Practice made a lot of sense; sure, he heard Gabe's side of it, and the guy lamenting that Heather Voss let him know where he stood. When the other guys told Gabe to just get a move on with it, Jared stayed silent and out of it, mostly out of guilt -- which was why he didn't want to give Gabe advice. It would sound more than a little self-interested if he said anything.

Not that he had any idea what to do with what Heather Voss told him; it felt a little too much like he was playing the vulture, and there was the image of that Gold Digger video on his mind. 

All that trouble was, at least, an incentive to forget about it by playing hockey. Work up a sweat, get wrung out, focus on the next breath rather than the problems far away. That was the gist of it, anyway. They had to play a game, and there was the whole element of the Winter Formal fast approaching, though that was at least a few games down the road; the season lasted late-October through March, maybe longer if they hit national level playoffs, and they were moving steadily closer to the December date of the Formal, which no doubt lent some of the weight to Gabe's concern.

Carl, however, was the one that called out serenely, while they were gabbing on the bench, "Y'all worry about winning the games, and the pussy will come at the formal son!"

That was pretty much what Jared said to Carl when he had pre-game jitters, but somehow having his wisdom reflected back at him gave him the focus he needed in the practice, "Yeah, don't let this bullshit with Livingston, or the women, affect the play. The better we do on the ice, the better we do with the girls. Capisce?"

--

When practice broke, Carl and Jared were hauling out their own equipment and packing it into Carl's car, which wasn't the largest for the amount of stuff they had to drop in there. Once in the car, with the music going, there was a moment to talk in absolute private about all the shit going on that day.

"Man, I just hope Montgomery keeps his focus with all this shit." Carl said.

"Yeah, well he's the captain, but I dunno, the coach was looking at him funny," Jared admitted. 

"Well, he's got this shit with Heather Voss and Ricki Trenton and Livingston and then there's you," Carl pointed out.

"Yeah, but I don't blame any of that shit with Livingston on him, the dude isn't right, it's like steroidal rage or something." 

"Sure, but the point is, Gabe has two different women he's trying to chase, he can't figure out what you think, and then there's Livingston...man, if Livingston wanted to run your ass over, what you think he gonna do when he corners Gabe?"

"I dunno if Heather Voss is going back into the fold, man," Jared finally admitted, "She kind of made it clear to me that she wasn't interested in Gabe anymore."

"Oh snap. When did that happen?"

"On my way from the cafeteria to the art room, I stopped to take a piss and she kinda caught me."

"Well, she is hot."

"Yeah, but isn't it kind of...weird?" 

Carl laughed, "Man, taking Heather Voss for a date or two ain't the worst thing you could do to get out of this mess right about now. Look, at the very least it backs Livingston off. Gabe might just be relieved, especially if he's running after Ricki Trenton, which...well, look at the window, homeboy." 

Jared swiveled around to see the two of them having some sort of conversation by Ricki's car.

"Could be anything, don't get your hopes up, Carl. Nothing ever resolves that easily," he said grimly.

"And what's this about your mom dating highway patrol, man?"

"I guess I wasn't paying attention, because usually her boyfriends are come and go and some of them are dickbags, so I stopped...I dunno, it sounds so typical right? I didn't give a shit about any of her dudes and she didn't seem serious anyway. I dunno what to think, except the guy has a good job and seems alright, but that doesn't mean anything. Just you wait and see, Carl. My mom has the opposite of the Luck of the Irish when it comes to boyfriends."

"Yeah, well maybe that luck changes when she gets your ass off to college."

Jared put a hand over his heart, like wounded.

--

Wednesday rolled around and there was some buzz throughout the school as David Livingston made his comeback. Before the homeroom could even get started in Ms. Andrews, there was a degree of understanding that Gabe and Jared weren't going to leave each other alone, and that meant they were sticking together like glue.

Gabe seemed a bit grateful, "So you really aren't pissed?"

"No, dude, it's not really your fault he's crazy and that he'd apparently take it out on me."

"I think he figures it's like, I dunno, like if someone broke Romeo's leg. He's trying to cripple the team and me specifically."

"That's pretty fucked up thinking."

"Don't remember Nancy Kerrigan, do you?"

"Yeah, well Nancy Kerrigan wasn't a hockey player."

Livingston was somewhere around, and Jared managed to catch sight; the dude at least looked more roughed up than Jared did -- Jared still had a bruise from the hit the Bruins gave him, but Livingston was walking around with a shiner that he hadn't had before. When Jared slugged the dude, he hadn't had time to appreciate the handiwork, but he couldn't help but think well of it when he caught a glimpse of it. He got a flat, angry stare in return to his glance when someone touched his arm.

Heather Voss, wearing something off-the-shoulder which, to her advantage, showed off a degree of definition in the shoulder and arms from cheerleading, as well as a pair of jeans that could have, quite possibly, been an advertisement for jeans. Maybe she'd read some sort of guide or maybe she'd just figured out that Jared was the earthier type, and too much bling would simply put him on the defensive.

"How's the assignment going, Jared?" she asked brightly, "you have anything going yet?"

"Yeah, we managed to work on things Monday night," he was careful in pronouncing those words, as if to point out to nearby listeners that Ricki Trenton and he were doing schoolwork, "so I think we're ahead of the game."

"And what about the Sabercats? You think you're ahead of that game?"

"We'll find out on Friday."

"You play it pretty close to the chest, don't you? Some people," she shifted eyes at Gabe, who seemed to be trying to drift away a bit, "like to talk themselves up, but you don't really like to put yourself forward, do you?"

Jared was tempted to squirm a bit, and others were watching and listening by now, "Well, what happens if I talk up beating down the Sabretooths and we don't show up? Wasn't it Mr. T who said "Don't write checks with your mouth that your body can't cash?'"

She laughed for a moment, before she got serious again; and moved in a little closer, "Well, how about a check you can cash? How would you like to go to the Winter Formal with me?" 

He wasn't sure what precisely made him say yes, but while it solved a few problems, it created a few more.