So far, I haven’t found a place at this college where I can just be myself. Back home, we have this treehouse that is so far in the backyard the cameras couldn’t follow me. It’s where I went to think, to hang out with my real friends, and where I took my girlfriends when I didn’t want the world to know about them.
I thought the reality TV cameras were bad, but it turns out I’m still living with them. Only now, I’m not edited to look better than I am.
“Scotty!” one of the girls screams, making the other elbow her and giggle.
“Alison! Shh.”
Honestly, it’s fucking insulting that I get this much attention. I don’t deserve it. I’ve been here three weeks and haven’t proven to anyone that I’m worthy of it. I’m just a nepo baby who’s having to live in his father’s shadow because I love the game as much as him.
I should’ve quit like my sister, Amelia, did, but I love skating too much.It’s part of me.
My phone rings, and when I see my dad’s face cover the screen, my smile drops.
I contemplate answering, wondering if I can handle his level of positivity today.
It’s not going to matter either way. If I don’t answer, he’ll keep calling until I do. Or worse, he’ll get one of the security guys, probably Dan, to come and check on me even though I specifically told him I don’t want any of that attention here.
I just want to be a normal college student, experiencing it the same way as everyone else.
Although, when I hear the girls giggling in the background, it doesn’t seem like it’s possible anymore.
My phone continues ringing.
Fuck it.
I answer.
“Hey, Dad,” I say with a fixed grin. I’m not on camera, but there’s a high possibility he is, which means I’ve got to be on my best behavior.
“Scotty!” I pull my ear away as his voice booms through the speaker. He’s so happy to hear me that I immediately feel bad about all the things I was just thinking. “I’m so glad you answered.”
He’s the happiest, most supportive dad I could ask for, which is sometimes infuriating, and something I’d never admit out loud because how fucking ungrateful does it sound?
Why can’t he be like other athlete dads, who push their sons so hard they rebel?
What would I even be rebelling against?
His endless, unshakeable positivity?
It sounds almost as pathetic as I feel.
I didn’t earn this.
I’m not a five-time Stanley Cup winner. I don’t hold the record for the highest goals scored. I didn’t marry an Olympic ice dancer.
None of these achievements are mine, yet I’m so far in my father’s shadow, I can’t find anything for myself.
“How are the first few weeks of college treating you? Met any nice girls yet?”
Plenty. Only one I actually want to see more of, but I ruined that with my metaphorical thirst trap.
“The dining hall lady is pretty nice,” I say as I move away from the building. “She always gives me extra bacon.”
I don’t even dare mention Laura or the naked fountain incident. Like Erik, he’s too optimistic for his own good. He’d think it was fate, and then no doubt come down here and try to help me. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t say no to my father’s advice. He got my mom to marry him after a hate-fueled first meeting, so he’s clearly got some kind of magic touch. It’s just that he comes with cameras and attention.
Judging from the look on Laura’s face when she realized people were filming the fun run, I doubt she wants to be the next storyline inHendricks Unchecked.
After she left, I charmed my way through the crowd of people, asking to see their videos and kindly requesting they delete any with Laura in them. They all seemed pretty okay with it, as long as I took a picture with them, which was a small price to pay for her privacy.
