I nod.
“That sounds fun, but I mean, also super hard. I can't even imagine getting up and performing in front of an audience.”
I crack a smile. “I'm sorry, don't you regularly play games in front of like six thousand people?”
This gets a laugh out of him. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I do. I don't think it's the same, though.”
“Right, for example, I am hardly ever knocked into by two-hundred-pound guys while I'm on stage.” I grin at him. Okay. Fine. Gavin doesn't totally suck. I suddenly realize we've only been talking about me, and I don't even know what his major is. If he told me, I don't remember. MaybeIsuck. “Hey, so what are you studying again?”
“Oh, um, education?”
I wince. “Sorry. You did say that, didn’t you?”
He shrugs. “I spend more time at the rink than in the classroom anyway.”
“Truth? I think I sort of assumed all jocks just major in like Muscle Management or something.”
He grins. “That's my minor!”
Now it's my turn to laugh, and damn, I might actually like him.
The idea that I might not have to spend the next two semesters in roommate hell is such a relief I almost want to cry.
I unpack the rest of the bag, and he doesn’t even blink at my collection of Pride t-shirts.
He mentions his practice schedule, which is apparently intense. “I’ll try not to be too loud when I have to head out for morning practice.”
“Do I want to know what time that will be?”
He sizes me up, then smiles. “Nah, probably not.”
I’m tucking the last of the clothes from the duffel into the dresser when he pipes up. “Hey, you think you’ll be in a show this semester?”
I have no idea what the odds of a freshman landing a part that soon are, but that’s what I’m here for. “No clue,” I admit. “I hope so.”
“Me too. You let me know, okay? I’ll come check it out.”
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, okay. That’s… thanks. That’d be cool.”
He gives me one of those bro nods, flicking his chin up. I almost laugh. He’s notcompletelydifferent from what I expected.
My phone buzzes on the bed.
Mom: Can we come up yet, sweetie? Your father is threatening to “go all ally on his ass” if your roommate isn’t nice.
I glance up at my roommate, who has turned back to the floor in the corner, where I now see he is digging in a small and tightly packed dorm fridge. He holds up two of some kind of crazy protein drink, offering one to me. I shake my head and bite back a smile.
Dash: All good here. Tell Dad to stand down.
The next afternoon,I’m walking back from the bookstore, my backpack stuffed with ridiculously priced textbooks, mostly for general ed classes I didn’t really want to take anyway. Math for Arts majors, anyone?
I’ve got to be half a mile from the dorm. Green Mountain State is a sprawling campus, and I’m still trying to get the lay of the land. I’m ninety percent sure if I head in the direction of the church spire I can see in the distance, I’ll be going the right way. I refuse to break out the map on my phone in front of the students around me, who all somehow seem to have the place figured out.
My bag is heavy, though. I’m contemplating stopping at the coffee cart up ahead for caffeine and a rest when I notice the building behind it. It’s a huge modern structure, like the size of an aircraft hangar, all glass and concrete and angled lines, set smack in the middle of all the quaint brick and stone buildings of yore. Kind of hard to miss. Oh, and it says Stags Hockey on a big green and black banner right above the entrance, complete with the little antler logo.
So. This is where the magic happens.
I have to admit I’m curious. Partly about what Gavin and the team are doing all those hours at practice. Which is happening right now, I realize as I glance at my watch. I’m also curious to see what this mythical place looks like, given (a) hockey is what put the U (aka “Puck U”) on the map and (b) the theater department is housed in a former high school…
