First Chapter: Slapshot by Rebecca Jenshak
Kaitlyn
Living in the dorms as a junior is torture. There’s the cramped closet, the shared bathroom, ancient furniture, and dingy walls. And, of course, the total lack of privacy.
It’s especially terrible when you’ve already lived on your own and know the joys of independence and a quality mattress. All those things would be reason enough to miss my old life, complete with apartment, but I also have a roommate issue. An awful, unspeakable, truly shocking roommate issue.
She’s sleeping with my ex-boyfriend.
Listening to your ex have sex with anyone else, let alone your roommate, should be grounds for a transfer to another room.
It isn’t. I checked.
My RA was very understanding. She used those exact words several times. “I completely understand.” And then she suggested ear plugs or sitting down with my roommate and having an honest conversation about how I was feeling.
A decent suggestion if I had any desire to speak to my ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend. I do not need to add humiliation to the long list of emotions the situation has thrown at me. Anger, sadness, jealousy, to name a few. Moo U was supposed to be a fresh start, not more lessons on coping with heartbreak.
“How long are they going to keep that up?” my friend Vivian asks with an impressed smile on her pink, glossy lips. She sits on my bed, staring at the wall separating mine and Chastity’s bedrooms.
“Judging by the moans, we have another few minutes until they finish.” I don’t look up from my laptop where I read through my notes for my content marketing class. We have a test tomorrow, and I am struggling to focus.
“I don’t know whether to be disgusted or turned on. Are they always this loud?”
“Disgusted and always.”
And here comes the name calling.
“Dylan. Oh, Dylan.”
This is when I usually blast my music to drown them out. I could almost pretend it was someone else if it weren’t for the talking. Is it too much to ask that they do it at his place? Or use a ball gag?
There may be a wall between us, but a floor, or twelve, wouldn’t be enough. Last week I caught a glimpse of Dylan, my now ex, coming out of the shower naked. He’s not at all hard to look at, and it just made me angry and sad all over again about how things went down between us.
When I got to Burlington University, not so affectionately known as Moo U for the bull mascot, I thought it was a stroke of good luck that I got paired with Chastity as a roommate.
We have absolutely nothing in common, but her hunky best friend was the first look of something good I’d had since I was kicked out of my last college and shipped off to freaking Vermont.
Turns out he was a mirage, and I was too tired and thirsty from crawling through hell to realize it until he was breaking promises and running off for long weekends to hang with his friend Chastity. I’ve learned the hard way that you can’t rely on things that seem too good to be true.
“Wow. You’d think with the wall between you, it’d muffle it somewhat. But it’s like they’re in the room,” Vivian whispers. I don’t know why. They obviously aren’t worried about people overhearing. “I think I can hear him spanking her ass.”
“She’s slapping the wall,” I supply. It super annoys me that I know their whole sex routine. They don’t vary it up much—though they sound utterly content refining the one routine. A perfect ten from both judges if I’m going by the screaming orgasm followed by silence.
“Lunch and a show. I think I need a jolt of caffeine after that. Do you want to hit the coffee shop before class?”
“Please. I can’t listen to any more of that.”
“There’s more?”
“Give it five minutes.”
“I’m sorry,” Vivian catches herself. “That has to be awful. You know you’re welcome to crash at my place any time.”
“Thank you. I’ll survive.” Whatever this year throws at me, and it’s thrown a lot, I will manage. There’s no other option.
I tuck my laptop into my backpack, and we trek from my dorm to the student union on the other side of campus. For all the ways my time at Moo U has been disappointing, the campus has exceeded my expectations.
My last college in New York was all money and prestige. Just one of many colleges in a big city. Tall buildings crammed together so close to others that it was hard to tell where one campus ended, and another began.
Here, the university is the heart of the city and it shows in every detail. Lush grounds, buildings spread out with room to walk or sit outside. The Vermont scenery is a pleasant addition, too. Fall is here. The leaves have changed and it’s that perfect time of year when you forget how brutal the coming winter months will be and just get lost in the picturesque beauty of it.
I breathe it all in. When life hands you lemons, you make lemonade. When it throws Vermont at you, you put on your favorite boots and admire the scenery.
The Green Bean, the campus coffeehouse, is packed. We stand at the back of the line to wait our turn. Everyone around us is wearing Burlington University green to support the hockey team. They play Michigan tomorrow night. It really pains me to know so much about a sport I despise, but Moo U hockey is a really big deal. I should know, my dad was one of their biggest stars twenty-some years ago.
“What are we doing tonight?” my best friend asks.
Usually by Thursday, we’ve already planned our entire weekend, but since hockey season started the options are dwindling. Moo U is a hockey school. When students enroll, they’re given a schedule of games and a Moo U Hockey bumper sticker with their welcome packet.
The hockey players are gods, and their games are like giant parties for the student body. Or that’s what I hear. I haven’t actually been. Nor do I intend to go.
“We could go out, grab dinner, hit the poetry slam, and then the bars,” she suggests.
“Why bother? It’ll be dead tonight while everyone rests up for tomorrow night’s game.”
“Not everyone. There has to be some cute guys in this town that don’t care about hockey.”
I glance behind us into the sea of green. “Have you looked around? The game isn’t until tomorrow and they’re already pumped to watch them destroy Michigan.”
We laugh together and then it’s our turn at the counter. Vivian orders her usual—skinny cinnamon dolce latte. I peruse the menu. I’m working my way through every flavor and variation to find my favorite. When I was in New York, I was just like Vivian. Always ordering the same thing. My favorite drink was the iced ginger coconut milk. It’s not the same here. Nothing is.
I haven’t found my favorite anything in Vermont yet.
