Confessions of an Estranged College Freshman

by Kitty Parker

  Dorianne, however, was not so amused, especially when someone a few rows behind us was a bit off with his aim.

  "Eeeeek!" she screeched as a large cod landed on her head. "It is in my 'air! Zere is a fish in my 'air!" She flailed around wildly, shouting and cursing in French and finally knocking the slimy thing to the ground.

  Laughing hysterically, Amory picked it up and threw it over the glass.

  "Why are zey tossing zese disgusting dead fish?" Dorianne demanded, wiping at her hair frantically with a tissue she'd extracted from her purse.

  I tried to catch my breath, having been doubled over with laughter. "Tradition. You didn't know about it?"

  She glared at me. "Certainly not! I would not 'ave come if I knew zat people were going to throw fish."

  Still chuckling, I shook my head in amazement. Did Tully ever talk to her about his life? If he had told her anything about The Game, he surelywould have mentioned the fish tradition. Though I had to admit, it was pretty hilarious to see her freak out like that.

  Once volunteers had cleared the mixture of newspaper and seafood off of the ice, the announcer began to read the Cornell lineup. Amory and I cheered for each player and when Tully's name was called, we all but screamed.

  Dorianne just clapped politely.

  What the fuck is wrong with this girl? I wondered.

  When the band finished playing both the Canadian and American national anthems, the referee dropped the puck and the game began. I watched intently as the forwards flew down the ice, passing the puck between them and heading straight for the Harvard sieve.

  Evan Barlow took a shot. It went wide to the left and the crowd made a collective noise of disappointment.

  Fraser, the Harvard center, came up with the puck and sped down toward Scrivens. He was stopped short, however, when Keir Ross checked him violently into the boards.

  The crowd roared its approval.

  "Yeah, Keir!" I cheered, remembering the time I'd met the freshman defenseman.

  "Hahvahd University..." a guy in Section C screamed, making sure to overdo the Boston accent.

  "SUCKS!" the crowd replied.

  "Hahvahd University..."

  "SUCKS!"

  "Hahvahd University..."

  "SUCKS!"

  "Let's go Red!" he finished, inciting the applause of the Faithful.

  I looked over at Dorianne for a reaction.

  Nothing. Not even a smile.

  Annoyed at her lack of enthusiasm, I turned my attention back to the game. Both teams had made line changes and the Kennedy brothers were zooming down the ice with the puck.

  Suddenly, a Harvard defenseman came out of nowhere and pinned Pat Kennedy up against the boards. There was a skirmish for the puck. The crowd cheered when Jared Seminoff managed to get it out and send it down to Locke Jillson, who promptly made for the goal.

  Two minutes of back and forth play and one line change later, Harvard came up with the puck. A player named Killorn maneuvered around sophomore defenseman Mike Devin and passed to his teammate, Biega.

  There was a shot.

  The Faithful groaned as the telltale buzzing sound echoed throughout the rink and the red light behind the goal flashed on.

  "Let's go Red!" we chanted, trying to encourage our team to bounce back. "Let's go Red!"

  I noticed that Dorianne hadn't joined in.

  "Can't you at least pretend to give a shit about the most important part of your boyfriend's life?"

  She gave me a look.

  "Are you even paying attention at all?"

  Her eyes narrowed.

  I gave up. "Whatever."

  Once play had resumed, the announcer broadcasted the details of the goal. "The Harvard goal was scored by number twenty-seven, Michael Biega..."

  "SUCKS!"

  "...assisted by number twenty-one, Alex Killorn..."

  "SUCKS!"

  "...at 5:41, first period."

  "SUCKS!"

  "That's Biega from Killorn, 5:41, first period."

  "All three of which suck," Amory added.

  "Come on, Red!" I shouted, watching as the team made another line change.

  "Here we go, Red!" Amory chimed in.

  After another couple of minutes of intense play, the first line was back out. I grinned as Tully slammed a Harvard forward into the boards.

  "Yeah, Tully!" I cheered.

