The Fifteenth Minute: A Hockey Romance (The Ivy Years Book 5)

DJ

MY PHONE RINGS about half an hour before I’m supposed to meet Lianne. The caller is my little sister, Violet. She’s a senior in high school, and we’ve always been pretty close. “Hi shrimp,” I answer, even though Vi is almost as tall as I am now. “What’s up with you?”

“Danny! They scheduled my Harkness interview for February third! Dad said I could spend the night before and take the train home afterward. So can I stay with you?”

I glance around my tiny room. She could have the bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch. “Any time. But if you stay with Leo, you can see the dorms. Isn’t that the point of a Harkness visit?”

“Eh,” she says. “I’ve been seeing the dorms since the first time we dropped Leo off when I was fourteen. It’s you I never see.”

This is true. I’ve been ducking her lately because of all the weirdness in my life.

“Danny, why is Dad so grumpy this week? When he talks to you, it’s in his den with the door shut. What the hell did you do?”

Nothing. “Ugh, it’s complicated. Dad is just riding me about school stuff.” It’s hard for me to talk to Vi lately, because lying to her isn’t something I want to do. But my sister doesn’t know about Annie or the case against me. When the ugly call came at the end of the summer, Vi was away at the Girl Scout camp where she’s a counselor. And when she came home, my parents chose not to tell her about any of it. “She’ll worry,” is all my mother said. But all I heard was, hopefully this all blows over before lots of people hear about it. Vi isn’t known for keeping secrets.

So now I’m stuck dodging my sister’s questions. It’s awkward, like everything else in my life.

“Do you need me to kick Dad’s ass?” Vi offers.

I chuckle. “Maybe. I’ll let you know. What else is going on?”

“Since you asked,” she says. “I have a new boyfriend. Remember Caleb? The lacrosse player?”

“Sure,” I say, calling him up in my mind. “Wears his baseball cap backward? Says ‘yo’ all the time?”

“Danny! He doesn’t say it all the time.”

“Good.” Because it was seriously annoying. “He doesn’t drink, does he?”

“Oh my God, you’re almost as bad as Dad. No. Not much, anyway. And I won’t ride with a drunk driver. I swear.”

“Okay.” I chuckle. “Sorry.” There are a hundred other Big Brother things I feel like saying, but I hold ’em in. “I used to be around for stealth pickups, that’s all.” Whenever Vi found herself in an uncomfortable situation with her friends, she used to call me. Now that I’m not there, I worry that she’ll do something dumb just to stay out of trouble with our parents.

While Leo was always perfectly behaved, Violet and I weren’t. Covering for each other is a lifelong habit.

“You worry too much,” she says. “I drive myself now. But I can’t wait to visit. Will you take me to a party?”

“No,” I say automatically. I’m happy to rescue Vi from trouble, but I’m not willing to help her find it in the first place.

“Kill joy.”

“We’ll have fun,” I promise. “I’ll take you to Gino’s for pizza, and maybe we’ll go skating.”

“Yay! Just like when I was seven.”

I snort. “But I’m fresh out of bail money.”

“Danny? Did you get arrested?” Suddenly her tone is serious.

“No,” I say a little too forcefully.

“There’s a lawyer Dad’s been talking to.”

Shit. “I know, Vi. I’m sorry. It’s just there’s been a little…entanglement and Dad doesn’t want you to worry.”

She groans. “But you’re going to tell me about it when I visit, right?”

“We’ll see.” I check the time and realize I have to get going. “I can’t wait to see you, shrimp. Email me the date and time, okay? But now I have to go. I have a date. If it goes well, I’ll tell you about her.” I offer this bit of enticement so Vi won’t feel so bad about my secrets.

“You’d better,” she says.

After we hang up, it takes me a few minutes to find my Foreigner T-shirt. I need it as a joke for Lianne, but it hides in the bottom of my dresser drawer until the third time I look for it. So getting dressed takes three minutes instead of one. I stick my phone in my pocket, grab a jacket and I’m ready to roll.

