Chapter 4
ACCIDENTALLY POPULAR
MATS
WHEN BARB PEACHY SUMMONS ME FOR YET ANOTHER MEETING ON FRIDAY, I’M HOPEFUL OF GOOD news.
Although it’s hard to believe that the shit show of Tuesday’s dinner impressed Marjorie Schultz.
She may be hard of hearing, but she’s quite smart.
Eccentric, but who wouldn’t be after spending years alone in that huge place?
Of course, I run into Cleo on the way to Barb’s office.
Finding out that she’s Jordan Nelson’s sister makes me uncomfortable to be alone with her.
Maybe I should have figured it out, but Nelson is a common name around here.
They also look nothing alike, and my impression of Cleo is that she’s a leader and hard worker on the ice; again, unlike Jordan. Still, it explains her animosity.
I give her a nod, and she scowls at me.
I’m hoping that this meeting is to confirm the gazillions that Marjorie is giving the hockey program. And the even better news will be that we won’t have to spend another fucking second together, she says.
Fine with me, I reply. For me, the best part about Tuesday night was that it was a complete distraction. Sparring with Cleo was better than mooning about Lana.
Roy, Cleo. Welcome. Barb puts on a pair of turquoise-framed glasses and beams at us. Again, I must apologize for leaving you in the lurch on Tuesday.
How’s your son? I ask.
He dislocated his shoulder. It was pretty painful, but he should be better in a few weeks. Meanwhile, he’s taking full advantage and trying to get out of all his homework and chores. She shakes her head. But let’s get down to business. I heard that your dinner with Marjorie went very well.
Not the way I’d describe that meal, but fine.
Barb continues without waiting for a reply. However, she hasn’t committed to anything yet, and she’s made a rather… interesting request.
I swallow. With the outspoken Marjorie, it could be anything.
She has the impression that the two of you are a couple. Is that right?
I stare in shock. Cleo, probably for the first time in recorded history, has nothing to say.
We are definitely not a couple, I insist. I’m not sure what the opposite of couple is, but that’s what we are. Two people who don’t ever want to spend time together.
Barb’s smile hasn’t dimmed at all. It’s funny how these wrong impressions develop. But she has specifically requested to see more of that ‘nice young hockey couple.’
What does that mean, exactly? I ask uneasily, since Cleo is still shocked silent.
She’d like to have dinner with the two of you every Tuesday night for the rest of the term.
Given that it’s mid-January now, that means at least ten more dinners.
I’m already shaking my head when Cleo interjects, There’s no fu—freaking way.
Look, Barb, maybe I should have told you this before, but I would prefer to work with literally any other player on the men’s team. There’s no way that I can do this.
What’s the problem between you two? Barb asks in a neutral tone.
But instead of coming out with the whole story—which I’d also like to understand from her point of view—Cleo hedges. Roy has done things that I don’t agree with. He’s not someone I respect.
Really? Because before I selected the two of you, I did some background checks. Both of you have stellar reputations on your respective teams. So, I’m very curious to know what extra information you have. Barb folds her hands together and leans towards Cleo.
She flushes. It’s not my story to tell. I’m sorry.
Ah, Barb says knowingly. Well, Roy is very handsome, and I’m sure he’s broken a few hearts here at Monarch.
Cleo groans and buries her face in her hands. She must be pained by Barb turning character aspersions into a compliment.
Barb places her palms on the desk. Look, cards on the table.
While I would never ask students to do anything that goes against their principles, the stakes are pretty high here.
While Marjorie Schultz has donated to the college before, now she’s hinting at a six-figure bequest with funds earmarked for both hockey programs. And all you would have to do is eat a few dinners. Is that so difficult?
But we have to pretend to be a couple too? Is that part of it? I ask.
Barb frowns. Whatever you did last Tuesday was fine. I assume there wasn’t any… physical affection.
God, no, says Cleo, as if I’m some kind of leper.
And are either of you in a relationship?
Cleo and I both reply in the negative. Great, one more reason to wish Lana and I hadn’t broken up.
Just between us, my personal assessment of Marjorie is that she’s a bit lonely. Whatever energy the two of you brought to dinner, she must have enjoyed. I think I mentioned that’s she’s been difficult in the past, and this is the first time she’s asked to have anyone return.
Both Cleo and I silently digest this plea.
