Extra Credit
Luna
Maisie’stuggingajerseyover her head when I barge into her room. To be fair, the door was open. It’s hardly trespassing.
“I absolutely cannot go to the game this afternoon. I got a B on my classification test.” The strain of competing priorities is taking a toll on my grades now.
“Getting a B in one of those hellacious math courses still makes you the smartest person in most rooms. I don’t even understand what the names mean.”
“But I don’t get Bs. I don’t have a career playing hockey professionally to look forward to. Unlike the guys. We’ll have plenty of time to watch them on TV when they’re in the pros. Why should I wreck my chances at a future for them?”
One hand grips my shoulder, and the other tilts my chin up. “I know how important school is. I get it. But do you think perhaps you’re being a little overdramatic? Attending one game won’t destroy all your prospects. Not to mention they showed up for us. Now I know you claim they did it for the optics, and while I’m sure that’s partially true, they did still show. We can’t have ourcaptain not showing up for her alleged boyfriend’s game.” She gives me a sly look, lips twisted in a crooked smirk.
If she were trying to agitate me more, she’s doing a fabulous job of it. “Don’t even. As if it’s not annoying enough having random people congratulating me on campus. For what? Bagging the hottest hockey player on campus? Or is it because he’s a Whitaker? And then nobody believes me when I tell them it’s not true. Complete and utter nonsense.”
“They think you’re dating me?”
That forces a snort out of me.
“We all know I’m the hottest hockey player, but I’m not ready to settle down. Sorry, Wild Thing.” Wild thing? The audacity.
“Whatever. I guess I’ve got to go. You’re probably right.” I stomp over to my closet and yank so hard on my jersey the plastic hanger snaps with a startling crack.
“I generally am. It’s a safe bet. No need to take it out on the poor hanger.”
“Whatever you say.”
I refuse the face paint Beth offers me when we’re passing her room. I’ll show up to support them as requested, but I’m putting zero extra effort into it.
“You’re wearing the wrong jersey,” she says to my retreating back.
I spin around, tugging at the shoulder to see the back. Did they get mixed up in the laundry?
“That one says Wilder. It’s supposed to say Whitaker.”
“Ha ha, you’re hilarious. Why don’t you go hang out with Maisie?” Maybe I’ll find a seat on the other side of the arena. Far, far away from my teasing friends.
Jenna looks up from her perch on the edge of the worn couch when I skid to a stop in front of her. “Not a word.” I put as much captainly authority into my tone as I can, but she’s not scared, just presses her lips together to contain her laugh.
It’s fine. Only a couple of hours. I can handle it. Might be a pleasant diversion. Take my mind off my subpar grade.
I’m not feeling it, but I know I need to keep the content machine churning, so I set up a tripod by the door.
“Wanna go first?” I ask Jenna, nodding at my phone on the stand.
“What are we doing?” she asks, jumping up from her spot.
“I told you. Making our bets on the game tonight. Who will win, how many goals total, and who is going to score.”
“Hopefully me. But more likely it’s going to be you.” Maisie appears beside me as if she teleported.
“This is a family-friendly show. Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a sweet, innocent angel.”
“Well angel, you’re going first.” I point to the camera. “And keep it PG. You know how prudish the algorithm is.”
“I got it. Totally no fun.” She’s all smiles when she steps up to the camera. “The Lightning will win, or they’ll have me to deal with. The score will be four to three, because Jenson has been looking a little distracted lately.”
