by Anna B. Doe
Project. Pairs. Latin America. Countries. Presentation.
I look at Brook, but she is staring at the paper in front of her, nervously biting her lip.
“This project is not just about mastering your language skills, but it’ll also give you a better sense of understanding Latin countries, what makes them special and unique. I want you to tell your classmates about the country’s history, population, culture, food, what makes their Spanish stand out in comparison with standard Spanish language and whatever else you find interesting and worth mentioning.” The bell rings, marking the end of the lesson. How did it pass so quickly? Chairs scrape against the floor as students all around me start to get up. “For any additional questions, you can always come and find me,” our teacher yells over the noise in the classroom.
Grabbing the books from the table in my hand I put the bag over my shoulder as I move towards the front of the classroom where Miss Rodriguez is putting her things away in her bag.
“Umm… Señorita Rodriguez,” I call tentatively trying to get her attention.
She turns around to look at me and smiles. “Si, Amelia, ¿cómo te puedo ayudar?”
“Hmm… Did I…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Did I hear well? You paired me with Derek?”
“Yes, why?”
“We can’t work together,” I say quickly, my shaky voice resounding in an almost empty classroom.
Her brows lift high, almost touching her hairline. “Why not?”
“W–we just … we can’t,” I stutter. There is no way I can work with Derek, although I’m sure he won’t do any real work, but just the fact that his name is on the paper means he’ll have to come and talk to me. He’s doing plenty of that already without additional reasons.
“That’s not good enough reason Señorita Campbell,” she tells me and her eyes move over my shoulder. “Is there some kind of problem Señor King?”
I feel his presence close behind me, even before he opens his mouth. He is standing so close to me that I can feel heat radiating off his big body. “Not at all, Señorita Rodriguez. We’ll do it together, won’t we Amelia?”
Looking over my shoulder I see his sky blue eyes staring at me without blinking, a small smile playing on his lips, like a cat who is about to eat canary.
“I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” I mutter to myself but nod my head in confirmation for teacher’s sake.
Pressing the books closer to my chest, I move towards the exit, hoping to get away, but there is no such luck. Derek is right behind me. I stop at my locker to put my books away and take the ones I need just as Derek passes next to me.
Leaning over me, he whispers in my ear. “No, you don’t. Now you’re all mine, little one.”
Derek
Without waiting for her response I walk away, leaving her shell-shocked next to her locker.
“No, you don’t. Now you’re all mine, little one.”
It was funny seeing her reaction—hear that little, quiet gasp that left her pink lips, see shivers run through her body because my hot breath touched sensitive skin behind her ear, goosebumps rising on her soft, pale flesh.
I always liked pushing her buttons, getting some kind of reaction out of her, but now I got a different kind of thrill out of it.
Seeing her reaction made me react. My heart rhythm sped up, if only the slightest bit. The palms of my hands started to sweat and the need to touch her, the need to connect someway to her, became overwhelming. When I’m standing like that behind her all I can think about is how it would feel to trace the line of her neck with the tip of my nose and press my lips to the hollow between her neck and shoulder.
I’m positively going crazy. There is no other way to explain it.
She made me fucking mad when she went to Miss Rodriguez’s desk and told her we couldn’t work together. Like there was a chance in hell I would give her the opportunity to get out of working with me. A chance to escape right through my fingers. Amelia would probably ask to work with Max and I wasn’t having it. At least I was lucky this once because our Spanish teacher wasn’t keen on her idea.
“King!”
Without stopping I look over my shoulder and face my best friend who’s quickly approaching me.
“What the hell, man? Where are you running to?”
“Gym and then hitting the ice,” I explain as I put books in my locker and start walking toward gym where I’ll pass the next few hours. “Practices are officially starting soon, and I want to be in the best possible shape, no more screwing around. It’s our senior year and I plan to take that trophy home again.”
Our school hasn’t won the trophy in three years. Two out of three years we were close, so close, to winning that I could almost feel it. Now it’s our last chance, my last chance, before going to college where I’m hoping to keep playing on the next level. Maybe someday I’ll even go pro, but it’s so far in the future that I can’t bring myself to even think about it. One step at a time—that has always been my motto.
From the moment my parents took me to ice rink, even though I was practically a baby, I knew it was it for me. Out there on the ice where cold air bit my cheeks, I felt more at home than in my own house. My parents tried to make me try other sports—baseball and football—but I wasn’t having any of that. Hockey was my first love. Always will be.
“I know and we’ll make it,” Andrew puts his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it.”
Andrew always looks at things that way.
Don’t worry too much.
Don’t think too much.
Relax and enjoy.
He is so laid–back and simpleminded, so I murmur something in acknowledgment not really saying anything. I know he loves the sport; we’ve been playing our whole lives together, but I don’t think he understands me 100%. Hockey is my future, but I’m not sure is it his.
Once in the locker room, we quickly change into our workout clothes and go to the gym. I like to start my exercise with a quick jog on the treadmill to get my heart rate up before switching to weights.
Andrew gets on the treadmill next to mine and we jog for a while without saying anything. Some rock song is blasting from the speakers to pump us all up for hard exercise.
