The Shameless Hour (The Ivy Years #4)

Ah, freshmen. They weren’t used to taking care of themselves. “The one you have doesn’t fit? Your cup runneth over?”

He barked out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. But the ones in the catalog don’t look the same.”

“Eh. It’s not rocket science. Are you wearing it in compression shorts or in a jock?”

“Shorts.”

“Do you want your dangler to point down, or are you used to tucking it up at the top.”

“Down,” he said to the floor.

I cuffed his shoulder. “No problem, O’Hane. I’ve got you covered, so to speak. I’ll order it for you.”

“Thanks,” he said in a strangled voice, then headed for the showers.

Our new coach was next to walk by. “Coach Canning!” I called, halting him.

“Yeah?” The new guy was a lot younger than our retired coach. He had a sort of grumpy edge to him that I did not appreciate. Some people don’t realize that gruffness wasn’t necessary to earn respect.

I gave him a friendly smile nonetheless. “I’m putting in my equipment order first thing tomorrow. If you need to add anything, you can email me tonight.”

“Thanks,” he said, snapping his gum. “Hey, should you be in the locker room?”

“Um,” I checked my watch. The barbecue didn’t start for another half hour. And I wasn’t in charge of the party. That was sissy work. “Is there somewhere else I’m supposed to be right now?”

He frowned. “No, I meant… the guys don’t mind?”

That just made me stare at him. Seriously? “Coach Canning, the players are in the locker room. I can’t get them what they need if I’m not here, too.”

“Yeah. That’s true,” he said, an unreadable expression on his stupid, grumpy face.

“Don’t forget,” I said slowly, “female journalists have been permitted in locker rooms since before I was born. Including this locker room.”

He stared me down for a long beat. And then he walked off without another word.

I stood there for a minute wondering what had just happened. As the student manager for our kick-ass men’s hockey team, I solved the players’ problems, and I moved people from point A to point B on schedule. I was good at it. Sure, it was a job that was usually held by a guy. But there was no reason it had to be a guy. All that was required was a good attitude and an all-consuming love of hockey. That was me. Surely Coach Canning would realize sooner or later that I lived for this job.

Anyway, it was time for the annual barbecue.

Though for the first time, I didn’t quite feel the level of excitement that usually came with the rush of hockey season. These were my closest friends. In a few weeks’ time, we’d spend every weekend traveling the Eastern Seaboard together, playing teams from Maine to Newark. I’d get to watch every game from the bench, which was just about the coolest thing in the world.

Even so, tonight I felt… down. Hopefully a beer and a pulled-pork sandwich could fix it.

A few hours later, I stood in our retired coach’s backyard, still feeling strangely wistful. All the rituals of Coach’s annual barbecue had held up tonight. Vast quantities of meat were eaten. Potato salad and coleslaw were consumed. Beers were drunk. This year there were two coaching speeches—one by our retiring Coach (in which he quoted several dead presidents,) and one by the new guy. And, as always, there were cupcakes for dessert, because Coach’s wife liked them.

But I was still chased by an unexpected sadness.

In the first place, there was an undeniable hole in my heart where last year’s seniors had been. I could hardly believe we were starting the season without Hartley and Groucho and Smitty. That just seemed wrong.

Not only did I miss them, but the progression was suddenly terrifying. Because this was my last year. How was that even possible?

I glanced around Coach’s darkened yard with fresh eyes. A year from now, most of these players would be standing here again, celebrating the start of yet another season. But where would I be?

The truth was that I had no clue. None at all. Until now, I hadn’t let it bother me. Four years had always seemed like a long time. So whenever my family prodded me with questions about my lack of plans after graduation, I’d found it easy to brush them off.

Rather than worry about the future, I’d immersed myself in a fun major (psychology) the best sport in the world (ice hockey) and my favorite people (hockey players). But now I felt as though an excellent book was coming to an end, and the slim stack of remaining pages in my right hand felt entirely insufficient.