Page 1 of Safety Net
CHAPTER ONE
LINCOLN
Iwas twenty-five minutes late for my ‘you-honestly-might-be-going-on-academic-probation’ meeting. If I did deserve a but (which I’m well aware I didn’t), it would look like this: But it was Thursday. And Thursdays were time sinkholes for me.
One moment, I was bidding in an online auction, going toe to toe with strangers for first edition copies of obscure mystery paperbacks. Next, I was at an estate sale, talking to a couple who (almost) convinced me to buy a couch the size of Texas.
Now, I sat down in my academic advisor’s office, overanalyzing a textured painting of the midnight sky.
“Who’s the artist?” I picked at the flaky varnish finish on my chair’s armrest. Now that the conversation I should have had weeks ago was here, I scrambled to think of more excuses for delay.
Jonah, my frowning advisor, shrugged. It took him a second to settle in his squeaky desk chair. He buttoned his cleanly pressed suit jacket. Summer heat and a crappy AC system didn’t dare threaten his commitment to professionalism. “It came with the office.”
“Name of the piece?” Whenever I didn’t grasp at straws, I felt like I was wasting resources.
Jonah studied me over the silver metal rims of his glasses, mouth in a thin line as he repeated, “It came with the office.”
“Ah.” My shoulders sagged at his refusal to humor me even a little. “Nothing a little research can’t fix.”
The oil-painted stars reminded me of my roommate’s best friend, Celeste Able. There were stars in the corners of her eyes when I first met her. Small, hand-drawn stars. Barely noticeable, barely there. But once I saw them, I couldn’t stop marveling.
Those stars were delicate work, worthy of close examination but almost hidden. Who did something that special but attempted to hide it?
It was safe to say Celeste was an artist. I’ve always gravitated towards artists. Their attention to detail was enviable. I’ve tried to hone that kind of dedication to craft with no luck. It was difficult for me to commit to things. Not in a destructive way, but in an ‘I’m ready to get this done and move on to the next thing’ way.
The mindset served me well as a hockey goalie. Up until recently, I didn’t think I needed to change. Now? I suspected my life would improve drastically if I took cues from an artist.
“Lincoln.” Jonah’s firm voice was a hook, hindering me from swimming deeper into my thoughts of Celeste. “How about we pretend you’re at the rink? This office is your goal.”
I straightened. “Sure. I love a good visualization.”
“I figured. And since that’s the case, I’d appreciate if you’d give this conversation as much patience as you’d give a game.”
There went the knots in my stomach. “Right. What I’d give a game…”
Hockey was my safe harbor, the only place that accepted my impatience. Rewarded it. After last season’s forfeit, I wondered whether I should address said impatience.
Since last season’s premature ending, I’ve done some deep, reflective thinking. I had a lot of time on my hands while notplaying hockey and all. After finding out the Hawks were out of the playoffs, I realized I might not walk across the stage at graduation.
“Victory Lap” was what Jonah called it.
“Sounds fun,” I had joked because, well, it did. Heaven knew I wasn’t in store for victory on the ice anytime soon. I might as well take one somewhere else.
“Not in this case,” Jonah had promised with a frown. My adviser wasn’t much of a smiler. His unbothered brow made me antsy.
Jonah looked like he could be my brother if my folks liked kids enough to have more than one. Our brown skin was nearly the same medium shade. Our hair, equally curly, buzzed at the sides and left to grow longer on top. He was at least a decade older than me and possessed the soulless stare of a man unfulfilled.
As much as I liked him, I feared him. His advisor gig didn’t appear that soul-crushing. But he knew something I didn’t. Sitting across from him felt like looking into a bleak future.
“You plan on going pro?” Jonah asked.
“In hockey?”
He released a sigh. “Yes, Lincoln. In hockey. Do you plan on playing in the NHL?”
I chuckled and adjusted in my seat. The cold wood was far too hard and slippery to be a place where one made life-changing decisions. “Only a few of us are drafted out of the NCAA. Lucky few. Since I didn’t get a deal my senior year of high school, my odds are slim. So, I don’t plan on anything because it’s been out of my hands since I got to Mendell. I could try being a free agent, though.”
“Okay.” He nodded and typed something. “And if that doesn’t work?”
