"Man, half of them are already fucked up," Carl muttered to Jared, which drew a nod; they both worked in a restaurant that sometimes got a hell of a bar crowd going and they knew what it looked like, but it didn't bother them as they got the brief tour of the place; big house, nice furniture, expensive looking sort of stuff. It was a little too TV show, and the football team was very much in here, whereas there was more of the party outside.

They were getting the tour, but more people were piling in and it looked like they knew their way around. Then, of course, they ran into the high school relationship drama, which Jared knew to stay the hell away from. Whatever was going on between Livingston and Pretty Ricki was apparently powder keg material, and the vibe in the place had Jared wanting to find somewhere else to be. Carl, meanwhile, wasn't about to be pried away from the place.

During the little chit-chat, Livingston gave his condescending little 'enjoy the party' comment with a smirk. He knew the two of them were hockey players, and that seemed to make him feel entitled, off a losing game that involved multiple sacks and interceptions, to feel better by pouring contempt all over them. Carl was a bit too busy rolling his tongue out to notice, but Jared just kept his face very deliberately calm; if Carl caught that whiff of condescension, he probably would have done something hotheaded about it all. But it was easy enough to not realize that Jared was every bit as tall as Livingston, and they were looking each other in the eye; Livingston seemed to think he could just do a stareoff with the man, but Landry just returned the stare impassively. There wasn't anything there to get worked up about, in a sense, but in the way of guys, Livingston was trying to find something to dig in on.

Luckily, Carl was getting the nod from Maureen's friend, Krista, which was how women got sometimes; the approval went around a bit sometimes, like a mafia, but that kept Carl out of trouble -- well, one kind of trouble, anyway. The place was crawling with the booze and the hormones, which was a familiar enough situation to a guy that'd been in a Catholic school. Prior to coming out here, he'd seen it all go on with a certain desperation, though there were less hot tubs and swimming pools to work with. He gave a smile to Krista and Carl, and a pat on the back to his homeboy as he started to move off, "Sounds like you don't need a wingman here, man. I know there's gotta be a hot tub here, I'm finding it. Just make sure to text me when you're ready to get out." 

He ducked off, partially because there was the bad vibe with Livingston around -- the dude would be drinking, pissed off over his season and probably not too happy about his relationship and Jared didn't want to wind up in some kind of crazy fight in the house. In fact, it looked like the football team was sort of crowding the house now. Without letting Carl see him, lest Carl get pissed that he was breaking the rule, Jared snagged a beer or two on the way from the kitchen, smooth and easy, walking normal and acting like nothing was out of place, while Carl gave his full attention to whatever he thought he was going to be doing with Maureen. Carl wasn't the kind to just nurse two beers, but Jared had a plan -- two beers and a hot tub. Sometimes, a friend just had to know when to clear the way, and getting out of there meant that Livingston would probably be normal around Carl, which gave Carl his shot.

Carl would be okay; he was getting himself into the right kind of trouble, but Jared found his way to the hot tub, a California institution, and quickly found a couple people he knew from various classes that were a little shocked to see him there. He exchanged greetings with people as he started to pull off his clothes, wearing shorts underneath the getup, and sunk himself into the hot tub. There was nothing there to be ashamed of, fitness wise, but it wasn't like he was cool as a cucumber. Still, in the end, no one seemed to mind that he was peeling off for the pool and others had done it before. [i]Get over it, Catholic boy,[/i] he told himself.

"Jared Landry, out of your mommy's boy shell?" purred Tasha Johnson, who was actually standing over his head as he managed to settle into the hot tub with the beers. She kneeled down in that position, so that she could put a hand on each shoulder, "You here all by yourself?" 

It looked like he could find trouble too, if he wanted it, and Tasha came without the strings attached that the girls inside the house did -- like all the territorial football players thinking they owned the girls in there -- but she did come with the string attached that her cousin was his best friend here. Tasha's father owned the Cane Corso, and she was the hostess there, which meant she probably knew him best out of the people in school. She didn't really blend well with the school extracurriculars crowd and she was actually Carl's cousin, though her mom was white. It was complicated, but underneath the party girl stuff, she actually held down decent grades and seemed aimed for Columbia school of journalism. Her dad, Ray, had money from the Cane Corso and years of sweating away as a restaurant owner, but it was rumored that she was getting at least a partial scholarship.

"Nah, I came with Carl, but he's in the big house because one of the girls has the hots for him. His tongue is hanging out."

"Sounds about right. That man is a dog," She giggled, "so how's hockey practice? I haven't seen you guys since that all started."

"Hard work. We're getting tuned up for the first game. We've got the Bruins." 

"I can tell you two are training hard," she gave a knead of his shoulders, smelling a bit, that close up, of cigarettes and weed and, notably, alcohol, "you want a line of coke or anything? It's a party after all." 

"I've got beers, I'm good." 

"I can't believe you went to a catholic school, Jared," she said with a bit of disappointment animating her lush lips in a frown, "You're not even cutting a bit loose now that you're out. I mean, I thought you were all supposed to be closet cases just aching for an excuse to come out and start debauching. You aren't coming out of that tub, are you?"