There are a few other guys here, doing their own thing to prepare for the beginning of the season. Every year there are tryouts the first week of practice and there is no guarantee you’ll keep the position or line you played in the last season. With senior players leaving and even sometimes guys quitting the team, there is always an empty spot or two just waiting to be filled by somebody else.
Not mine though. I planned to stay first line center and team captain.
“So …” Andrew starts, looking at me sideways. “Will you tell me what the fuck has been going on with you?”
I feel my posture stiffen, and I have to make my body relax. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” I try to play dumb, but Andrew just laughs at my lousy attempt at it.
“I’m talking about Dotty.”
There it is again. That stupid nickname.
I still remembered the day he gave it to her.
It was recess, the late autumn day warm and sunny, so we played outside. Andrew and I were playing catch with a few other friends from class.
Justin, one of the boys, threw the ball high in the air. I looked up and the sun was making me blind, but I saw a glimpse of the ball starting to fall down. I started running backwards—the only thing that mattered in that moment was catching the darn ball and staying in the game.
I didn’t see her behind me, I wasn’t expecting it, so when I crashed into her I could barely regain balance and stay on my own two feet.
Turning around, I saw her on the floor—Amelia Campbell, the prettiest girl in our class. Her face was pale, making her freckles stand out even more then usually. Her bright, wild hair was messed up. I saw her clench her hands by her side and could see bloody scraps on them.
“Derek,” she breat
hed my name quietly and even then, at the age of eight, it made my insides squeeze hard with things I couldn’t identify.
I felt my cheeks heat, and it didn’t have anything to do with running around and catching the ball. I heard my friends calling my name, but I couldn’t just leave her there on the ground. Her hands were red with blood and it had to hurt a lot but she didn’t say anything.
“Are you okay?” I asked with an apologetic smile. Amelia didn’t say anything. She just nodded her head ‘yes’, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink, almost like her lips. That made me smile wider, and I extended my hand to help her get up.
At that moment Drew stopped next to me. “What are you doing, Derek?” he asked me impatiently. He was getting really moody lately. If things weren’t the way he wanted them, he would start yelling and screaming at everybody. He started to talk back to the teachers and sometimes he was really mean to people. I didn’t know what was wrong, but this wasn’t my best friend anymore. “Who is she?” he teased loudly, getting attention to all of us. “Is she your girlfriend? Did you kiss her?”
Loud snickering filled the playground making my cheeks heat in embarrassment.
“No!” I shouted loudly, raising my hands in the air for emphasis and trying to make him stop, and in the process knocking Amelia back on the floor. But I couldn’t think about it now. She wasn’t my girlfriend. And I didn’t kiss her.
Kissing was gross.
Girls were gross.
Andrew knew that. I didn’t know why he was being so mean to me. We were best friends. “She isn’t my girlfriend! Why would I kiss someone like her?”
“You were smiling at her and blushing.”
“I didn’t!” I protested. “Why would I do that? She is ugly. With all those freckles she looks like a Dalmatian or something.”
I knew I was the one being mean now, but I couldn’t have the whole school tease me for liking a girl. My cheeks heated, this time in embarrassment. We heard a quiet sniffle and we both looked down at Amelia. She was on the floor, on her hands and knees, now both scraped and bloody.
“I don’t know her name so maybe we should call her that,” Andrew said, his wicked grin growing bigger. “Or maybe Dotty, after all, she is full of them.”
“I’m not Dalmatian…” she murmured softly through hiccups.
“Call her whatever you want,” I said, retreating to my friends. I wanted to give her my hand and help her get up and take her to see the nurse, but I couldn’t do that so I lied. “I don’t care. She isn’t important.”
I hear Andrew laugh and shout in a cheery voice: “See you later, Dotty Dalm!”
Andrew starts running to join our friends and everybody around us is laughing at Amelia. I want to yell at them to stop, that it’s not nice to treat people that way. Amelia didn’t do anything bad. Yet I couldn’t. If Andrew could be so mean with me once, his best friend, he could be again. And I didn’t want that. Still, it didn’t hurt any less when I heard Amelia’s sweet voice shout at me: “I hate you, Derek King!”
Shaking my head, I’m trying to clear my mind of the vivid memory of my past. In that moment, I didn’t know what was going on or what was wrong with my friend. One day he was a nice guy, always joking around and laughing, until the moment that he wasn’t.
When Andrew’s world fell apart with his mom cheating on his dad and leaving them both behind, he became cold-hearted, crude, and outright mean to everybody, but especially girls.
Knowing about it didn’t make things better. He wasn’t the same and it didn’t justify the way he acted. But who was I to talk about being a good person or justice when I stood by him and did nothing to make him stop? As stupid as it sounds, my friend was hurting and he needed me by his side. That was one part of me. The other part was scared shitless of what would he do if I said something that would set him off.
“Why do you keep calling her that?” I ask him, getting off the treadmill and taking one of the dumbbells to do a series of leg exercises.
“It’s a cute pet name.” He shrugs and joins me.
“She is a girl, not an animal,” I mutter angrily.
