Page 38 of Bad Man on Campus

“She okay?”

“She’ll have a headache and parched mouth in the morning, but she’ll be fine.” As I get in the car and look at him through the open window, I remind him. “Nothing either of us hasn’t been through more than once.”

He nods and I take off.

Chapter 9

Kace

Practice for the season starts with an early morning skate and drills before classes. It’s a fucking relief to be on the ice, a place I’ve always felt comfortable, since I was two years old with my first pair of skates. Glory spent the last three nights in my bed in spite of our problems, but honestly, I need to get away from her too.

She almost lost it when she saw the editorial about the crash in the student-run Daily Campus newspaper this morning. It called for an investigation and she nearly puked on the spot at the kitchen table. Majik had to intervene with some pink liquid shit before she let Glory leave. I told her not to read it. And I begged her not to watch this morning’s SPU TV news story with an interview of Madelyn Fontaine, the chick who started the snowball of nasty gossip. The one who posted the initial video of the car crashed into the tree.

Not taking my own advice, I watch the SPU news in the locker room lounge dressed and ready to go on the ice. Phoebe doesn’t look happy about it, I can tell by the tightness of her smile. The story ends with a reminder that there’s a petition going around to have the accident investigated. In the name of justice, of course, not to imply that anyone is guilty of anything.

I head for the ice in disgust and in a mood to play rough. After missing a pass and smashing into the boards near the end of our one hour of ice time, Coach blows his whistle.

“Practice looked rough. I thought you were in shape, Jennings,” Coach says, following me to the locker room. I grunt. He comes inside after me and says, “You seem distracted.”

One of the guys in the room says, “There’s a lot of that going around.” I turn to see who it is, to give him shit. But the coach slaps a heavy hand on my shoulder and says in a low voice, “Let it go. Let everything go. Keep your focus where it needs to be.”

He walks out the door without another word and I should be thankful that Coach is on my side, that he believes that I’m innocent. Or at least that’s what I think he thinks.

At my locker I slip out my phone and look up Madelyn Fontaine, but I don’t find her number listed in the campus directory or on google anywhere, so I call Dooley.

“You ready to play sleuth for me?”

“Sounds juicy. What’s up?”

“Totally on the QT. Find out Madelyn Fontaine’s phone number and local address for me.”

“The Mad for SADD chick? Oooo-kay. You’re not planning anything too rash—”

“I’m going to talk with her, dickhead. I’m not a gangster.”

“I knew that. Give me a few hours. I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Dools.”

“Don’t call me that—” I hang up on him, laughing. He’s a good sport, and more importantly, he knows absolutely everyone on campus. But then he should. This is his fifth year. He should be going on his PhD by now, but he’s legit in line for a master’s degree in drama. Not that he needs it. He’s postponing his departure from SPU purposely for some reason and I wonder what it is.

Tossing my phone back into the locker, I pull out my gym shorts and T-shirt and finish dressing in the relatively quiet room. It’s only one practice, but I promise myself I’ll focus on the team tomorrow. I need to. It’s the only sane place left for me on campus.

* * *

Taking my seat in the back row of Marketing Strategy class, the girl and guy who’ve been sitting in my row for the past two weeks turn and look at me like I smell bad. Then they stand up, gather their things and after another pointed look at me, they turn and leave, moving three rows away. Murmurs well up around me. People sneak surreptitious glances in my direction.

Brick breezes in and plants himself next to me, killing the murmurs as he surveys the room, saving me from total ostracization. He raises one brow above his sunglasses, but the professor walks in and starts class before Brick has a chance to say anything. Just as well because I don’t relish acknowledging, let alone talking about the fact that I’ve become the campus pariah.

I was never the bad guy before in my life. Sure, I got into the odd fight here and there, but nothing awful. I’ve always been the good guy standing up. Now, that’s all changed.

The rumors going around about the car crash and that I might have been drinking and got away with it change my rep 180 degrees in a nanosecond, as if the me before the car crashed into the tree never existed.

I’m getting a small taste of what Glory went through after her crash three years ago and a fresh wash of guilt at my desertion piles onto my misery. But I’m making up for leaving her now, aren’t I? Taking the blame and taking a hit to my reputation.

As long as that’s all there is. As long as I don’t lose hockey. Or get expelled. Drunk driving can get a guy expelled these days though I doubt it would ever come to that, even if the police did pursue a drunk driving charge. I’m pretty sure it’s too late now. They never did a test and can’t prove I was drinking.

As long as they don’t talk to my friends, I’m okay. But the minute the police knock on the door and ask to talk to anyone, I’m fucked. Either in trouble for drunk driving or in trouble for covering for Glory.