Barb continues, You don’t have to pretend anything… but perhaps avoid contradicting her expectations? It’s only one night a week.
Cleo shakes her head in refusal, but I request, Can we have twenty-four hours to think about it?
Why? Barb asks, with the shark instincts that must make her a good fundraiser. What will change by tomorrow?
I’d like to do a little research. Into Cleo Nelson, because if she’s like her brother, then I have zero interest in spending even ten more seconds in her company.
That’s fine. As I said, this decision is up to you both. But please keep in mind that the team fundraisers that you both work so hard on won’t raise even a fraction of the money we can get here.
In other words, this donation would be a game-changer for Monarch hockey. I rise. I understand. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.
Cleo glowers at both of us. I’m not sure if I can do this under any circumstances.
Why don’t you stay longer, and we can discuss it more? Barb suggests.
Taking that as my signal to leave, I grab my backpack and head out. As I’m walking home, someone calls my name. I turn to see an attractive woman smiling brightly at me. She has auburn hair and is wearing a white puffer coat.
Hi, Mats. I’m Petra Cole. We were in Econ 101 together last year.
Oh, right, I hedge, trying to place her.
She falls into step beside me. I’ve sent you a few messages, but I guess you haven’t seen them. She makes it sound like we’re friends, but I genuinely have no idea who she is. Econ 101 had at least a hundred students, it’s impossible to remember every one of them.
What’s up? I ask.
I was wondering if you’d like to go out for coffee this week?
Shit. That request came out of nowhere. I don’t even know her. She’s cute, but I’m really not interested. Still, it’s hard to claim that I’m busy when her question is so open-ended. Instead, I opt for the truth.
Look, I just broke up with someone. So, I’m going to take a break before dating again.
She places a hand on my arm and smiles sweetly. Oh, I know all about that. And if you’re unhappy, I could be a shoulder for you to lean on.
Uh, that’s a nice offer, but it’s not really necessary. If I wanted to vent, I’d talk to my friends, not a total stranger.
Petra’s smile doesn’t fade. Okay. Just taking my shot. Look, why don’t I give you my number? Then, if you want to chat anytime, it’s easy.
Fuck. There’s no polite way to say no, so I hand over my phone and she inputs her information. Then she gives me one last consoling pat on the arm and heads back towards campus.
That was weird. Not that someone would ask me out, because being a hockey player at Monarch vastly increases my level of attractiveness.
More that someone I’ve never spoken to before would ask me out in such a pitying way, like I’m wallowing in misery.
Sure, I’m unhappy about my breakup, but I don’t think a total stranger can tell.
Instead of going straight home, I detour to the house next door. Our street has three hockey houses in a row, and I need to see Vik Zelenko.
Hey, Mats, Zee greets me at the door. He’s the captain of our team and not only a great hockey player, but very attuned to the mood of the team. He’s good at lifting us up when we’re down or laying down the law if we’re fooling around too much. I have a ton of respect for him.
I need to talk to you in private, I say.
He nods like that’s no big deal. Zee probably has players coming to him for advice all the time. He leads me into a small back room with lots of windows.
It’s our parlour. Too small to be another bedroom, he explains. Their house is older and bigger than ours. It’s mainly the seniors on the team who get to live here. Zee is only a junior, but he’s the team leader, on the ice and off.
You want a drink or anything? he asks.
I’m good, thanks. I’m going home right after this, I say.
We sit in armchairs. Zee seems relaxed but wary, like he’s ready for bad news.
So, I hit him with my issue. Remember Jordan Nelson?
He nods. Zee is on the Athletic Council with me, so I’m not breaking any confidentiality rules in discussing this problem with him.
Did you know that Cleo Nelson is his sister? I ask.
He nods again. You weren’t here then, but at the time, I’d heard she helped him get on the Monarch team. Apparently, there was a similar incident on his high school team that made Coach Norman hesitant to admit him.
I nod. Zee is a year ahead of me, so he knows more about the history of the team. How did Cleo help?
She’s a character player and well-liked. She vouched for Jordan and said that the incident in high school was blown out of proportion.
But then the same shit went down again here, I say. What did she say about that?
Zee scratches the light stubble on his chin. That’s a good question. Since matters of team discipline are strictly confidential, she probably wasn’t ever asked. Of course, her brother must have told her. He gives me an appraising look. Why all these questions now?