Page 13 of In the Net
For everything I can say about Sebastian, I have to admit that he tends to know his stuff when it comes to literature.
Even if in his own writing his metaphorsareawkward and overwrought, and even if his main charactersareobvious self-inserts.
I turn to him, ready to tell him that I actually kind of enjoyed our conversation, and to wish him a decent—I won’t go as faras saying good—rest of his day, but before I’m able to open my mouth, two girls rush up to him.
“Oh my gosh, Sebastian!” one of them gushes, “youwere the one stuck in the elevator!?”
Sebastian’s face lights up. I can just about hear his ego humming as these two girls fawn over him like he just went through a near-death experience. And as if I weren’t standing next to him and didn’t have the exact same experience.
“Are you okay?” the second girl asks with a stricken face, stepping toward him and gently touching his shoulder like she needs to make sure he’s still in one piece. “Did you hurt yourself in there?”
“Me? Hurt myself? Nah,” Sebastian says, a big grin on his face. “But come on, girls, let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you all about it. I’m so late for my class, I’m just gonna skip, anyway.”
He wraps his arms around both girls’ shoulders and leads them to the stairway. As he walks away—without a single word or glance of acknowledgement toward me—I can hear him embellishing the story shamelessly as the girls gasp and giggle at his tall tale.
My brow is still scrunched. My eyes narrow in his direction when the stairway door clatters shut behind them.
Seriously? Not a single word to me after all that? The second a couple girls come along to stroke his ego, and who knows what else, he just wraps his arms around them and strolls off like I don’t even exist?
Whatever. I guess it’s worth being reminded that even if Sebastian does have some interesting things to say about my favorite author, he’s still a jerk.
5
SEBASTIAN
“Sebastian! What the hell are you doing out there!”
My teeth grind at Coach’s reprimand. He’s not wrong to call me out, though. I’ve performed like shit this whole practice session.
Coach has me running drills against Jamie. Jamie started as a forward, but when our former captain, Lane Larsen, broke his leg, Jamie filled in for him on first line defense. Jamie did so well in the role that once Lane graduated, Coach decided to put him in that position full-time. With both Lane and our other first line defenseman, Rhys Callahan, graduating, we have more holes on defense than on offense.
And Jamie’s burned my ass the entire time we’ve been facing off. On one hand, it’s a good sign that Jamie’s playing so sharply. On the other hand, I’m playing like I have no business on this team.
Having no good answer for Coach, he blows his whistle and brings today’s practice to an end.
“Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, un-fuck it by our next practice session, Lawrence. Just because you boys won theChampionship last year, doesn’t mean I’m willing to accept a losing season this year.”
“Yes, Coach,” I answer. As good as it felt winning the Championship, the idea of following it up by having a bad season for my very last year of college hockey makes my stomach turn.
Hopefully I’ll be able to work out what’s distracting me by tomorrow. It’s the essay I’ve been working on for the English department competition. I just realized that I need to scrap weeks’ worth of work and restart it from the beginning.
Last night, I realized the direction I was pursuing was just too … predictable. Too bland.
I know the kinds of students who are going to be submitting papers to this contest, and if I want to win, my paper needs to not only be stylistically flawless and logically sound, but it needs a bold and provocative thesis.
It’s bad that I’m letting this affect my hockey performance. As a senior and veteran player, I should be leading by example. But, fuck, I want that trip to Paris. And even though an academic career isn’t what I’m interested in, it would be a really cool experience to present a paper at a conference.
I sucked during this practice, but the team is in high spirits in the locker room. Overall, we looked good out there. Felix is teasing Kiran, who got promoted to first line left forward to replace Tuck, about being able to block all his shots on goal today.
Felix might be insufferable when it comes to bragging, but at least he’s good.
Granted, our former goalie, Hudson, was even better, yet knew how to shut the fuck up about it.
But, hey, that’s life. People come and go, and you have to adjust to the new personalities and quirks. Felix might love to brag, but he’s still a good dude.
While we shower and get dressed, I focus on constructing and outlining my new thesis in my head. Just as I’m pulling on a pair of boxers, I feel like all the pieces are sliding together, and I’m eager to get home and start working on my revisions.
Now that I think I’ve found a path forward, the churning of contemplation in my head slows down. I tune back into whatever the guys are talking about.