Out in the living room, it’s no surprise to find Orsen, Pepe and Leo wolfing down meatball grinders. My brother lives in Trindle House, but since Orsen’s place is the de facto hockey team hangout, I see him here all the time.

“Hey!” Orsen says, giving me a wave. “Didn’t know you were home. We would have ordered something for you.”

I’d heard them come in an hour ago, but I’ve been more or less hiding in my room. “Thanks—I’m good. Just heading out for dinner now. You need anything from the outside world?”

Orsen shakes his head. “Can’t send you out for beer, so I guess not.”

He’s twenty-one and I’m not. “Useless again, then. Bye ladies.”

“Deej?” My brother stops me.

“Yeah?”

“You called the lawyer, right?”

Oh my fucking God. I’m so sick of the nagging. “Two days ago.” I shove my phone in my pocket and grab my jacket, hoping for a quick exit.

“How did it go?”

Seriously? Who would want to talk about their legal troubles while the hockey team listens? “Fine. No—great. Spectacular.”

“Danny…” he chides, but I’m already opening the door. When I’m clear of it, I slam it behind me.

It’s cold outside, but the walk is short. In fact, Gino’s pizza is one of the few destinations convenient to our house. At Harkness, most of the students live in one of the twelve dormitory buildings we call “houses.” My brother is rounding out his fourth year in his.

I should be there, too. But instead I’m in exile. Like Napoleon.

At least my place is convenient to Gino’s. I get there fifteen minutes early, because I want to put my name down for a table. Both times I’ve hung out with Lianne, I found her fun and easy-going. But she’s probably used to fancy things. And while I’d warned her that Gino’s Appizza was very unfancy, I don’t want her to have to stand around waiting for a table in the divey little front section, either.

This part of Harkness isn’t the prettiest, but I don’t mind the gritty neighborhood because it has character. This pizza place has been here for seventy-five years. And there are actually pizza snobs who make hundred-mile treks just to eat here. I hope Gino’s never upgrades the laminate tables and the black metal napkin dispensers. If the place suddenly starts looking slick, I’ll fear for the quality.

As I approach the glass door, which is already steamed up from the night’s first pies, I can smell it—that amazing combination of garlic and homemade tomato sauce and excellent cheese. By the time I open the door, I’m already getting a contact high. Lianne will have to love it. Nobody could smell that and remain unmoved.

I’m even smiling to myself a little as I do a quick scan of the room. It’s not too busy, either. But then my eye snags on something. Someone.

She is here. Annie.

For a moment, it doesn’t quite sink in that my night has been ruined. At first, I just study Annie’s profile—the way her red hair falls behind her shoulder, and the way she smiles at her friends. People who used to be my friends, too. For an aching moment, I stand there trying to make sense of it all.

But then I realize my problem all at once.

According to the agreement that I’ve made with the dean’s office, I am required to stay away from her. Fifty feet, to be exact. I don’t think Gino’s Apizza is fifty feet wide. And even if it was, I can’t even appear to break my agreement. If she complains to the dean, it will make me look bad. And I can’t afford that. Not at all.

The problem crackles quickly through my chest, the way a sheet of ice breaks in every direction at once. There is no way to save the evening that I’d planned.

I turn around and exit Gino’s.

Walking away, I wonder what to do. I step under the awning of the check-cashing place across the street and pull out my phone. Shit. I don’t want to cancel on Lianne. But what choice do I have? I could make up some stupid excuse and ask her to dine elsewhere with me. It’s too crowded. I don’t feel like pizza.

But I don’t want to lie. And there’s the real problem. If I go out with Lianne tonight, lying is exactly what I’ll be doing. Even without the snafu at Gino’s, I’ll be pretending to be just another happy-go-lucky Harkness guy taking a girl out for dinner— not a guy with an ax hanging over his neck.

I tap Lianne’s number and listen to it ring.

“Hello? Am I late? I thought I was early,” Lianne says into my ear.