  The atmosphere in Lynah grew tense as the puck zoomed around the ice, changing hands faster than the blink of an eye. Finally, Locke Jillson broke free of the Harvard players and skated swiftly up the ice before passing to Tully, who looked around for a teammate and found Riley Nash. Dodging around a defenseman, Tully passed the puck to Nash, who brought his stick back and shot.

  BUZZ!

  The crowd went wild as the puck flew into the net and the band began playing "Davy."

  I jumped up and down with excitement, even doing a little jig, much to Amory's amusement. I didn't even bother checking to see if Dorianne was celebrating; her lack of enthusiasm would have killed the mood.

  "One! We want more!" the crowd shouted when the band had finished before pointing our fingers at Matt Hoyle, the Harvard sieve. "Sieve! Sieve! Sieve! Sieve! Sieve! Sieve! Sieve! It's all your fault! It's all your fault! It's all your fault! It's all your fault!"

  Amory and I gleefully high-fived each other and the people around us (with the obvious exception of Dorianne, who just left us hanging).

  The loudspeaker crackled on. "The Cornell goal was scored by number fourteen, Riley Nash!"

  "NASH!" we repeated, pumping our fists in the air.

  "Assisted by number twelve, Tully McFadden!"

  "MCFADDEN!"

  "And number eight, Locke Jillson!"

  "JILLSON!"

  "At 9:31 in the first period!"

  "FIRST PERIOD!"

  "That's Nash from McFadden and Jillson, 9:31, first period!"

  The Faithful cheered once again.

  I looked over at Dorianne.

  She yawned.

  * * *

  "Let's go Red!" the crowd screamed as the players skated onto the ice at the beginning of the third period. Instead of playing "Davy" this time, the band started in on "Gonna Fly Now," the Rocky theme song.

  We were all pretty amped up. Thanks to a goal Riley Nash had scored on a power play in the second period, we had a two to one lead to work with and we were desperately hoping for the win.

  When "Gonna Fly Now" reached its end, it was replaced by the steady drumbeat of the "Hey" song, or as the band referred to it, "Gary Glitter." The Faithful clapped to the beat and sang along with the instrumentals, using the syllable "da." Instead of shouting "hey" at the appropriate times, however, we pointed at Hoyle in his net and screamed "Sieve! You suck!"

  Oh, how I loved Lynah.

  The band stopped playing when the referee dropped the puck, but the crowd sang on.

  "Da-da-da DA DA da, Sieve! You suck! Da-da-da DA DA da, Sieve! You suck! Da-da-da DA DA da, Sieve! You suck! We're gonna beat the hell outta you! Rough 'em up, rough 'em up, go CU!"

  Dorianne let out a snort as Amory and I cheered along with the Faithful.

  I turned to her and glared. "If you're not going to get into the game, at least stop acting like the rest of us are morons for enjoying ourselves."

  She just huffed indignantly. I figured she was still mad about the fish incident.

  "Give me an H!" one of the drummers in the pep band suddenly shouted.

  "H!" the crowd replied.

  "Give me an O!"

  "O!"

  "Give me a Y!"

  "Y!"

  "Give me an L!"

  "L!"

  "Give me an E!"

  "E!"

  "What's that spell?"

  "SIEVE!" we proclaimed, pointing at Hoyle.

  "What's that spell?"

  "SIEVE!"

  "What's that spell?"

  "SIEVE! Sieve! Sieve! Sieve! Sieve!"

  "You are so cruel to zese ozzer
goalkeepers," Dorianne commented in an accusatory tone.

  I shrugged. "It's not like they're not expecting it. That's just how Lynah is. If you don't like it, don't come. Otherwise, deal with it."

  About five minutes into the period, Evan Barlow fell flat on his face while chasing after the puck. It seemed that one of the Harvard forwards had tripped him. The referee, however, failed to call a penalty.

  Seeking his own form of justice, Tully zoomed over to the offending forward and gave him a good shove.

  The Faithful cheered. They loved fights.

  I, however, began to worry as the two boys grappled with each other. Tully was normally a pretty clean player. When he picked fights over small things, it meant something was bothering him.

