Saving the Beast, page 7
They left me long ago, and they still refuse to return. Maybe I was too selfish, or perhaps they just got sick of me and left. Regardless, it’s only been Mrs. Potts, Chip, and me since I was fifteen. Any good childhood memory that I have will forever be overshadowed by the day they abandoned me.
Writing rapidly, I pour words onto the page that will tug at Dr. Schrute’s heartstrings and hopefully give me an A. It might not be a real story—at least not one I have ever experienced—but it sounds real enough to be believable.
I talk about how, as a young boy, I met a hockey player who changed what I wanted in life. Meeting my hero made me realize that I could become that hero for another little kid one day. By the time I finish constructing this adorable little lie, I’m even questioning whether it actually happened. It might be a fake story, but it’s structured properly, it has no spelling errors, and it’s grammatically correct, so I’m happy with it.
A warmth spreads through my chest as I take a deep inhale and slowly dispel it, feeling every muscle in my body relax. There’s no way that I won’t get a near-perfect grade on this test. Setting my pen down, I flip the packet back to the front page and realize I have one more question to answer. I fill in a new answer to Dr. Schrute’s toilet joke—You’re full of shit.
I gather my things and rise from my seat, making my way to the stairs to turn my test in. Glancing up at where Blair sits, I find her scribbling like a maniac on her paper, like she can’t write fast enough for what she wants to say. I wonder what childhood memory she’s spilling onto the pages. Her eyebrows furrow with focus, and she bites her bottom lip between her teeth. She looks cute like that.
As if she can feel my stare, her eyes flick up and land directly on mine. It takes her a second to react, and she gives me a shy thumbs-up. Smirking, I reciprocate it and hold my thumb up.
She goes back to her work, rapidly writing. Her face finds that adorable balance of stress and concentration. I descend the stairs to Dr. Schrute’s desk and, for once this semester, confidently drop my answers into the bin.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and I nod in response before walking out of the room, the door clicking shut behind me.
He usually has grades posted by the end of the day, so fingers crossed, I’ll find out before tonight’s game because I don’t want anything but hockey on my mind when I take the ice.
Lingering in the hallway, I wait to see if Blair comes out so I can ask her how she thinks she did, although I imagine I could answer that myself. I only have a few minutes before I have to dip and head to the pregame skate, so hopefully, she finishes quickly.
I count tiles on the floor as time seems to drag out forever while I wait for her to walk out of class. I jump slightly as the door finally swings open, but it’s not her. It’s Lumi.
“Hey, man,” I greet him. “How’d it go?”
“Good, I think,” he says with pep. “You?”
Yawning, I respond, “That’s awesome. I think I di—”
Blair walking out of the room takes my full attention, cutting me off mid-sentence.
“There you are. I never finish before you,” Lumi teases her as she types angrily into her phone.
What the hell is that about?
“I know. I couldn’t get focused right away, which is weird for me, but I got there eventually,” she mumbles and looks up, her eyes widening when she sees me. “You’re still here?”
Glancing away, I clear my throat and calmly say, “Yeah, I was waiting for Malik to finish up.”
Lumi side-eyes me, and I ignore him.
“So, how’d it go?” she asks enthusiastically.
Wringing the straps of my backpack on my chest, I proudly say, “I think I fucking killed it.”
“Yes! I knew you could do it. You just needed a good study guide and some pointers,” she praises me, and I lap up the compliments.
“Good thing I found the best tutor in the class,” I respond kindly, and she smiles softly in return. “I’ve got a game tonight. I’m not sure what you guys are up to. But it would be cool if you guys came.” I say before adding, “Unless you already have really important plans.”
“We don’t!” Lumi practically shouts, and Blair turns bright red.
“Perfect. Game’s at seven,” I respond without leaving a moment for Blair to turn down my invite. “I’ve got to head to the rink. I’ll see you guys later.”
As I step away from them, Blair speaks up with a glimmer in her eyes. “I thought you were waiting for Malik?”
Shit.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I say, “Yeah, I was. But he’s taking too goddamn long, and I don’t want to be late.”
“Fair enough. I usually have the same problem with Lumi.” She laughs as he glares at her.
I chuckle and smile before turning around and walking toward the exit. I really do hope they come out tonight. It would be cool to have someone I actually know in the crowd. Mrs. Potts and Chip attend a game every so often, but Chip isn’t the biggest fan of the loudness.
My phone buzzes as I enter the locker room, and I pull it out to find a text from Blair as I sit down in front of my locker.
Tutor: I’m just letting you know we are coming tonight. Hope you don’t suck.
I wish she would let some of this sass shine outside of our texts.
Biting down on my cheek to stifle my smile and laugh, I type out my response.
What do you even know about hockey? You won’t be able to tell if I’m doing well or not.
Tutor: A bunch of oversize humans wear blades on their feet, chase after a rubber ball with a stick, and rage out when things don’t go their way. I feel like that sums it up.
A laugh bursts out of me, and I quickly respond, feeling electricity begin to pulse through my veins at our back-and-forth banter.
