Chapter Ten
Will
Today sucks. I got my ass whopped during practice yesterday and today.
We’ve been running speed and agility drills on the ice this week, and to no one’s surprise, I’m slow as fuck right now.
My knee hurts, I’m sore, I haven’t had sex in seven months, I can’t stop thinking about Kennedy, and to top it all off, I’m at a team photoshoot right now.
I hate these fucking things, but I especially hate today’s. For one, it's happening during my astronomy class which has quickly become my favorite class. I’m more than a little disappointed that I’ll miss it today for something this stupid. And miss seeing Kennedy.
Plus, these photoshoots suck in general.
I hate gearing up and posing for the camera.
They make us do weird shit like growl to look fierce and intimidating.
I feel like a circus monkey being told to do tricks.
All I can think about is the cameraman saying “dance monkey, dance" when they tell me how to pose or what to do with my face.
If I was allowed to miss these photoshoots, I would. But this is an NCAA sanctioned event so I’m required to be here no matter what. Even if that means missing my favorite class.
To make matters worse, the team’s new social media manager is taking advantage of having us all together with a professional set and lighting by forcing us to take unofficial pictures for our team’s instagram page.
She’s interviewing us with a tiny microphone and asking questions designed to get views.
Questions like: who on the team would you not let date your sister or who’s the biggest player.
She’ll even ask us if we’re single, making it a point to let the audience know our relationship status. I hate it.
Some guys on the team thrive with this kind of thing. For example, Adrian, the little attention whore, loves this. He loves interviewing with the social media girl, he loves posing with his shirt off, he loves winking at the camera, and letting everyone know he’s single and open to love.
I would rather shave my head than do any of this.
“William Taylor,” a voice calls from behind the camera. I grab my gear and go stand in front of the backdrop, ready to get this over with.
“Let me put my gloves on, give me a second.” I say. I do up my helmet and then pull on my gloves. I shake my shoulders and arms, mentally psyching myself up for the torture I’m about to endure.
“Ready?” The cameraman says. I take a breath and nod.
“First picture is for the composite. So go ahead and hold your stick like you normally would and look at the camera. Don’t smile. Look mean.”
I hold my stick to my side and look directly into the camera. I don’t do anything different than my normal face when I look into the camera. “Great job. Now turn to the side and pretend to slap a puck."
I whip my stick a few times forward and back, pretending to pass a puck. This feels so stupid.
“Now face the camera and yell or growl or snarl maybe while also pretending to skate.” What the hell?
I want to laugh. This is ridiculous. Snarl?
I close my eyes and try to take a focusing breath, like an actor, before letting out a snarl and pretending to skate, which turns out looks like I’m jumping in the air.
Fuck it, he wants me jumping in the air, he’ll get me jumping in the air.
I full-send it and try to do a middle split in the air but I’m not able to get my legs very far apart.
I can’t stop the laugh that comes out of me like a bark.
I’m imagining what Kenny would say if she saw me snarling in the air while doing the splits. This only makes me start laughing more.
“William, this is serious. Please try again,” the cameraman snaps at me.
“Right, Of course, sorry.” I say. I again try to snarl, jump, fake pass, all at the same time. But every time I let out that snarl I can’t stop laughing. It's gotten so bad that several of the guys are standing in a huddle behind the camera guy’s back laughing too.
After a few more attempts, he ducks his head out from behind the camera and says, “Thanks, William. That will be all.”
Thank God that part is at least over. The jumping splits I was doing were kind of irritating my knee.
I walk off the set and head toward the chairs where the social media girl is doing interviews.
Not only am I required to be here, but I’m not allowed to leave so I might as well do some media interviews now so I’m not forced to do them later in the year.
I take off my gloves and helmet, and unfortunately have to leave on my pads.
I plop in a chair and pull out my phone to scroll social media.
I’m rubbing a palm over the inside of my knee when Adrian sits in the seat next to me, bumping me with his elbow and nodding his chin at the social media girl who’s currently interviewing Carter.
“She’s hot right? I think I’m gonna get her number,” he says.
