Page 8 of Behind the Net

I rub my arm, wincing. “I’m fine. I shouldn’t have been standing in front of the door.”

Her apartment is a tiny studio because Vancouver is expensive as hell. Hence why I need this job if I’m going to move out.

“How’d it go yesterday?” She heads to the corner with the kitchen and pulls out smoothie ingredients.

When I got home last night, she was teaching a yoga class. Outside of working as a physio for the team, teaching yoga is Hazel’s true passion. She had an early morning class today before work.

I fill her in on the disappointing news I just received, and her jaw drops. “And they didn’t even say why?”

“Nope.” A prickle of rage pokes me between my ribs, and my stomach tenses. “He was a real dick, though. Barely said two words to me the whole time. He just did this smoldery, glowering thing with his eyes.” I narrow my eyes and grunt.

Hazel raises a dark eyebrow. Her hair is darker than mine, a chocolate brown against my dishwater blond. “Do you think he remembers you?”

“No. Not at all.” I slip my shoes off and set them in the front hall closet. “He didn’t even introduce himself.”

She makes a face from the kitchen area. “Rude.”

“Right?” I shake my head as I flop back down onto the couch. “So rude. Like, I know he’s a hot, rich celebrity, but I’m still a person, you know?”

“Totally.” Hazel’s nodding vehemently, ponytail bouncing. “You’re a person. You deserve respect.”

“Respect?” I sputter. “He doesn’t know that word. He treated me like I was a flea who belongs in the garbage.”

Hazel bares her teeth. “I hate him. Hockey players.” Her eyes narrow. “They’re the worst.”

Hazel dated a hockey player in university, but he cheated on her. It was a whole thing. I don’t bring it up.

“The worst,” I echo, folding my arms over my chest. My foot taps a staccato rhythm on the floor, and knots form in my stomach. I did great yesterday, and I’m perfect for this job.

After Zach, my confidence took a hit, but now this? Way to kick a girl when she’s down.

My mind flashes back to a month ago, in the airport, waiting for my flight home. The tour manager had arranged my Uber, which I thought would take me to the meeting spot for the tour bus so we could all travel to the next location. Instead, it went to the airport, and when I started phoning people in confusion, no one answered.

Finally, Zach called me back.

“Ah, shit,” he said. “Did she already send you to the airport? I was going to talk to you first.”

He dumped me over the phone. He said we were different people now, that we weren’t teenagers anymore, and that he wanted to see who he was apart from me. We dated for eight years, since grade ten, and he had his employee send me away.

When he was offered the tour in our last year of university, he arranged for me to work on it, assisting the tour coordinator so we didn’t have to do long distance. When he was stuck on a song, we worked through it, me on my guitar, helping him with lyrics. I put my whole life on hold to follow him around while he lived out his dreams.

My face burns, thinking about how I cried in the airport bathroom, feeling so lost and alone. So unwanted, like a bag of trash on the side of the road.

Guys like Zach and Jamie? They think the world revolves around them. They think they can dispose of people after they lose interest. Shame surges in my stomach, followed immediately by fury.

I’m so sick of being that girl, the one who gets disposed of.

I sit up straight, feeling fired up. “I’m going to confront him.”

“Um.” Hazel’s eyes go wide, hands paused on the blender. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

My pulse races at the idea of telling off Jamie Streicher. I’m sick of getting stepped on by men.

“You’re always saying that I need to tell the universe what I want,” I tell Hazel.

“Yeah, theuniverse. Not him. He’ll probably call the police.”

“He won’t call the police.” I picture him physically removing me from his home, throwing me over his shoulder. A weird twinge hits me between the legs. Oh. I like that idea.

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