Just the sound of her voice makes me ache. She’s so fucking cute. “You’re fine,” I say, and I mean it. There is nobody finer. I can’t imagine why she wanted to go out with me, even for pizza, when she could have anyone. “But, uh, I can’t make it tonight. I’m really sorry.” More sorry than she’ll ever know.

At the distant end of the square, movement catches my eye. I spot Lianne moving toward me. Her hair shines under the street lights. She stops walking, and there’s a beat of silence on the line. “You’re not coming? Why?”

The pressure in my chest redoubles. “I…” I’m such an asshole. “I can’t. Something came up.” Lamest excuse ever.

Her voice drops. “I see.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, as if it matters. You don’t cancel on a girl, even if she’s someone who has lots of better things to do. It’s rude. But I have no choice.

“Right,” she sighs. “I see. Then goodnight.” The line goes dead, and I see her jam her phone into a little bag she holds. I expect her to turn around and disappear. But that’s not what happens. Instead, she walks into the square, crossing the street, entering the tiny park. She stops for a second as if lost, her eyes on the glowing store-front of Gino’s Appizza. Then she sits down on one of the cold benches. She puts her hands on either side of her knees and drops her chin.

Shit!

I can’t even breathe now. Lianne shouldn’t sit here in this dodgy little park alone. That’s a terrible idea. She should get up and head back to campus. Or call a limo to take her to the city, to somewhere movie stars go on a Thursday night. She has better things to do than eat pizza with me, anyway. “Come on,” I whisper under my breath.

But she doesn’t move. And all at once, I understand that Lianne does not, in fact, exist on some higher plane. Celebrity or not, she feels the sting of rejection the same way anyone would. Even if it comes from the likes of me.

Her narrow shoulders droop, and I’m in fucking agony. Unlikely as it seems, I’ve hurt this girl, which is something I never wanted to do. I hurt her, and it’s because I have to avoid another girl who says I hurt her. But I didn’t.

Every time I try to get away from it, even for a couple of hours, it just drags me back down.

While my heart breaks into smaller and smaller pieces, I stay in the shadows watching Lianne, even though her defeated posture kills me. But I don’t like her sitting there alone in the cold.

Please go home, I beg silently. Please.

Eventually she straightens up. That’s it, I coach. She reaches up and unwinds the scarf she’s wearing, which sparkles when it catches the light. Inexplicably, she tosses it onto the bench beside her. Then she stands, turns, and heads back toward campus.

After she’s gotten half a block away, I cross the street and rescue her scarf off the bench. The fabric is light and gauzy, with a subtle shimmer. It looks expensive, and I don’t have a clue why she’d leave it behind. I tuck the thing into my jacket and then follow her to the corner. From the shadow of another building, I watch as she reaches the art school, then passes a coffee shop with students spilling out of it.

She’s safe now, and I don’t have to worry. But my feet follow her anyway. I’m so torn up inside. If I go home now, I’ll only end up on the bed in my room, staring at the ceiling.

Outside the coffee shop two students are hawking T-shirts. Last year I’d found their designs novel, so I have several of them. There’s the Huck Farvard shirt, a perennial favorite. And another that reads, “Go ___!” And underneath: “(Harkness has no mascot, but we’re very fierce. We swear.)”

A new shirt catches my eye, and I have to stop and stare. It says:

Yes, I go to Harkness.

No, I don’t know Lianne Challice.

Seriously?

I turn my head abruptly, scanning for Lianne’s retreating back. I don’t see her anymore. I’d been watching when she walked past this spot, though. She’d passed these shirts without so much as a stutter step. Perhaps she didn’t notice, or else she’s seen them before.

Either way, it’s freaky. I don’t think I realized what she was up against before tonight. How weird it was to be her.

“See something you like?” one of the student vendors asks. She’s wearing mittens and doing a fidgety dance to stay warm in the January chill.

“Nope,” I say, and there’s an edge in my voice. How could someone possibly think this shirt was funny?

Spinning around, I head home again. Where I have nothing to do and nobody to talk to.