Andrew laughs, looks at me, and shakes his head in amusement. “You always did have a soft spot for her. You tapped that yet?”
“What?!” A dumbbell almost falls out of my hands and onto my foot in surprise.
“Don’t play dumb, King. You always liked her. She looks at you with those puppy brown eyes and you melt. You should bang her and get it out of your system.”
“You can be a real jackass sometimes, Hill.”
“Although,” he ignores me and keeps talking, “I don’t think Sanders will like that much. That guy is worse than even you, following her around all googly-eyed like some puppy. Makes me wonder if she has a magical pussy or something.”
My teeth clench hard and I want to punch him so bad I barely keep myself in check. “It’s all about pussy with you.”
“Of course it is. What else would it be about? Get in, get out, and send her on her merry way.”
I look at him, not believing the shit that leaves his mouth. “You know what?” I question, tossing dumbbell harder than necessary to its place. “I’m going on the ice because I don’t want to do or say something we’ll both regret later on so it’s better if you stay away.”
Without looking back, I storm away in the direction of the rink.
Ice has always been my comfort. I would put on my skates, do some drills, check a few guys into plexiglass a bit harder than necessary, and get all the negative energy and frustration out of me.
Hopefully, as the season doesn’t begin for a few more weeks, there won’t be anybody else in the rink and I’ll just be able to skate it all out in peace and quiet.
One would think hockey players love big, noisy places given the fact that in ice rink it’s always so loud, but once you are down there, all the loud music and uproar of the crowd become background noise. You can hear it, it makes you move forward, but all that matters is the guy across you and how to pass him to get to the goal.
When I enter, I can hear familiar swish sound of skates cutting through ice. Irritated, I want to turn around and leave. The last thing I want is company right now, but quick movement catches my eyes. Perfect stance, speed, the way that body moves is almost to perfection.
I can envision what the guy’s seeing in his head: guys standing in his way, he’s moving around them, puck almost as if it’s connected to his stick, until he’s close enough and gets an opening to shoot and score.
Whoever he is, he’s good. I’m not sure if one of the guys from the team drastically improved their skills over the summer, or if the Coach found somebody new to bring to the team. I can’t say for sure. In sweats, a hoodie, and a helmet on, it could have been anybody.
The guy skates around the goal, takes the puck, and starts moving in the other direction. He lifts his gaze and sees me looking at him. A cocky half-smile spreads on his lips as he comes toward me.
Taking off his helmet, I’m met with messy dark hair and pair of dark grey eyes. Max-fucking-Sanders.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
“King,” Sanders acknowledges me with a tilt of his chin.
“Sanders,” I return in the same fashion stepping into the rink. “What are you doing on my ice?”
His dark brows rise. “I didn’t know you owned this place.”
He skates slowly from side to side like he has all the damn time in this world. The puck slides on the ice. I don’t look at it, but I can feel the way it glides over the white surface, calling me.
I grit my teeth with force. “I don’t. But rink is for Wolves use exclusively.”
Sanders chuckles smugly. “Good thing I’ll be trying out to be a Wolf then, right?”
I almost trip over my own feet. “What the ever loving fuck?!”
Sanders smirks and skates around me to the exit. “You can have the rink,” he whispers as he passes by me. “For now. But don’t get used to it.”<
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Amelia
“Amelia, why in the world, are you running away from the ball?” Jeanette disapprovingly shakes her head at me. “Again.”
I chase after the ball, finally able to catch it close to the end of gym, and start walking back slowly toward the unhappy half of our pair.
I hate P.E. class. I have always been clumsy and unathletic. If there exists a person in this world with two left legs, you’d be looking at her right now.
“You are putting too much force when you throw it,” I complain, but she keeps staring at me with one perfectly shaped brow raised.
Why is she my partner again?
Ohh, yeah, nobody else wants to be Jeanette Sander’s pair. She is all high and mighty and nobody is good enough to be in her proximity. I’m usually the one who likes to avoid listening to rumors, but I heard more than once people referring to her as ice queen. Beautiful, but cold, that’s what they said, comparing her character with the color of her eyes.
They aren’t too much off key. She’s so cold and standoffish. Sometimes I wonder why there isn’t ice left behind the path she walks upon. And people feel it. She’s only been in school for a week, but I don’t remember seeing her trying to talk to anybody except her brother. The only other people she spoke to were Brook and me, and she never has anything nice to say to us.
Hence, my earlier question.
But just like her—although I don’t feel good about comparison—I don’t have many friends. And my only friend isn’t in this class. So, that’s how we found ourselves paired up in a game of volleyball.
“This last one was so weak, a baby would have been able to catch it.”
I want to roll my eyes at her, but I manage to contain myself. It’s easy for her to say. She’s an epitome of an athletic person. Probably gets up early in the morning and goes for a jog, and then later in the day goes to the gym. She doesn’t have a drop of sweat on her face, and we’ve been going at this silly play of volleyball-catch for the last twenty or so minutes. I, on the other hand, am sweating like a pig. My only exercise includes flipping the pages of the books and squatting down when I want to get a book from a low shelf. But that also counts for something, right?