Page 23 of Our Bender

I was experiencing some serious PTSD just walking alongside Duke into the school. How many times back in Northfield, Minnesota had we walked into school together? This felt all too familiar. I actually physically shivered as we got closer to the front door.

“So, who’s all reading to the kiddies?” Campbell asked. “They usually only choose two or three of us.”

“Not Jetts,” Duke said, shoving me clean off the sidewalk. “He can’t read.”

“Hey, watch it, I’m concussed!” I shoved him back. “And can to, asshole,” I said indignantly.

Griff pulled the two of us apart by the back of our jerseys and arched an unimpressed eyebrow at us. “Can you two refrain from physical violence for at least the next hour? What kind of example will that show the kids?”

I tore my jersey from his grip. “You should read, Griff. You’re the dad here,” I said, trying to change the subject. “Aren’t you used to telling bedtime stories?”

“Yeah, I vote the old man!” Duke called out.

Griff let out a resigned sigh, but I think he was secretly pleased. “Fine.”

“I vote Jetts,” Campbell announced, “for floundering the world’s most beautiful breakaway.”

“Oohhh,” the rest of the assholes called out.

“Shut up. I’m not the one who got an assist to one of Colorado’s goals,” I threw back.

Campbell acted like he got shot in the chest and the rest of the guys laughed. Roasting was typically endearment to us. It only got out of hand when people touched a nerve.

“Well, who else is gonna read?” Duke asked.

“Jetts, because-”

I whirled on Hassik. “Oh, so now you wanna speak up, buddy?” I asked incredulously. “Why not you?”

My roommate at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed for trying to throw me under the bus.

“Nah, Hassy,” Duke said, patting him on the shoulder. “Jetts can’t. I already told you guys, he can’t read.”

And damn it all to hell because that did touch a nerve. “Fuck off, Duke. Yes, I can,” I tried to say it lightly, but now the rest of the guys were looking at me curiously.

“Wait, you know I’m only kidding right?” Duke laughed. “I’ve just been to a bunch of these with you and you never read. Unless… Can you really not read, bud?” He made a mock-pouty face at me.

I thought quickly, trying to get myself out of the situation. “You’re the one who failed sixth grade English, not me, smartass.”

“Ooof,” Griff’s face cracked into a grin and he went to slap me a high-five. “Hit him where it hurts.”

Duke was struggling not to laugh. He let it slip last year that he failed sixth grade English because he ditched it every day to hang out with Claire. We teased him for being a “loverboy” for months afterwards.

Campbell was now reaching for the school’s front doors, and I took in a deep breath, trying to settle my nerves.

This was so dumb. Why did these school visits shake me up more than playoff games?

I knew why though…

It was because I was relieved to finally walk away from school at 17 when I left for junior hockey. Casey set me up with a school in Pennsylvania, but I secretly dropped out. I knew Casey would feel like it was his fault if he ever found out, when really, it was mine. And honestly, what difference did it make? I’d never think twice about my education history if it weren’t for these school visits.

As soon as we stepped in the school, we were greeted with sounds of gym class– pounding basketballs and whistles– to the right, and smells of cafeteria food to the left.

I trailed after my teammates into the school’s main office. I hung back as Griff and Duke chatted with the kind secretaries who directed us to head down the hallway to room C-117 and introduce ourselves to Miss Josie before the kids got back from art class at 12:30.

I tried to fight off the shaky feeling coursing through my body, but as we walked down the halls, all my shitty school memories were pushing to the forefront of my brain. Kids yelling out,Nooo, not him, when I was chosen to popcorn-read, kids huffing while I then struggled to read aloud… But then I got smarter. I started cracking wise-ass jokes at the teachers so I’d be punished before I even got the chance to read aloud. I’d be told to stand in the hall and await a talking-to.

At least room C-117 was very inviting. The colorful room smelled like a pumpkin spice candle, and the little desks and scribbly art projects on the walls were pretty darn cute… But I wasn’t stupid, school was a trap, and it always would be to me.

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