Page 1 of More Than Chemical
One
Girl Meets Boy
Iwondered if anyone in the dining hall would notice if I passed out, face down, on top of my breakfast, right in my half-eaten pancakes sitting in a pool of syrup. It could happen. It almost had. Even the smell of fried bacon wasn’t keeping my head from bobbing.
“Ade.” My dorm friend Emma squeezed my shoulder. “It’s time to go.”
I blinked, the insides of my lids like sandpaper scraping my corneas. “But I’m so tired.”
“No problem.” Her cheeks turned from a pale pink to a warm blush, camouflaging the spray of freckles across her uptilted nose. “We’re about to take the polar plunge. It’ll be the perfect way to wake you up.”
Across the table, my roommate, Priya, slurped orange juice through a reusable straw. Her dark eyes sparkled against her amber-brown skin.
I hunched over. Insomnia. It wasn’t funny. It was a curse. A terrible, horrible curse. And frigid water was never going to fix me. Usually, when a person got tired, they slept. Not me. I was constantly fatigued, twenty-four seven, but I couldn’t fall asleep and stay that way. My control-alt-delete command had stopped working.
Emma swept away my tray.
I nabbed my energy drink just in time and finished it off. Caffeine and glucose. The only things that gave me a boost in the mornings.
“At least we won’t have to go all the way underwater.” Priya folded the silicone straw into a carrying case. “Only up to our chests.”
“Wonderful.” My body was already shivering, my teeth chattering.
Emma returned from disposing our trays,#MinnesotaUPridetyped across the front of her shirt.
This was probably bad timing, but I think it was finally the moment I should let her know how I really felt about jumping in a frozen lake.
“Emma,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“I know that you and the dorm advisory board worked really hard at organizing this charity plunge, but the thing is…”
I paused. It was hard to form the words. Mostly because she was so enthusiastic about everything related to dorm life.
“Is what?” she asked.
“I don’t think I can go through with it.”
She frowned.
For a moment she did nothing. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But then she grabbed my black Adidas duffel bag off the floor. “You have to. There is no choice. You’ve raised the money. Now you have to follow through with your end of the deal and jump.”
I glanced away. Guilt. It got me every time.
So I dragged myself up, pulled on my green winter jacket, and followed them through the lobby to the front doors. I should never have signed up. Never have taken a day off from my Saturday shifts at the Minnesota University Bookstore for this.
We tried to squeeze past a group of residents with bulky shoulder bags, but we got stuck.
“Four years of probation, postseason bans, and scholarship reductions,” said one of the guys. “That asshole Coach Bianchini ensured the hockey program will never recover.”
My ears turned hot. My breath shortened. We needed to keep moving, and quick, before I was forced to listen to strangers speak ill of my dad. Or worse, find myself trapped in a discussion with Emma and Priya about the scandal once again.
I thrust the girls toward the windows on the far wall.
Emma glared back at me. “Jeez, Ade. No need to push our way through.”
She didn’t understand. Neither did Priya. Because they didn’t know the truth about me. They had no idea I was the daughter of the once well-loved former head coach of Minnesota University’s prestigious NCAA Division I men’s hockey program.