"Nope," he grinned, "And I'm staying off the coke. I'm a growing boy." He tipped the blue moon in a salute from his boy.

"No, baby, you're all grown up. A bit too grown up," she added pointedly.

"Women weaken knees," Jared growled, in a mock Philadelphia accent.

She laughed, "You're stupid. Quoting Rocky. Fine, I'm going to find trouble elsewhere." She was a lot like her cousin that way, but probably smarter.

"Well, if you find the wrong kind, yell. I'll make sure to punch him out, because I'm sure that's what Carl would do."

--

Jared didn't go looking for Carl because Carl was busy, he was sure, and the last thing he wanted to do was perform an accidental cockblock, and he wasn't really looking to move out of the hot tub, though he did once in a while simply to keep from sitting in it for too long. But because he was saving himself for the upcoming game, he was watching everyone else cut loose for the end of football season -- some were players blowing off the steam, but a lot more were just partying because there was an excuse to do so. Once the music cut on, the dancing happened with people in varying states of undress, mostly down to bathing suits even in the winter because it was pretty mild, especially as far as he was concerned given that he was from Massachusetts. 

He was dragged into the dancing once in a while, one partner or the other, with a beer in hand that he nursed pretty effectively -- he had a two beer limit but stuck to it while grinding and bumping out on the patio with the others, which was keeping him busy and enjoying life. Once, a long time ago, his father told him that dancing was half the battle, and it was true even in California; a lot of guys were trying to play it cool by standing outside and on the fringes, watching and figuring that they weren't good enough dancers to try. But, in a sense, Jared knew that you had to just go out there and try, and dare to look stupid. 

It worked; some Reggaeton and Jamaican Dance Hall stuff -- whoever took over DJ'ing was definitely not white -- came on from wherever the music was playing from and he and a few other dudes that dared to dance were the ones that were rewarded with the fun of dancing while other dudes watched on in jealousy. The only real interruption was a hand on his ass and a called out, "Nice job, catholic boy!" which was Tasha having her laugh, but things didn't go that far; she'd found someone else to dance and party with -- unlike Livingston, the dude, one of the O-Line for the Bears, seemed to just be cool with Jared rather than weird and tense, so it was like they formed a group in the center of the dance floor all together, with the occasional dive into the pool to cool off from the dancing. 

Somewhere down the line, Carl and Maureen made it out, and Carl wasn't about to let any fear of dancing stop him from going out there, not that he was as inhibited as some of the others -- when Jared saw him, he discarded beer #2 as stealthily as he could, even if it looked like Carl wasn't paying mind anyway. People around them were making out, puking, pissing in the flowers, being pushed in the pool and otherwise going through the various stages of party, while some just looked on, unsure of how to participate.

Then, of course, Carl and Maureen disappeared again, but by 2am, as the party was breaking up, he was there, with a bit of a hangdog look on his face.

"How'd it go?" Jared asked.

"I dunno. Only so far." 

"Well, don't sweat it, dude, all the way on the first date isn't always a thing, especially with nice girls. Got her number?"

"Yeah, course I have her number."

"Then you're good," He told Carl as they headed for the car -- they were sober but a lot of the people around them weren't. 

"I saw Tasha out there, who she with?"

"Football O-Line guy. So how was the party in there?"

"Oh, that's John Randolph, he's cool. And it got a little weird man, Livingston and Pretty Ricki were not doing so hot, he was trying to mack on her and she wasn't having it. Glad we got out."

"Go figure. David Livingston's relationship problems are apparently everyone's problems."

"Dude got sacked like twenty times," not an accurate number, "without Romeo to run the ball and keep the defense guessing, but he's a legend in his own mind. Just because he's the QB, and all. My prediction, that relationship isn't going to last now that football isn't an excuse to avoid breakups."

"That's crazy. Why would they avoid breaking up a relationship because of football?"

"Because it's a football school, man," Carl told him, with some exasperation "And a girl that breaks up with the QB during season is gonna get blamed for his bad performance. Now, no such problem."

"Like I said, that's crazy," Jared shot back.

"Yeah, I know, but that's how it is."

"So you're saying Ricki Trenton's about to be a free woman?"

"Yeah, pretty much man. Watch. Besides, Livingston's gonna be all over her now that season is over, and it's gonna be crampin'. Give it what, a couple weeks?" Carl predicted.

"So is that why he's snapping at other dudes?"

"No, that's why he's snapping at you, dude."

--

The school didn't take defeat well, but the season was over and only Coach Sullivan seemed to be holding on. Well, Coach Sullivan and guys like Livingston, who had difficulty dealing with a return to mortality even as he tried to work out how to snag a college scholarship despite the stats from games without Romeo Holmes. The week passed fast, at least for Jared, because he had two things to do in life, and that made it easy -- he had to do his homework and hockey practice, though right before the game, the slack eased up a bit to let the bruises heal fully and to make sure players were well rested.

The first game of the hockey season was nigh, with an away game against the South Bay Bruins. Dubois had them in the locker room but the speech was short, "Look, this is your first game and you guys are going to want to score goals, but I want you to remember that possession is key. Don't get sloppy, keep possession. Wear them down, the goals will come. Strong defensive play." He also told Landry, especially, "Win those faceoffs, Jared." 

