What the fuck? I mutter as I grope around my bedside table in the dark. I knock over my water bottle before finally finding it.
Fuck, I say into the phone as I right the bottle. Luckily, only a little water leaked out, but my notebook is wet.
Clee? It’s my brother.
Is Dad okay? I ask groggily.
’Course. Why wouldn’t he be? I recognize the belligerent tone Jordan gets when he’s been drinking.
Because you’re calling in the middle of the fucking night, that’s why. I check my phone, and it’s 2:33 AM. I need my eight hours of sleep. People who know me don’t wake me up unless it’s life or death. This better be important.
It is. Then he pauses so long that I wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
What the fuck, Jordan? I prod.
I heard that you’re going out with fucking Roy Matsumoto! That’s not true, is it?
Shit. My carefully constructed universe, where I pretend that the past doesn’t exist, is crashing down. I optimistically hoped that this moment might never come.
You know… he’s a really nice guy, I begin.
Clee, I can’t fucking believe this. I told you what he did to me—he totally screwed me over. He’s the reason I’m working construction instead of playing hockey, and now you’re going out with him? Jordan is practically yelling now.
He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would do something like that. And I know him really well now, I protest.
You’re getting taken in by him! What’s the deal here? Is it because he’s rich? Why would you believe a total stranger over your brother?
I take a deep breath. This might be the world’s worst timing, but now I can find out the truth. Tell me exactly what happened when you got kicked off the team.
Why? You already believe whatever bullshit Mats has fed you. Jordan sounds whiny, the way he does when things don’t go his way.
Mats never told me anything, I insist.
Huh. There’s another long pause. I told you. There was this bullshit complaint from another team, and then the coach started digging and looking for shit. And your boy was only too happy to supply it.
Wait. This is the first time that Jordan has mentioned another team. Originally, he said that Mats was the one who started everything.
What was the thing with the other team? I ask carefully.
It was nothing. Trash talk. College hockey is full of fucking babies.
Why is it never Jordan’s fault? This isn’t the first incident. There was also that time in high school, when he was accused of taunting a Black player. I didn’t believe it, of course, but I wondered. So, I double-checked with his teammates, who told me it never happened.
How do you even test someone for racism? They’re going to deny it if you ask.
Are you sure you didn’t say anything that Mats might have misunderstood? I’m grasping here, but it’s so important.
Oh, fuck you. Stop taking his side. Because you know what? He’s going to fuck you over to get back at me, Jordan says.
That makes zero sense. You didn’t even know we were dating.
He sighs heavily. You don’t exactly have the best track record with guys. Anyone could con you.
Why? Because I’m so desperate that I’m grateful for any male attention? Go fuck yourself.
Well, it’s a good thing you’re so fucking popular, then. Because you need to break up with him. Like, yesterday.
I sit up in bed. Excuse me? Do I tell you who to date?