“And for you?” the barista asks before I’ve decided.
“I don’t know. Surprise me. But not what she ordered.” I make a face as I remember the horrid taste of Vivian’s favorite drink.
“Today’s special is the puck drop.” She leans closer. “It’s just a hot mocha, but it has green whipped cream.” Her eyes widen and she flashes me a big smile. “Go Bulls!”
I feel my brows raise, but I manage to keep my snarky thoughts to myself. “Sure, the puck drop sounds fine, but no whipped cream.”
She gives me the total and I hand her my debit card.
“Where’s your team spirit?” Vivian asks with an eye roll.
“The same place yours went.”
“I’m sorry.” The barista holds up my card with a sympathetic look. “It’s not going through.”
The card swiper machine is on the counter between us.
“There must be a mistake. Let me try.” I insert my card and an uneasy feeling settles over me as the word Declined appears on the screen.
“That’s weird,” I say awkwardly to the barista as I start to sweat.
“What’s wrong?” Vivian grabs her drink from the counter.
“My card was declined.”
“Maybe it was stolen, and the bank put a freeze on it.”
“Maybe.” Though as I say it, I don’t believe it. I know I’ve been cutting it close lately, but I didn’t think it was quite this dire.
Vivian uses her card to pay for my drink and we walk to our classes together. She chats away about what she’s going to wear tonight and how she hopes she meets a cute guy. I’m only half listening. That uneasy feeling from earlier has turned into a pit of doom as I scroll through the many purchases on my bank account card. Coffee, coffee, nails, boots… I really should have been more careful, but I didn’t really believe my dad when he said that he wasn’t giving me any more money this semester. I thought he was bluffing, but apparently not. And I’ll starve before calling and telling him I’m broke.
Oh my god, I’m broke.
“So, you’ll come by later and we’ll pick outfits and get all glammed up?” she asks when we get to her art class building.
“Sure.”
“Sure? Wow, well, don’t get too excited about a night out or anything.” She hip checks me playfully.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about my card. I need to get it straightened out. Can we go out tomorrow night instead?”
“Of course. I suppose I could study for my art history test next week.” She makes a face. “Do you want me to come with you to the bank after class? Those people can be scary talking about account closures and fees.” She shudders. I wonder if she’s speaking from experience. The way she spends money, I can very well see how she might reach the end of even a very high credit limit. I don’t really blame her. When people give you everything you want, you start to expect it.
“Thank you, but no, I’ve got this. I have to go somewhere even scarier than the bank to settle this.”
“Scarier than the bank?” she squeaks.
“Way scarier.”
* * *
On the second floor of the student employment office, a woman named Holly ushers me into a seat in front of her messy desk. It’s lined with pictures of small dogs wearing sweaters and cheesy costumes.
I hand her my resume, and she sets it on top of a pile of papers without glancing at it.
“Well, most of the campus jobs have already been filled for the semester, but here’s what I have.” She places a finger on her monitor and slides it across the screen as she says, “Spanish tutor, dining services attendant, and they’re looking for an aide in the early childhood education center.” She looks to me hopefully.
Unless I can learn Spanish overnight, that’s out.
Hair net? Absolutely not.
“I was hoping for something in marketing. That’s my major and I’m applying for this super competitive internship next summer and could use some relatable experience on my resume.” Maybe if I look at this as experience instead of desperation, I can put a happy spin on it.
But Holly does not look like she cares about my hopes and dreams. That would make her one of many.
And I’m out of options unless I want to take a chance that one of the restaurants or bars in Burlington are hiring a girl with no experience at… well, anything.
With a sigh, I ask, “What does an aide do in the education center? Teach colors and play games with the kids?”
“This position is more diapering and sanitizing than teaching. We have actual teachers for the older kids. You’d be working alongside the lead teacher of the infant room doing whatever they need to keep the little ones safe and entertained.” She scrunches up her nose.
Something tells me by the lack of baby photos on her desk and the disgusted look on her face, Holly and I are on the same page about changing diapers. Eww.
“There’s nothing else?”
“I’m sorry. This far into the semester…” She trails on, lecturing me about all the good jobs being snatched up quickly and how I should have started my search earlier. I sit back and take it. I’ve gotten impressively good at zoning out when adults lecture me.
Mostly from my dad.
You’ve been given a chance to start over. Use it wisely. No more games. No more blowing off classes and letting your grades fall. In fact, I’m not adding any more money to your account until I see your first semester grades. Essentials only. I’m serious, Kaitlyn. Last chance to get it together.
I really hadn’t thought he was serious. I’ve had nearly unlimited funds since I was sixteen. You can’t just cut someone off like that. And I have been doing better with my spending. Last week I bought a pair of boots from the half-off rack. If I’d known the boots were the last purchase I’d be able to make for a while, I might have done things differently. Too late now.
“Oh wait.” Her voice lifts three octaves, snapping me back to her droning speech. “A new job just posted. It’s with the athletic department. The hockey team is looking for an equipment manager.”
“Girls’ or boys’ team?”
I already know it’s too much to assume it’d be the girls’ team. That is not the type of year I’m having.
“The boys’ team. If you’re interested, I’d hustle over. It will not stay vacant for long. Would you like me to call Coach Keller and get more information?” She looks so damn optimistic. I guess if your job is hooking people up with employment, this is the moment you live for. Unfortunately for her, I have a long track record of disappointing people.
“No.” I stand. “I think I’ll try off-campus jobs.”
Not today, Satan.
“You’re sure? It’s one of the best paid student jobs at the university.” She adjusts her monitor to show me the hourly pay, all with a smile like she’s found me the golden ticket.
My stomach sinks at the number.
So that’s the cost of selling your soul.