Okay, that is wrong on so many levels. In the vaguest of ways, I suppose you’re right, but also, you know nothing about hockey.
An idea jumps into my head, and I type it out before I can even think it through and she can respond.
You help me with our class, and I’ll help you better understand hockey.
Tutor: Success in class is essential. Me understanding a sport? Not so much.
Think of it as an addendum to our original deal. No negotiation. I want it written into stone.
Tutor: Is that blackmail? That I have to learn hockey or our deal is off?
Yep.
She must be contemplating my offer deeply because she doesn’t answer me nearly as fast this time. Glancing up from my phone, I nearly shit myself.
My entire team is silent and facing me with a variety of smirks and smiles on their faces.
I huff. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”
They explode with laughter like they couldn’t keep it inside themselves for a second longer. Malik is bent over at his waist, cackling so hard that it sounds like it hurts.
Malik is still heaving from his laughter as he forces the words out. “Don’t worry; I took photos so we could look back at this moment.”
Knowing he’s baiting me for his punch line, I follow along so we can get this over with. “What moment?”
Asher stalks over to me, chuckling, and throws his arm over my shoulders. “Proud of you, man. Finally growing up.”
“Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” I demand, my voice powerful enough to chill some of the craziness down.
Malik turns his phone around and shows me a picture of myself sitting on the bench with my face buried in my phone, and quite literally, I have the biggest smile I’ve ever seen in a photo of myself. Granted, most pictures of me are of me playing hockey, and I tend not to smile on the ice unless we score or I’m about to beat someone’s ass.
Playing it cool, I shrug it off. “What about it?”
Malik squints with a knowing smirk. “Are we going to have to drag every single word out of you? Who were you talking to? Who’s got you smiling like that, Griff?”
These boys know me well, and I’d trust them with my life, but for some reason, I lie, “No one. I found a bunch of funny memes and shit.”
“All in favor of accepting Griffin’s answer, say aye,” Malik calls out loudly to the team.
Silence falls upon us.
He continues, “All those opposed to his bullshit answer and still waiting for some truth, say aye.”
“AYE!” everyone screams.
Why in the hell are they like this?
“Try again,” Malik says. “Who were you texting? Was it that hot little nerd from our English class?”
Clenching my jaw, I tilt my head, my blood boiling at his nickname for her. “Yeah, it was. And? She’s my tutor. I was telling her how good I did on the test. And Malik?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call her that,” I order him.
The guys look at each other, seemingly assessing whether or not they are happy with this response, but a majority of them are clearly not pleased. But by the glare on my face right now, they back down and remain quiet.
Dean breaks the silence and asks, “And how did our boy do on the test?”
Looking back down at my phone, I see Blair responded, but I swipe out of our messages before I can read it and pull up my grades, specifically my English class, and find the most recent entry from tonight.
Holy shit.
“I got ninety-two percent!” I cheer like we just won a championship game because, fuck, it feels that good right now.
The room explodes in chants, hoots, and hollers as we celebrate my small victory.
“That’s what I’m talking about, Griffin. The motherfucking BEEEAST!” Dean growls out.
I can’t believe I got an A on my test. Like, I’d thought I was going to, but, damn, to see that really happen is something else altogether.
“Now, let’s go get a W, boys!” I shout, and the group gets distracted with gearing up for our game.
Taking one more second, I open Blair’s text.
Tutor: I’m not going to cheer. I’m going to be straight-faced the entire time.
Grinning, I text her back one last time before storing my phone away.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
In a matter of a half hour, we are warming up on the ice as the arena fills in around us. I would be lying if I said I’m not trying to spot her in the crowd as I skate around. Of course, I’m not making it obvious, just taking little glances now and then. But I haven’t seen her yet.
Warm-ups quickly come to an end. After a twenty-minute break, the starting lineup is announced for the visiting team, the Pirates, and finally, it’s our turn.
“Let’s meet the starting lineup for your HEAU Legends!” the announcer’s voice booms into the mic. “Starting in goal, number thirty, Finn Rutherford!”
Our other starting defender, Dean Kensington is shouted into the mic, and he skates out as the entire building comes to life with the energy and cheers of our fans.
I’m up next.
“On defense, number seventy-five, Griffinnnn Hawthorne!” He drags the IN out in Griffin.
I fly onto the ice.
As our fans do every game, they roar my nickname. “Beast.”
Goose bumps scatter across my body as I take my place next to Dean on the blue line, practically vibrating as adrenaline pumps through my veins.
Nothing makes me feel more at home than being on the ice.
Our forwards are announced next, Malik Ravenwell and Asher Kensington, followed by our center, Elias Lancaster.
I rock back and forth on my skates as the anthem starts, and thankfully, the singer tonight is fast-paced. It’s the worst when they are torturously slow and it feels like it lasts forever.
“And the home of the brave,” the singer finishes, and the lights turn on as the air electrifies.
The crowd cheers and claps as we line up for puck drop, and I take one last glance around the rink to see if I spot Blair and Lumi. But I fail to locate them and have to forget it, needing to get my head in the game.
“Let’s go, boys!” I huff and ready myself, bending at the waist with my stick on the ground.