That's how he found himself on the ice, facing the other guy with steely eyes, waiting for that puck to drop in the long, thunderous seconds before the game started, hands on his stick, taped up just the way he liked it. He got a good look at this guy with his brand new pads. Jared looked a little more ratty out there, a little more broken in. His heart thundered and the adrenaline keyed up as if on cue, because he knew what was coming next. But his hands were strangely steady, his eyes peering ahead at the other guy, but he wasn't really seeing. He wasn't paying attention to the dude as he tried to make expressions at him like some sort of little kid, trying to distract him in the face off.

This was what made Jared one of the best players to ever grace the ice at Malden Catholic, one of the top hockey schools in the country, and it was kept a secret by Dubois and the team. Jared rarely ever lost a faceoff.

He didn't see the puck drop so much as he felt it, and the instinct was to snap out his stick and get that thing behind him, to Kluge, their defenseman. Then it was off to the races on skates, pushing into a position to get the puck passed to him, to snap over to the right wing, instinctive stuff, drilled into them in practice. 

"Kluge to Landry, Landry's got two marking him, down to Kozlow, back to Kluge, Landry again and then Montgomer-- SCORE!" The siren went off at minute twelve in the first period four shifts in, after a furious fight to maintain possession. Early on, the Bruins figured out that the first line's center was a guy to mark hard, and during a timeout, after a close call where the puck had gotten to the back wall and was swept around and into Jared's stick, and rattled on target, but this time only stopped by a lucky bounce off the frame of the goal, came up with a new defensive strategy; pile on the center guy and keep him from scoring. 

But then Jared shifted back and played a bit more defensively, on his own recognizance, drawing the guys marking him further away from their goal and then passing out to Montgomery and Kozlow, the left wing, who took advantage of the defensive focus on their center to stretch the Bruins goalkeeper thin with less support. The other shifts weren't quite as prolific; Montgomery and Kozlow got one apiece, Jared assisting in each, and the third shift put in another. Second period, 3-0, and the fans that showed up for the Buchanan Bears, not even full stands, were screaming their heads off. The Bruins were taken aback, because this was supposed to be an easy game. All Dubois did was say, "Don't get cocky, keep possession, don't disrespect your opponents capability."

The Bruins were a pretty good team, but they weren't expecting this sort of smash-mouth hockey, the hard checks and the passing game that threw them off their usually-aggressive offensive style. The more balanced, possession-focused play of the Bears, and the way they shifted to defensive play and back to the offense very quickly, Dubois' endless drilling carrying them through, put them entirely off balance, particularly when the first shift came on and the Bruins had to contend with a triple threat line with a center that shifted to a playmaking and passing role rather than trying to score -- Jared picked out the passes with superior vision and made sure the puck got to where the other guys were skating toward. The Bruins tried to shift to a more defensive play mode, but they weren't as good at it-- in the second half, they started to live dangerously.

Then came the foul late on in the second, a Bruins player in the box for high sticking Jared, who took the smack to the shoulder, though there'd be a bruise later, with a grunt rather than starting a fight. Kluge started in to drop gloves, but Landry grabbed him by the shoulders and told him, helmet-to-helmet, from around his mouthguard, "Come the fuck on, Mike, it's the first foul. No goon shit yet, stay cool." It wasn't the NHL, and maybe Mike Kluge thought it was his job to play hard man, but Jared was fine with the other team fouling, because it meant a power play. It probably was Montgomery's job, but Jared didn't care -- he was an experienced team captain and knew how to keep guys in line.

There was a shift change about that time, when the Bruins player was escorted to the box, and that was when Jared and his shift, something like the millionth that game, or so it felt like, but that was good hockey -- Dubois was a stickler for forty five to sixty second shifts, but he threw in his freshest guys on the power play, figuring that they'd skate hard. It was all figured out ahead of time, because there was little time to do more than put guys in and rely on what they learned in practice.

Jared, dripping sweat off the brow despite the cold of the rink, was too busy sucking down water, but a hand on his shoulder from behind had him turning around, "Tasha," he breathed, still wrung out but with about three minutes to go until he was back on, "What's up?"

"Where'd you learn to play hockey, like that? Holy FUCK." 

"Malden Lancers. You know, that Catholic school you make fun of. One of the best hockey schools in the entire country, I played defenseman but I scored a lot. And I was team captain."

"That's where you're from, in, uh, Massachusetts, right? And you just happened to forget to tell anyone this?"

"Carl knew." 

"Well, Carl knowing helps SO much. I'll have you know that I'm the school paper, I'm supposed to be aware of these things before they happen. Not only that, I was watching these games last year and holy FUCK, you're really good! I mean, I hoping Carl would do well in hockey, because how the baseball team went for him, but I didn't realize you two were...well, like this. I mean, didn't you get the memo? You guys are supposed to be a joke. You're messing with the program, Jared. This is making me work harder," she said mock-poutingly.

"Yeah, Carl's on his game. Hey, no offense, I need to watch this, okay?"

"Wow, yeah, don't let me jinx it."