Page 9 of Neo

“That’s right.”

“When you’re supposed to be, you know, getting acclimated to your new environment?” she asks in her careful voice. The kind of voice you use with a child or someone who you suspect of being mentally unstable.

“Yes, Kennedy,” I hiss out of the side of my mouth, annoyed with why she thinks watching dudes slide around the ice is a relaxing night for me.

“Why?” she asks in a voice that sounds perplexed.

“So I can focus on the classes that are actually going to be challenging for me. The ones that matter.”

Reading ahead has always helped me get a handle on my executive functioning disorder. The more time I give myself to learn a subject has always been productive for me.

“Uh-huh,” she says, looking confused by my line of reasoning. Probably just as confused as I am with her dragging me to this weird festival.

It’s called Santa Fest, yet it’s a million degrees outside as we sit in this ridiculously cold ice rink. How they keep it this cold is a mystery to me. And Kennedy said we’re watching an exhibition match to celebrate the festival and not a real hockey game but the way they’re playing, I can’t tell the difference.

“You do realize they have textbooks online, don’t you? You didn’t have to bring a whole ass hardback book to the game. You could have just used your phone or something if you were even going to do it all.”

“Am I embarrassing you or something?” I ask in an uncomfortable voice, but my inquiry is cut short when two girls sitting behind us suddenly bump into my head as they rise to their feet to cheer.

“Woohoo!”

When they do, my head jerks forward, momentarily hyper extending my neck.

Ouch.

“Go, number seventeen!”

“Why don’t you cheer for somebody else? He’s mine.”

“You can’t call dibs on him like that!”

“Can I have your babies, Neo?”

“Damn, he’s fine.”

“And doing all the work for the team, as usual.”

“I’ve got some work he can do right between these thighs.” Then the two of them cackle with laughter like two horny witches.

“Um, excuse me, but you two just hit my friend in the head,” Kennedy pivots her head to say, but before either of them can respond a deafening roar erupts from the crowd, and two guys crash into the glass right in front of us, partially shattering it.

“Holy hell!” Kennedy exclaims.

Instinctively, I lean over to cover her, like a mother would shield her child when she suddenly pushes on the break of a car, until I feel pain. I lift my hand to my chin, feeling a sting where a small shard of glass has made contact.

“Give us a minute to check on everyone, Sun Nation,” the announcer says in an oddly pleasant voice over the rink’s loudspeaker, as if something catastrophic didn’t just happen. “In the meantime, the refreshment stands are open, and DJ Kris is going to spin some tunes for your holiday enjoyment.”

One of the VCU players, who seems vaguely familiar to Kennedy, climbs over into the stands towards us immediately.

“Are you okay?” he asks us both, genuine concern etched in his face.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I mutter.

Kennedy and the player share a loaded silence, and for a moment I think something might explode between them, like one of their heads.

“Kennedy,” the player greets her by name, also giving her a brief head nod of acknowledgment.

She responds with a deafening silence, which seems to make the hockey guy grin even harder behind his clear face shield.

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