  "What is 'e doing?" Dorianne demanded, finally paying attention to what was happening on the ice. "Why is 'e acting like an animal?"

  I scoffed as the referee finally yanked the feuding players apart. "It's called hockey. Get used to it."

  Both Tully and the Harvard player were sent to the penalty box for roughing. Throughout the rest of the period, I kept a closer eye on my friend's behavior. He was definitely checking more than usual, though he didn't garner any more penalties, for which I was thankful. It was a close enough game as it was. The last thing we needed was a Harvard power play.

  I watched as the clock ticked down toward the one minute mark. Just before it got there, the crowd gave a collective yell.

  "Hey Mr. Timekeeper, how much time is left?"

  "One minute remaining in the third period, one minute," the announcer replied.

  "Thank you!" we shouted back.

  The final sixty seconds of the game were absolutely nerve-wracking. My eyes were glued to the puck as it slid around the ice, and all I could do was pray for the Big Red to hold off the Crimson for just eight more seconds…

  Seven…

  Six…

  Five…

  Four…

  Three…

  Two…

  One…

  BUZZ!

  A large squid went flying out onto the ice as the crowd went wild, jumping with joy and hugging each other senseless.

  Even Dorianne managed to crack a smile.

  The band blasted "Davy" as all the players skated out onto the ice for a giant group hug before forming a line to shake hands with their opponents.

  "Hey Lynah!" someone in the crowd shouted. "Which team is the winning team?"

  We all pointed to the line of Cornell players. "This team is the winning team!"

  "Which team is the losing team?"

  "This team is the losing team!" we replied, pointing at Harvard.

  "Winning team?"

  "Winning team!"

  "Losing team?"

  "Losing team!"

  "Winning team?"

  "Winning team!"

  "Losing team?"

  "Losing team!"

  "Let's go Red!"

  We all cheered.

  Our players tapped their sticks on the ice as their Harvard opponents skated off to the visitors' locker room. When the last of them had left, the Big Red icemen lifted their sticks to the crowd in the traditional Lynah Salute. We roared our approval as they finally headed back to their locker room for a well-deserved shower.

  "Great game," I commented to Amory as the pep band started in on "Schafer," the ode to our head coach that was played whenever the hockey team won..

  "Definitely," he agreed.

  We shut up as the band began to sing.

  "Schafer is the one coach to have

  when your hockey team's just won,

  Schafer's pleasure doesn't fade

  even when the game is done,

  the most rewarding coach

  in ECAC hockey

  for people who are having

  fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun,

  Schafer is the one coach to have

  when your hockey team's just won!"

  They finished up with an instrumental bit, and we cheered loudly for them. I made sure to give Elizabeth a wave.

  Amory suddenly tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, where'd Dorianne go?"

  Looking around, I noticed that she had disappeared. I shrugged. "Who cares?"

  "Good point."

  "Come on, let's go down and congratulate Tully." I grabbed his hand and started pulling him toward the exit. Fortunately, Tully had shown me how to get down to the locker room when he had taken me on an unofficial "tour" of Lynah.

  Amory and I were just around the corner from the locker room when a pair of loud, arguing voices made me stop in my tracks.

  "I do not want you to 'it zese ozzer players like zat!"

  "Too bad! That's how you play hockey!"

  It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out which couple was having a spat. I stood still and shushed Amory, my curiosity getting the better of me and leading me to eavesdrop.

  "It is not necessary!"

  "Why don't you let me decide that, huh? You know, since I'm the one who's actually playing the damn game. Hell, you don't even get it."

  "Because I do not want to. I do not like zis sport!"

  "And what do you like, fucking croquet?"

  "Do not curse at me, salaud!"

  "Don't you fucking tell me what to do!"

  "You fight like an animal!"

  "Yeah, well maybe I'm fighting because I'm fucking stressed out about a certain relationship that isn't fucking working!"

  My heart leapt. I hoped this meant what I thought it meant.

  "And what is zat supposed to mean?"

  "It means we're over, Dorianne! Done! Through! The end!"

