It’s weird seeing the three of them smiling together when all of us spent the last two years battling it out on the ice in juniors. Dorian and Barbie at least have their lifelong friendship to fall back on. They were both born in Mexico and raised in Wisconsin and chose to come to the same college after their time apart in the USHL. If freshmen had a choice in roommates, they’d definitely be dorming together.
Instead, it’s me and Dorian. Not that I’ve seen much of him this past week. Pretty sure he’s only been in our room to move in and change clothes, spending all his time with Jaysen and Barbie at orientation events.
I swear I’m not jealous. I’ve been actively avoiding the other freshman Royals. They go to orientation during the day and spend their nights drinking at the off-campus hockey house where the upperclassmen live together. I pass the time in my room or at the dock on the lake while Delilah and Jade do their orientation leader duties and hang out with them when they’re done, and that’s the way I like it.
Making friends at Hartland would be pointless when I’ll only be here for a year before the draft. Even beyond that, when Dad was traded to the Hurricanes from the Sabres, he had to leave that same day for a game that night with his new team. Had less than an hour to say goodbye to a team and a city he played for for two decades. That’s what I have to look forward to.
The only reason my friendship with Nova has lasted through distance is because I’ve known her since the day I was born and lived with her after my family moved away from Buffalo. I still have a room at her parents’ house. There’s no escaping it at this point, and I wouldn’t want to.
I scroll through the replies to Jaysen’s post as I head back to my room. There’s plenty from the rest of the Royals, some of the other defensemen being mock-offended by his favorite blueliners comment, Zero saying my sons with a bunch of heart emojis. Then there’s the random hockey fans vying for a little bit of attention by commenting how they hope they’re all having a good time in college.
I’m staring at Jaysen’s infuriating dimples on my phone when I walk into my room.
Jaysen and Dorian are sitting on Dorian’s bed, a laptop open with angry-sounding music screaming from the speakers.
I jump so high I almost fling my phone into the sun, but they’re too caught up in their conversation to notice. They look like budding best friends with their all black clothes and tattoos.
“Dude, I am so relieved,” Dorian says. “I thought I’d be missing out on shows here.”
“Yeah, looks like they don’t got a barricade, either,” Jaysen says, squinting at the screen through black-rimmed glasses. “We can get right up in their faces.”
“I’ve never been to a venue like that. All the ones back home, the stages were shoulder height and barricaded with this huge gap.”
“Once you experience a place like this, those other ones won’t even be worth it to you.” Jaysen nods his head in my direction. “Your Grace.”
I clench the towel tighter around my waist. “That gotten old yet?”
He shrugs. “It’s fitting. Zero wants to call you Terzo, but you gotta earn it first. It’s Italian for third, apparently.”
Right. I was Jamesy on my last team. At least Zero’s a little more creative, turning that pretentious little III at the end of my name into something decent sounding. Still, I roll my eyes. “He google translate that?”
“His grandma’s from Italy. You’d know that if you ever joined us for team bonding. He never shuts up about it.”
I glance at him. His words are light and carefree, but the pinched look on his face says he’d rather shave with a power sander than keep talking to me.
“Wait, didn’t your mom skate for Italy?” Dorian asks. “Do you know Italian?”
I nod slowly and they both look at me like they’re expecting me to go into some Italian soliloquy or something. I keep my mouth shut and duck behind my dresser for some privacy as I get dressed. I’ll be changing in front of these guys daily once practices start, but something about being in my room instead of the locker room makes it feel, I don’t know, weird. Yeah, this is Dorian’s room, too, but I’ve had it to myself while he’s been spending his nights at the hockey house, so it almost feels like he’s intruding.
“Okay,” Dorian says, drawing it out for a few seconds. The bed creaks, and I hear the snap of his laptop closing. It takes a moment for the music to die, and he’s quick to fill the quiet. “Terzo’s a pretty sick nickname, though. Better than Hildy. Like, I don’t get it. There’s not even an L there! Please, if you like me even a little, just call me Dorian.”
“For the record,” Jaysen says, “I suggested Doll Face.”
Dorian snorts. “That one’s actually not bad. I gotta head out, though, man. First ever college class is physics. Reza por mí.”
“That’s what you get for majoring in astronomy.”
Dorian clenches his hands in front of himself and pulls a face that makes the tendons in his neck pop out. “I just … love space … so much!” he says through his teeth. He heads for the door with his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Why can’t I skip the math and just look at the stars?”
There’s a panorama of the Milky Way breaking up all the metal bands and hockey posters above Dorian’s bed. I’ve seen it every day for the past week and never realized it was anything more than aesthetic.
I spent two years with the same players in Michigan but don’t have a single one of them saved in my phone or added on social media. Honestly, that doesn’t bother me as much as the thought of not knowing a single personal thing about my own roommate. Of wasting my one year of college.
It’s not until Dorian gets all the way to the door that I realize Jaysen’s not following him.
“What?” I ask when we’re alone.
Jaysen sighs, long and loud and tortured. “We got algebra together, apparently. Zero and Kovy are forcing me to walk with you.”
I blink at him. What is this, the buddy system? “Why?”
He gives me a look as blank as my own, and I can’t hold up against it. I turn to the mirror and comb my fingers through my hair in a vain attempt to tame my curls and stick a pen behind my ear. I head out the door without warning and let it close on Jaysen just to buy myself a few extra steps alone. He seems unaffected when he catches up, falling into step beside me.
Delilah and I are taking this algebra class together. We both suck at math, so it’s not like it’s gonna help either of us, but it’s better than suffering alone. Now it’s gonna be pure torture.
I’d gotten used to campus being pretty quiet with just the freshmen and fall athletes here for the most part. Now we have to squeeze past other people crowding the narrow, curving paths from the dorms. Hartland’s small for a D-I school, but there’s still enough people screaming at the sight of one another and laughing and hugging like they’ve been apart for years that it gives me a headache.
Seniors are gathered on the hill outside the Sommer Student Center in their black robes and ridiculous costume sunglasses, drinking alcohol out of their class mugs and heckling the freshmen. I keep my head down after spotting Zero and Kovy doubled over in laughter, already wasted at ten in the morning.
We’re past most of the noise and starting up the hill to the Stratton science and math hall when Jaysen finally speaks up.
“So, what’re you majoring in?”
You know what sucks the most about this? I know he doesn’t really want to know. His voice is so dead. He doesn’t even glance in my direction as he asks. I know he’s only here because our drunk captains want us to stop being so hostile before practice starts. But that doesn’t stop my heart from stuttering or my palms from sweating at the weight of his attention.
“Nothing,” I say.
“So, what, undecided for now? Testing the waters?”
I look at him. He’s got a tight grip on his backpack straps, chewing hard on his gum. There’s this heavy feeling in my chest, like I know exactly what he’s getting at.
“Not here for a degree,” I say slowly, keeping my eyes on him the whole time.