“You are going to love movie night!” she squeals. She’s so excited that I don’t have the heart to tell her I have about twenty other things I should be doing tonight.
“I can’t wait. But, don’t you hate the cold?”
“With every beat of my heart. But they set up heaters and we’re in a tent on the south lawn. Besides, I brought lots of blankets for us to snuggle up in.”
We walk through campus until we come upon the tent she mentioned. This has to be the place. It’s right before Thanksgiving break, and cold as shit here in Vermont, so I can’t imagine many other campus clubs pitching a tent and hosting an event.
But Paige is friends with a couple of people in the multicultural house, and they host movie night once a month. Our schedules have been so busy lately. It feels like we see each other for class, or for sleepovers, and that’s it. So I couldn’t turn down an invitation for movie night.
“There’s Peyton and Jana. Let’s grab a spot next to them.” She points to an empty area near the back of the tent and I follow her over and lay the blanket down. She hurries off to grab snacks with her friends, so I take a minute to scroll through my phone.
Dad: Did you look at that footage I sent you of Verchak from UMass?
I haven’t, which is unlike me. He sent it yesterday, so I should have watched it five times by now.
Spencer:Yeah, thanks. I’m studying for a midterm right now, so can we talk tomorrow?
Dad: Back when I was in school, they picked the easy classes for us jocks, so we could concentrate on what’s really important.
You’d think he was joking, but he’s totally not.
Spencer: Sorry it’s not the 80s, old man. :)
Dad: The late 80s, thank you very much. Talk in the morning.
Spencer: Good night.
I feel like shit for lying to my dad, but if I told him I was hanging out at movie night with my girlfriend, he’d drive an hour and a half just to kick my ass. Sometimes I feel like I have to choose between being a good boyfriend and a good son and a good hockey player, and half the time, I think I’m making the wrong call.
I mess with my phone and hit the alarm app. If I can wake up a half hour early tomorrow, I can watch the video of Verchak then.
“Good news. The guy running the popcorn machine is in my lit class, so...I present to you a bucket full of un-salted, un-buttered popcorn!” She hands me the container with a look of triumph.
“Thanks, baby. You take such good care of me.” And she does. She’s always looking out for me. I try to do the same, but as we get deeper into the season, I have less time to give. I lean back on my forearms, spreading my legs so she can cuddle in between them.
The movie starts, and there are subtitles, of course. Paige is into it, and I’m trying to pay attention, but my phone keeps buzzing in my pocket. Surreptitiously, I sneak a look.
There’s a text from Herrera saying he’s stealing my peanut butter because he ran out. And another text from Herrera telling me that all-natural peanut butter tastes like Satan’s asshole. I laugh, and that earns me a glare from Paige. Oops. I put my phone back in my pocket before I can read the other texts. They’re just as random, no doubt.
I tune back into the movie, but I’m lost, even with the subtitles. I just follow the crowd and laugh when they do. If I’m lucky, this will be over in time for me to read a few chapters for Anthro before Paige and I call it a night.
My phone keeps buzzing, and I just can’t ignore it. Paige is wrapped up in the movie, so I chance another glance at my phone screen. As soon as I unlock it, I start to lose my shit.
There’s a missed text from Goat. The timestamp says 7:43, and I was texting with my dad around 7:30, so I just missed it.
“Fuck.”
“Shhhh!” Paige hisses.
Goat: Hey Briggsy, Zac wants to run more drills tonight. You free? What am I saying? You’re always free for extra practice. Swing back around the rink at 8. See ya then.
A quick glance at my watch tells me it’s almost 9. Great. By the time I book it out of movie night and drive to the rink to suit up, they’ll be done. Fucking perfect.
“Jesus.”
“What is wrong?” she whispers.
“Nothing,” I lie.
