come from well-off families where money isn’t an issue. “Somewhere cool? Oh, did you get that marketing internship with…” She waves her hand. “I can’t remember the name of the place.”
“No, that isn’t until next summer. I’m interviewing with them at the career fair.”
“Okay, well then where is it?” She sets out glasses and grabs a wine opener. When I don’t answer, she stops and holds up a hand, exaggerating my delay. “Hello? Earth to Kaitlyn?” She goes back to opening the wine. “Please don’t tell me you got a job at the dining hall. Hair nets are social suicide. No guy wants to fuck the lunch lady.”
“No, I’m not… I mean it is on campus, but…”
She groans. “Oh my gosh, you’re killing me. Where is it?”
“I’m the new equipment manager for the hockey team,” I spit out.
You’d think I slapped her by her sharp intake of breath and the stunned look on her face. She drinks straight out of the bottle.
“But… why?” she asks after she’s taken a healthy sip. “And I cannot stress this enough… WHY?”
“I need a job. My checking account is empty, and I cannot spend the rest of the year eating greasy cafeteria food. I had my coffee out of the break room in the teacher’s lounge this morning.” A shiver runs through me at the memory of that bitter, burned taste. I won’t make that mistake again.
“I had no idea. Also, I can cover your coffee.” She grabs her phone while I tell her the rest of the story.
“Thank you, but it isn’t just that. My dad cut me off until he sees my semester grades and I’ve convinced him I’m not going to get kicked out of another university. The only way I’m going to get my dad to start depositing money again is to show him that I’m making an effort. I do not want to be the girl who has to wait until her friends offer to pay to leave the dorm. It’s bad enough that I’m one of the few upperclassmen living in the dorm, I refuse to spend my weekends sitting in and waiting for a dorm social activity where I can get free punch and cookies.” It feels sort of awful when I say it all out loud. I realize that’s the first time I’ve told anyone. Even Dylan didn’t get the whole story. It’s super embarrassing to be a poor rich girl.
“That is the saddest story I’ve ever heard.” She pours me a glass.
My phone pings with an incoming Venmo alert.Vivian paid Kaitlyn. Thanks for showing me a good time, sweet thing. $100.
“Vivian, no. Thank you, but no, I can’t take money from you.”
“It’s just to hold you over. I’m sure I owe you for drinks or dinner, or something.” She waves it off and changes the subject. “How are you going to have time to study or go out? Hold the phone, do you have to like go to the games now?”
“Yeah, that’s basically the job.”
