I already got my ass chewed out by coach don’t worry “Dude,” Dorian says, and I startle a little. I almost forgot he came into the room. “Don’t ever be tempted to fill your science requirement with astronomy.” His textbook gives a heavy thud as he drops it on his desk.
“I’m in bio,” I say, staring at the three dots that show Cauler’s typing. “I thought you loved space.”
“I do. And I love this class. But there’s so many upperclassmen in there just to get the credit ’cause they thought it’d be easy and fun. It’s annoying.”
He props his head up with an elbow on the desk and hunches his shoulders over the textbook. I have never seen him this grouchy before.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“Fine. Just tired.”
There’s this pang of familiarity in my gut, but before I can really grasp it, my phone vibrates.
Jaysen: Not gonna lecture you. I’m just worried.
Would hate to see you not able to play next semester.
Mickey: Really?
Cause if I’m out that top slot is yours no contest
Jaysen: I don’t want no contest I wanna bring down the empire
Mickey: Dramatic
Jaysen: Tell that to whoever crowned your grandpa emperor all those years ago but really tho
you ok?
Mickey: I’m fine
I look at Dorian right as it sends. At the way he’s slumped at his desk, a hand clutching his own hair. Totally fine.
Mickey: It’s just
Hard sometimes
Jaysen: What is?
Mickey: Idk
Life? Living? The pursuit of happiness? Sure, I can open up to Cauler a little bit, but I can’t sit here and tell him I’m deeply depressed when I have it so much easier than him. I’m white. Hetero-passing. From a rich family. I have no right to complain to him about how hard life is.
Jaysen: Terzo.
I don’t answer. Just stare at my phone until it relocks itself, then stare at my reflection in the screen. Cauler’s not an asshole. Okay, not a complete asshole. I don’t think he’d be rude about it if I told him I was depressed. Still, it seems like too much.
So I take the conversation in a complete 180.
Mickey: Does zero know your gay
My heart pounds. This room is way too hot. I really hope I don’t mess this up.
Jaysen: Uhhh idk maybe?
I haven’t told him
But I don’t think I’m all that subtle why
My mouth is dry. I lick my lips and swallow hard.
Mickey: He just talks about us kissing a lot Like every time we argue
It’s like he equates hate with lust Was that too far? Of course that was too far. That’s my thing, not Zero’s.
Jaysen: Think it had something to do with ‘Your eyes are a nice color’
And
‘I like your dimples’
Mickey: I never said i liked them.
I pointed out their existence
Jaysen: Might also have to do with me grabbing your jersey all the time Guess that screams sexual tension
Mickey: Weird
I thought it screamed unbearable asshole
Jaysen: Glad someone gets it
Okay. I have successfully bantered with Jaysen Caulfield over text. Now what? Do I leave him on read? That shows control, right? Let him think it was just genuine confusion, simple curiosity that led me to ask that question. He’ll never suspect a thing.
But then Cauler double texts, and I swear I have a full-blown heart attack.
Jaysen: To be fair I do find you pretty okay to look at That whole dead inside thing you got going on?
Right up my alley
My soul has ascended. Jesus take the wheel because I. Can’t. I’m dreaming still. Dorian’s probably lying across the room with his pillow squeezed over his ears so he can’t hear my unconscious reactions to this. I am wheezing.
Act. Cool. Mickey.
Mickey: You’re ok too i guess Jaysen: Even with the tattoos and piercings?
My gma says they make me ugly
Mickey: Especially with the tattoos and piercings That’s my type
Ask nova
Its why we’d never work out
Jaysen: Good.
Now I know the pain was worth it
Mickey: Howd you even get them when your not 18 yet Jaysen: My cousin owns a shop Does my work for free
Mickey: Howd the tongue feel Jaysen: First you’re thinking about kissing me and now you’re thinking about my tongue piercing?
Starting to think you don’t despise me as much as you say
What is the verbal equivalent of a keysmash? Because that’s what I’m feeling right now.
Mickey: Just trying to get you to lower your guard Jaysen: And you almost had me
We go back and forth like that until I fall asleep holding my phone. When I wake up in the morning, I expect none of it to show up in my messages, fully convinced it was a very detailed, very good dream.
But it’s all there. No turning back now.
ELEVEN
NOVEMBER
Cauler and I both turn eighteen the first week of November, and I get roped into an interview before our next game in honor of becoming draft eligible. With a bunch of recorders in front of my face, one of the reporters says, “There’s been whispers of raising the draft age to nineteen. It wouldn’t come into play soon enough to have an effect on you, of course, but what are your thoughts on that?”
I narrow my eyes at her. It’s the first time I’m hearing about it, but then again, I haven’t really been paying attention to hockey outside of my team and our opponents.
Raising the draft age to nineteen. That would be another year with the Royals. Another year at Hartland. Another year to figure out who I actually am as a person. Zero and Kovy would be gone. So would Bailey and Sid and Karim. But it’d be another year with Dorian and Barbie. Delilah and Jade.
Another year with Cauler.
“I like it,” I say. The reporters blink at me like it’s the exact opposite of what they were expecting. “It’s hard enough to be seventeen, eighteen, going into college and being forced to choose what you want to do with the rest of your life before you really even know all your options. Doing it with a contract over your head? Even worse.”
“You’re saying you’d prefer to stay in the NCAA an extra year rather than go right into the NHL?”
That’s a dangerous question. Cauler’s already made it clear he’s finishing his degree. My answer here could really close the gap in our draft stock. Pretty sure a big part of my appeal over him is that I’ll be available as soon as next season.
And the thing is, I do want to stay. But I also want to start my career in hockey. I want them both at the same time, but that’s not possible.
“I’m saying,” I start slowly, carefully, “I’ve already learned a lot more in these past few months at Hartland than I did in seventeen years of nothing but hockey.”
Cauler locks his arm around my neck and knocks our helmets together on our way out of the locker room, like he’s proud of me or something.
Now I’m noticing those sideways looks the boys give us whenever we’re within three feet of each other. Like they’re waiting for me to leap into his arms or for him to pin me to the wall or something.
My brain’s on a constant loop of you’re pretty okay to look at and right up my alley and wow, the smell of cinnamon is now enough to get me going.
I am pathetic.
It’s gotten to the point where I don’t even care about people finding out. Right now, some mouth-on-mouth action with Jaysen Caulfield would be worth anything and everything.
* * *
CAULER PLAYS EVEN better than usual that game. He pulls off this one play where he’s cutting behind the net and tosses the puck back to me with this sexy-as-hell no-look pass. I almost don’t capitalize on it because I’m too busy going hhnnnngg. I get it together just in time to wrist a one-timer into the back of the net, and I swear I’m swooning as I meet Cauler against the boards for the celly.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, then immediately pull away because can I be any more obvious? Like, chill, James, come on.
We stay right on each other when it comes to points, but he gets more ice time than me with penalty kills. I start putting more effort into defense, in games and in practice, to keep up. It’s almost like he’s pushing me to do better.
To earn my spot.
But I’d never tell him that.