Chaos ensues as the puck drops between one of the Pirates and Asher, one of our best players in winning face-offs.
Asher dishes the puck between his legs, and it flies backward to Elias. With a flick of the wrist, he passes it across the center line to Malik, who, with a quick deke, gets around the defender and races toward the goal on a breakaway.
Drifting to the left side of the net, he pushes his stick far left before bringing it across his body lightning fast and shooting it. Unfortunately, their goalie seems to have magical fucking reflexes and snatches the puck out of midair, killing the play.
A goal on the opening puck drop would have been insane, but maybe another time.
The rest of the first period flies by without either team getting a point on the board, and I have yet to grant myself a moment of time to search for Blair. But that changes when we retake the ice for the start of the second.
Our line is first to start, and while we wait for the other team to be ready, I look into the crowd.
Nope. Nope. Not her. Definitely not him. Not her. Nop—
As the hairs rise on the back of my neck, I can almost sense her for a mere second before my eyes lock with hers and her lips part with a gasp. Two rows up from behind the penalty box, she watches me. Her luscious hair cascades down her shoulders in loose curls, and her cheeks are rosy from the chill of the arena.
The usual smirk that tips her plump lips up is gone and replaced by a vulnerability she hasn’t let me see before. My skates guide me toward her, but before I get lost in whatever fantasy my mind is stirring up, I get ripped back to reality.
“Griffin. Hey! Let’s go!” Malik whistles at me, and I line up, doing my best to push Blair out of my mind.
After we score, I can’t help but turn to her and see her reaction. When a player gets in my face and wants to fight, I’m unable to resist glancing at her to see the fire in her eyes, and as the game comes to an end, I’m incapable of doing anything other than watch her cheer us on in victory, knowing that I’m completely fucked because I have feelings for my tutor.
When I was a little girl, wanting to grow up too fast, I never realized that part of adulthood is dealing with never-ending piles of laundry. Like, how in the world does one never fully complete that task? It’s the same thing with dishes, and I’m tired of this cycle. Maybe I should get us paper plates. At least then, I would never have to worry about a sink full of dishes again.
My entire morning has been spent returning our house to clean and orderly. When I finally finish deep-cleaning every room in our house, I reward myself with an iced coffee and five minutes of reading. Between work, school, and now tutoring, I never have time to read recreationally. Five minutes turns into ten minutes and then an hour. It’s not my fault I get lost in the pages and can’t escape even if I try.
Unfortunately, I can’t mentally live inside of fictional worlds forever, and I have to face reality. I work tonight, and I know every dime will need to go toward our bills. My dad does the best he can. But since we moved and he accepted a new job at a different factory, he hasn’t been making as much money, which is now even tighter than before.
I walk into the kitchen to see what still needs to be paid to keep us afloat. I like to keep all the bills pinned to the fridge with magnets so it’s constantly in my face and reminding me to work harder and harder. Right now, we have two overdue payments that are top priority—electric and Wi-Fi.
Spinning around, I spot the shoebox I forgot to put back under my dad’s bed while I was cleaning. Grabbing it, I meander to my dad’s room and kneel beside the bed, sliding it underneath. Something fights me from pushing it back. Lifting the blanket, I find a shoebox in the way—looks like with work boots, based on the photo on the box—and push it, nearly launching it across the floor because it’s a lot lighter than I expected.
Lying down on my stomach, I wiggle under the frame, grab on to the box, and pull it out. Sitting up, I crisscross my legs and set it in my lap, carefully placing my hands on the lid. I bet it’s full of old photos. It wouldn’t be the first time I found a bunch of pictures and memorabilia in a box.
When I lift the lid off of the box, my body chills, and my chest tightens so much that I can’t breathe. The lid quivers in my hand as I fully process what I’m looking at.
Stacks of folded papers fill every inch of the box, all stamped with red ink. It’s packed to the brim with late bills that I didn’t even know existed. Pinching my brows together, I read where they are from and become even more confused. They’re all medical bills, but that doesn’t make sense. Dad hasn’t said anything about going to the doctor. I know he hasn’t been feeling one hundred percent lately, but he hasn’t had an appointment on our shared calendar for months, so where is all of this coming from?
My ears begin to ring, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. Kicking my foot out, I come into contact with the little trash can by his bed. Dammit.
The full bin topples over, and all the contents spill out, including the endless wrappers of M&M’s that typically fill his garbage. But beneath it is a bunch of tissues with …
Is that dried blood?
What the hell is going on?
Tears pool in my eyes as more and more uncertainty unfolds in front me. We’re barely doing okay with the bills we already have, let alone the box full in front of me on top of it. Oh my God, I’m going to have to drop out of school. We can’t afford to have me funneling a bunch of my income toward tuition. We can’t even afford to stay on top of mortgage payments.
My breathing quickens, and I start rocking back and forth. This can’t be happening. I thought I’d found a way to make this all work out. I thought I was so close to ensuring that after I graduate, we wouldn’t have to worry about this level of struggling again. But maybe dreams aren’t always meant to come true.
