Free The Fifteenth Minute by Sarina Bowen Page A

game before.
    “Because you’re Fun Lianne now.”
    I pull on a pair of jeans. “It’s cold in the rink, right? Do I need to bundle up?”
    “You won’t even notice because the players are so hot.” She tosses me my coat. “Wear this. Let’s roll.”
    Bella wasn’t kidding when she said she wanted to see the puck drop. It wasn’t enough that I’d gotten ready in all of five minutes. She soon has us practically sprinting up Science Hill toward the rink.
    “I’m wearing only one coat of mascara for you. And you didn’t mention there’d be a death march first,” I complain as we speed-walk.
    “Not my fault you have tiny little legs,” she says. “And we’re almost there.”
    Ahead of us, people are streaming into the arena. Bella leads me over to the student section door and pushes two tickets at the staffer guarding it.
    “How much are tickets?” I don’t want her to have to pay for me.
    Bella waves off the question. “They’re free if you pick them up ahead of time.”
    “What? I thought you meant that if I didn’t go to the game, you’d be out money…”
    She gives me a wink. “Got you here, didn’t I? You can hit the concession stand if you want, I’m saving us seats.”

    A n hour later , I’m having a hell of a lot more fun than I’d expected. Sitting in the student section with Bella, I eat a soft pretzel and a box of popcorn. Then I go back for a hot dog with all the fixings.
    In between bouts of screaming at the players, Bella tries her best to explain the game. “There’s two defensemen, and… HIT HIM TREVI! CRUSH HIM LIKE A BUG!”
    I am probably going to end up deaf in one ear. But I’m not sure I mind, because hockey is exciting. Unlike baseball, which I consider to be a cure for insomnia, this game is nonstop action—the players flying past me at warp speed, the puck pinging from stick to stick so fast my eyes can’t track it. And every few minutes a player slams another player into the boards, and my heart leaps into my throat. It sounds violent and yet I feel a very inappropriate thrill each time it happens.
    “FUCK HIM UP!” Bella hollers beside me. Her voice is half gone already. “Come on guys!” she cheers, clapping. “Put the biscuit in the basket! Bring mama’s cookies to the kitchen!”
    Then I feel her go tense beside me, and the whole student section seems to lean forward. A Harkness player has broken away from his pursuers. It’s just him and the puck and the other team’s goalie, who also tenses.
    Our guy—Rikker—feints to the left and then fires the puck like a missile. I can’t see it anymore, but a lamp lights on the plexi behind the net, and half the arena stands up and screams.
    We scored! And now I’m hugging Bella and there’s music and it’s thrilling!
    Omigod. Hockey. Who knew?
    When we sit down again I’m flushed and happy, as if I did something right. All I did was watch, but it feels bigger than that. It’s a strange sensation, and I file this away to think about later. I’m still holding the hot dog I bought. I lift it for a bite, and my eyes travel to the other side of the rink. Where a giant camera is pointed in my direction.
    Shit.
    I lower the hot dog, and the lens falls.
    I raise the hot dog, and it rises.
    “God damn it!”
    “What’s the matter?” Bella yelps.
    “Fricking paparazzo. The one from History of Art—he’s back.”
    “Where?”
    I groan. “How could you miss him? And every time I try to take a bite, he takes a picture.”
    Bella’s fair brow wrinkles. “Why?”
    Sigh . “Because anyone looks like a pig with a bite of food in her mouth. When a photographer wants to make you look ridiculous, they catch you eating.”
    My friend’s eyes widen. “That’s a thing?”
    “It is.” A few minutes ago I was having a great time. Now I feel exposed.
    Bella’s face is full of concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, babe. Do you think we should call security?”
    “No.” I spent enough time in their offices filling