Page 78 of Best Man on Campus

She grits her teeth, stifling a groan as she lifts herself onto the seat. I close her door to save her from reaching for the handle.

Getting her home and into bed exhausts her, but I make her eat the quinoa bowl Majik left for her. Majik went to work at BMOC House even though I insisted she could take the day off if she wanted. The dozen guys at the house agreed they could go a day, but she didn’t consider the day off for a second. She said this was a crucial time for the hockey team with the final game coming and she wasn’t messing with the routine.

For me, there’s nothing routine in my current routine, missing classes, going to the hospital and late nights. Sitting on the chair next to her bed that I dragged in from the kitchen, I take the empty bowl away from Jazzy.

“You look as beat as I feel, hockey boy. What the fuck?”

I manage a laugh. “I was up past midnight last night. Getting my med school applications submitted.”

“Seriously? You’re still considering med school now?” She shakes her head.

“What? What’s wrong with that? It’s been my plan all along.”

“So you say. Looking at you from where I sit, a perfect place for observing, what you do is not what you say. You put your whole self into hockey and it makes you happy and alive. On the other hand, med school stresses you the fuck out. You can’t stand blood, you’re far from excited about organic chem and when you talk about going to med school, your face goes from gorgeous to grim.” She sines her gorgeous smile at me. “Just sayin’.”

Her words disconcert me, but when I think past the facts of her observations to the implication that she’s paid close attention to me, I smile back at her.

“Thank you, Jazzy.”

“For nothing. Here’s the real nugget, hockey boy.” She grabs my arm and squeezes it, not affectionately, but the kind of squeeze that demands my attention.

“You can have your fucking cake and eat it too. Play hockey now and go to med school later when you’re a broken old man all beat up by the game and can’t skate anymore.” She smiles, pleased with the frown on my face.

“You don’t get med school. They’re not going to want a middle-aged man. By the time I got out I’d be old and barely have time to practice medicine. Maybe ten, fifteen—”

“Twenty years.”

“Tops.”

She shrugs. “I think you’re chasing your father, trying to be like him. I think you need a shrink. Want to borrow Dr. Dani. I don’t have much use for her and she seems to have enough time on her hands to be fucking bothering with me.”

There’s so much packed in her statement, I don’t even know where to start.

Jazzy could be right. I’m capable of being a hockey player and going to med school later, though I’d be taking a chance.

“I’m not my father any more than you’re destined to be like your mother,” I say.

“Oooh. Low blow.”

“Not a blow, a truth.” I get up and go down the hall to the kitchen, putting the empty bowl and fork in the Bosch dishwasher. Everything in this kitchen is top of the line. My phone pings and it’s my father. He’s sent me an email with a link and I shake my head wondering when he’s going to adopt texting.

“Ben.” I turn to see Jazzy holding onto the wall, walking slow.

“What the fuck, Jazzy. I was coming right back—”

“Do whatever the fuck you want. Go to med school, play hockey. Don’t listen to me. You can go now.” She waves a hand.

“I’m not going anywhere. I think you’re right.”

A sweep of longing for her moves me and I go to her, gently putting my arms around her.

“Are you fucking crazy? Get your hands off me. You’ll crack the rest of my ribs. I told you to go.” Her anger runs out of her and I kiss the top of her head. She handles her demons with her poetry and her music, that voice from the heavens.

“I am crazy. “About you.

“Let’s get you back in bed.”

“Horn dog,” she says and I laugh as we return to her bedroom. My phone rings and I ignore it, but it keeps ringing. Jazzy settles on top of her bed, her eyes closed.