Chapter One
I punched my so-called boyfriend at the end of grade ten.
Joel played for a junior hockey team, and his big dream was to get drafted and live in New York or Chicago. I thought he had two chances â slim and none â but thatâs not something you can tell your boyfriend.
Some nights, it seemed like Joelâs main purpose was to bash into other players. They were always getting into fake fights,hauling off their shirts and throwing show-off punches. They pulled their fists back so fast they hardly touched each other.
I went to the games with my friend Mel â mostly for something to do. I would load us up with hot chocolates and popcorn, and Mel would do her best to look like a hockey fan. With her thick brown hair swept back and her metal-rimmed glasses, she looked more like a Hollywood starlet. I could picture her in one of those old black-and-white romance movies. Melâs too smart to be interested in hockey. She went to the games for my sake and watched with a slightly puzzled expression.
Once we saw a player get slammed against the boards near the stands. His head hit the Plexiglas and his eyebrow started bleeding, a little river of red curving down the side of his nose. He looked up and saw these teenyboppers pressed up against the other side of the glass and winked.
Mel made a disgusted sound. âHe acts like heâs their personal hockey god. And heâs proud of that blood. It makes me sick.â
âHe is pretty good-looking. Without the blood,â I grinned.
Joel wasnât hard to look at either. He had dark brown hair and wide shoulders and a little dusting of freckles that made him look like a kid when he smiled. Weâd been going out for three weeks, so Iâd been watching more hockey than usual.
Mel snorted again, still watching the bleeding guy. âThe problem is that he knows heâs good-looking. Can you believe those girls throwing themselves at him? Puh-leeze. They should receive immediate therapy for bad taste.â
I almost choked on my hot chocolate. âUh, Melâ¦have you forgotten that Iâm dating a hockey player?â
She looked at me primly, but it was obvious that she had momentarily forgotten. âMaybe it doesnât count when you only date one. Just donât date more than three in a row.â
âYouâre jealous,â I teased.
âWait until all of Joelâs teeth get knocked out and then see how jealous I am. Next youâll be telling me that dentures are
so
sexy.â
That was Friday night. On Monday morning I was talking to Mel before class and this bimbo from grade nine waltzed up to us. Her hair was teased into cutesy pigtails. She had a posse of two or three other girls standing behind her for moral support.
âI just thought you should know,â she said. I hate it when people think you should know something. Itâs like when your parents say that somethingâs for your own good. You can tell itâs going to be bad.
Bimbo Girl took a deep breath. One of her little friends gave her a push forward. âJoel slept with me last night.â
In the middle of her big sentence, her voice cracked. She turned and fled down the hallway and into the girlsâ bathroom. One of her friends stayed behind long enough to whisper, âShe didnât know about you until afterward.â
Mel tried to calm me down all morning.
âYou should talk to him,â she said, reasonably. âIâm sure he has an explanation.â
âYeah, like explaining that her breasts are bigger than mine.â
Eventually, she gave up on me.
When the lunch bell rang, I went straight to the gym. I knew heâd be hanging out there with his hockey buddies. His back was to me. I walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. Everyone there went silent. They all must have known about Bimbo Girl. Anger swirled in my head until my eyes watered and my throat felt like it was closing.
Joel hardly