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“ H e used to hang around my mom when I was about ten. I’m pretty sure they were dating, but one day he just stopped showing up. I was never sure if it was a bad break-up, so he hated me for that, or if it was just that he is a bigoted dick. I’m now convinced it’s both.”

I’ve just finished my last class of the day, Professor Carole’s. It was heinous, and I’m venting to Quinn. Since she seems determined to be my new friend, I may as well take advantage.

“It’s definitely both. He’s a straight up jerk. Dad hates the guy. Most of the faculty does. He taught at BU before he transferred here at the dawn of time, and people talk of his hideousness to this day. I kind of thought the tales of his antics were urban legend, but I guess not.”

I chew my lip and ask the obvious. “What I don’t get is how a guy like that gets tenure?”

Quinn scoffs and takes a sip of her iced coffee while twirling her dark hair around her finger. She’s been listening to me prattle on for a good twenty minutes. Social etiquette demands I ask her something about herself, but I’m struggling to think of what. Conversation with Claire is easy. She forces herself on me. I have no choice, but while Quinn is what I would consider outgoing, she’s not Claire-level outgoing. Sticking with school seems easiest.

“I don’t mean to be nosy, but … is it okay if I ask why you left BU?”

In an instant, her always perky demure fades. “Lotte, what is the driving force behind most women our age making life changing decisions?”

“Um. Coffee?”

“That, too. But, no. Affairs of the heart, or in this case, affairs with a psycho who wouldn’t take a hint.” Despite the sadness I see in Quinn, there’s a spark of excitement within me because I’m about to enter the realm of girl talk. “One of the reasons I went there in the first place was dad. Hockey has ruled my entire life. We moved all the time when he was still playing. Kids wanted to be friends with me because my dad was a hockey great, and boys chased me for the same reason. I didn’t want that pattern to repeat itself in college, so I swore I was done with hockey life and chose BU.”

“Oh wow. How did that go?”

“Broke his heart,” she says casually as she bites into her muffin. “He didn’t talk to me for months.”

I never had a dad in my life. Apart from Mom’s vague descriptions, I don’t even know what he looked like. Still, I know that can’t have been easy. But again, I don’t know what to say so I stick with what I’m more comfortable with. “So what happened with the psycho?”

“His name was Jordan Foxman. He was on the BU hockey team, but since I only ever saw him in class, I had no idea. He knew all about me through Dad. Long story short, one of his teammates, Troye, squealed and told me Jordan was not only banging everything in sight, but he was also using me to get to Dad. I broke it off, and he didn’t take it well. He would turn up in the middle of class, bang on my dorm room door at three am. I had a part time job as a tutor, and he would come and hassle me at the library in the middle of a session.” Quinn half stands and tucks her legs under her butt. “It was a freaking nightmare, Lotte. Troye and a couple of the other nicer guys on the team tried to warn him off, but the school did nothing about it because he was a big deal.”

“So what did you do? Did you go to the police?”

“I thought about it, but my mom is a lawyer. She knows what the system is like for girls who report and have little evidence to back their stories up. So I put up with it for as long as I could, but eventually I transferred here and moved back home.”

I reach across the table and squeeze Quinn’s hand. “Jesus, I’m so sorry. I feel bad for complaining about Carole, now. That must have been really scary.”

“It was.” She shrugs and once again shifts her legs. This girl never stops moving. “But it’s done now, I guess it brought me and Dad back together, and taught me that guys, especially jocks, are off my radar for the foreseeable future.”

Questions flood my mind, but I don’t have the chance to answer more because suddenly Quinn’s face glows as though she’s looking directly at the sun, and then a warm hand is on my shoulder. Before I spin to face him, I know who it is. I can smell his fresh, soapy scent, “Noah?”

“Hey, I was hoping to find you here, I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

Honestly, I don’t know if I can take meeting another person. In such a short amount of time, my social circle has quadrupled. My social battery is nearing critical levels, but it’s Noah, and I realized last night while gliding my hand across the ice, I would do anything for him … As I would his sister who is also just my friend.

I plaster on my biggest smile and turn to find not one, but two giants before me. There’s only one though, that has my heart skipping ten beats at once.

“Little D, meet Big D.”