  "Va te faire enculer!" There were some stomping noises, then silence.

  Amory snorted.

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  "She just told him to go get screwed up the ass," he whispered.

  I never thought I'd be happy to have someone say that to Tully, but since it meant that Dorianne was out of the picture, I was practically doing cartwheels.

  I heard Tully sigh. "You two can come out now, you know. You're sort of being obvious."

  Stepping out of the shadows, Amory and I gave him sheepish grins.

  "Oops?"

  Chapter 14: Traying for Dummies

  Thanksgiving break was both much-needed and too short. I felt as though I'd barely set foot in my own home before I had to book it back up to Ithaca for the last week of classes before finals.

  "Ugh," I grunted as I heaved my suitcase into my room and flopped down on my bed.

  "Long drive?" Elena inquired, turning in her desk chair to face me.

  I nodded. "Six hours. On a bus. Fuck my life."

  "Did you at least have a nice time with your family?"

  "Sure. I mean, other than my Grandma Helen refusing to let any of us watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade because it 'symbolized the materialistic wastefulness of modern American culture,' it was fine."

  Elena chuckled. "And you're sure she's not a communist?"

  "Yup," I replied. "She's just weird. How were things up here?"

  "Boring. The only person on our hall still here other than me was Dorianne, so I didn't socialize much at all."

  "That sucks."

  "If you think that sucks, try living with her," Elizabeth grumbled as she entered the room.

  I chuckled. "Well, nice to see you, too."

  She sighed as she sank down next to me on the bed. "Sorry, I'm just annoyed."

  "Dorianne?" Elena inquired.

  Elizabeth nodded. "Total drama queen. She won't shut up about Tully dumping her."

  I rolled my eyes. "She needs to get over herself."

  My friends murmured noises of agreement.

  "She's nowhere near good enough for him, anyway," I went on. "Hockey's his life. He deserves someone who actually gives a shit about it or at least understands how important it is to him and doesn't go around bitching about it all the time. Hell, he needs someone who actually gives a shit ab
out him."

  Elizabeth gave me a "knowing" smile. "Like you, you mean."

  I snapped my head around to face her, surprised by her comment. "What?"

  "She has a point, Evie," Elena pointed out. "You do care an awful lot about Tully's love life."

  "Of course I care!" I snapped. "We grew up together, for crying out loud!"

  "D'you think that perhaps you like him a bit more than you're letting on?"

  I thought about it. Were my old feelings for Tully coming back? Was I falling into that same trap again?

  I couldn't deny the obvious: he was incredibly attractive. I wasn't oblivious to the chemistry we had, either.

  But I had a boyfriend. Mischa was absolutely amazing and I wasn't willing to sacrifice my relationship with him to go chasing after some feelings that may not have been real in the first place.

  "I have Mischa," I replied, knowing full well that I hadn't really answered the question.

  Elizabeth held up her hands defensively. "Just a thought."

  * * *

  The next week, finals were upon us. It felt as though they'd snuck up out of nowhere, and I honestly had a hard time believing that I was nearly halfway done with my freshman year of college.

  Elizabeth had practically moved into the library, Elena was constantly holed up in Rand Hall working on some final project, Tully was still in post-Dorianne male PMS mode, Mischa was writing a thirty page lab report for some genetics class, and Amory and I were studying our asses off for our econ exam. Needless to say, it was a crappy week.

  "Evie, are you even looking at the flash card?"

  I turned away from the window and the snow that was softly falling outside of it. "Hm?"

  Amory let out a sigh of frustration. "The flash card. What equation am I holding up?"

  I read the card: (1-β)AKβL-β

  "Um, marginal product of labor?"

  He nodded and pulled out the next card. "Mhm. How about this one?"

  σ/(σ + φ)

  "The natural unemployment rate," I answered.

  "And what do the variables stand for?"

  I rested my chin on top of my fist. "Job separation and job finding."

  "Long run job separation and finding," he corrected.

  "Can we please stop now?" I begged, leaning back in my chair. "I can't take much more of this."

  "But our final's in six hours!" he protested.