I look her up and down. She is hot. She’s got a cute face and a nice body. She looks like a girl I’d normally go for, but for some reason I’m not interested. You know why. “You should ask her out,” I say.
Adrian bumps me with his elbow again and points at the social media girl, “Carter’s finished with his interview, watch and learn how it’s done,” he says before jogging over to her.
He runs his hand through his hair and winks at her before trying to shamelessly flirt with her. Even from here I can tell she’s not impressed with his charm like he’s used to. It’s actually hilarious to watch him crash and burn this badly.
It takes less than two minutes before he’s walking back in my direction looking confused as hell. He takes the seat next to me and says, “She said no?”
Glancing at him, “You’ll get the next one, buddy,” I say, patting his back.
He leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and shakes his head in disbelief. “She said she doesn’t give her number to pretty boys like me.”
That makes me laugh out loud. Adrian is a pretty boy. Some might even call him a fuck boy. But not many have the balls to say that to his face. The social media girl is now on my list of people I think are cool. I bet Kennedy would like her. Maybe I’ll introduce them sometime.
I was hoping that I would be able to sneak out of here today without having to do anything with the social media girl. I hate, no, I loathe having to do these things. It makes me feel like a circus animal. Dance monkey dance is all I can hear when I’m called over for my interview.
There is a tripod set up with some lights and a white backdrop. The social media girl points where I’m supposed to stand, a small red x on the floor. She smiles at me in a way that I think is supposed to put me at ease, but all it does is make me more stressed.
“Who on the team would you not let date your sister?”
“Carter.” I say it instinctively, not caring about who hears. It’s true, Carter is the one person that I would have a serious problem with if he tried to date my sister. She gives me a wide eyed look and then hits stop on her phone. “I’m sorry, can I be done? I really do not like being recorded.”
She gulps and looks down. Shit, I’m being a dick. “Yeah, you can go. Thanks.”
I give a curt nod and then stomp off back to my seat, checking the clock and counting down the minutes until I can be out of this hell.
◆◆◆
Adrian and Liam are drunk. They’re standing in front of the TV with a controller in their hands playing FIFA.
The rules are simple: shotgun a beer or take a shot for every goal scored.
It doesn’t matter who scores the goal or what team it's for, both players drink for every single goal. This is Adrian’s favorite game, but man is it dangerous.
It doesn’t take long before you're smashed. I’ve been a victim a few too many times to ever agree to this game again.
Instead of drunk gaming, I’ve been sitting on the couch nursing my third beer and doom scrolling through social media when Kennedy pops up in the background of Miranda’s story.
Now I’m thinking about Kennedy again. It's a little concerning how much I’ve been thinking about her lately.
I’ve thought about the hickey she gave me multiple times over the last few weeks.
I spent several minutes looking at it the morning after she gave it to me, feeling an almost comical satisfaction.
It’s completely gone now and I almost sent a picture of my chest and neck to Kennedy showing her it's gone. In a really low moment last week, I nearly texted her at one in the morining to come over and give me another one. The only reason I didn’t was because I know that’d be weird as fuck, but it doesn't erase the urge I have to ask her to do it again.
Besides the fucking hickey, I’ve been finding myself just thinking about her at random times.
More so than I ever have before. She’s so easy to be around.
She’s so funny. She’s one of the only people I know that is always willing to go along with the bit, no matter how stupid it is.
I wish she was here right now, making fun of me and pretending that I annoy her.
I finish the rest of my beer and grab another, feeling like an idiot because I expected her to ask me why I wasn’t in class today, but she didn’t.
I’m starting to feel just a little tipsy on my fourth beer and pull up my text thread with her.
I stare at our last conversation. It's from yesterday. The last message was a dumb meme, sent by me and she didn’t respond.
Normally, I would never second guess texting Kennedy any time I wanted, but lately I never know how to interact with her.
You know what, fuck it, I like talking to Kennedy and missing class today is an excuse to do that.
Will: Can you send me the notes from class today?
Kennedy: Yeah, hang on let me take a picture