Whoever Big D is, he’s cringing, taller and wider than Noah, and appears to be the same boy that dragged him out of here the other day. That means he, too, is a hockey player. Not great news for Quinn.

“Really?” he whines at Noah, “you’re really introducing me to people as Big D?”

“Oh my God, you’re Australian?” Quinn is up and out of her chair before she’s finished squealing her observation, “I’ve always wanted to go to Australia! Sit, tell me everything.”

“Yeah, Big D,” Noah laughs, sliding into the seat beside me. “Sit and tell Quinn everything.”

Quinn doesn’t seem to notice that Noah called her by her name, but I sure do. “You know Quinn?” I whisper, leaning dangerously close to the amazing smelling man who is just my friend.

“She’s Coach Harris’s daughter. You should see all the guys when she’s at training. They’re fascinated and intimidated at the same time.”

From the corner of my eye, I sneak a peek at the two sitting opposite us. Big D does look rather wide eyed and bushy tailed. “Really? Fascinated and intimidated?”

“Can you blame them? Look at her, she’s hot, and off limits, which makes her twice as hot.”

“Yeah, of course.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, which it is. Quinn is tall and curvy and so, so pretty. I bet she can run a brush through her hair in the morning and it just sits all perfect and shiny. If I think that, a team of horny sporty boys are bound to too. It makes perfect sense. So why are his words like a dead weight in a swimmer’s belly, slowly dragging me down to the dark and murky depths of despair.

“Hey Quinn,” he says, “you should come hang out with us sometime. My little friend here has a super-secret rink we can skate at. It’s awesome.”

Quinn, the hot one who hates anything hockey, nods and jiggles in her seat, and I, the little friend, hit the bottom of the ocean. It’s just me, the Titanic and Brittany Spears’s acting career.

Big D looks like he might join me. “Thanks for the invite, mate.” He sulks.

“Oh, you can come to, I suppose, Big D. I might even let you skate with Quinn if you’re a good boy.” His pout is replaced by a neck to ear blush.

I think Big D and I are soulmates.

I am a bad, bad person.

Jealousy has struck me down. Rendered me a useless, sulking blob.

Oh, wait. I’ve been that way for years.

Noah and Brady, Big D’s actual name, escort Quinn and I to class. Their broad bodies jostling between us the whole time as they desperately attempted to secure prime position beside the raven-haired beauty. I let myself fall a step or two behind to see if anyone notices and they don’t. They’re too busy joking and laughing and flirting, especially Brady who seems as enamored with Noah as he is Quinn.

This is what it was like when Mom yielded and let me attend high school, and why after only months, she pulled me out. People just don’t like me.

The alternative is always better.

It’s not until we make it to Kramer Hall that anyone notices I’ve not kept pace and at least then, all three stop and wait for me. “What’s with the dawdling, Little D?” Noah sings and whips his fingers through my hair as I pass by. “Anyone would think you’ve been training for two hours, not me and Big D.”

“Training? What are you guys training for?” Suddenly the same shade of gray as the concrete we stand upon, Quinn studies the boys, eyes lingering over Noah whose face is on billboards and game day notices all over campus. The second it clicks, her complexion fades from ashen to ghostly. “Oh shit. How did I not see this straight away? You’re on the hockey team aren’t you?”

“He’s not on the team. He is the team. This is Captain Petterson, manly leader of men.” Brady nudges Noah in the shoulder, and he bounces into, and off the wall and now they’re wrestling.

All Quinn can do is sigh and drop her face into her hands. “Look at them,” she almost sobs, even though she can’t seem to stand doing such herself. “They’re such idiots. Why are hockey guys always so hot, but such fucking idiots?” Refusing to wait for a reply, she rips the door open and storms inside, yelling “I’ll meet you in class, Lotte,” over her shoulder as he goes.

The boys are too busy trying to tear each other apart to notice, which I notice is on brand. Mom always said boys did this when they were showing off for girls or boys they liked, and whenever they were more than knee deep in any body of water. That it was some caveman, macho instinct they couldn’t suppress. I watch them for a while. It’s mildly humorous, but then I remember they’re doing it to impress Quinn, and she’s not here, but I am like some sad, pathetic loser.

“Okay. Um. I’m going to class now.” Again, they make no reply, they can’t because they have each other’s faces pressed against the glass wall.