The Perils of Pauline by Collette Yvonne Page A

take it anymore? Even though Bibi and I are the most senior players on the bench, Bibi is still the best goalie in the league and I can still clean out the corners for them.
    I glide around the ice, flexing my wrists and whipping pucks into the glass above the boards. In the corner, pitching pucks to us is our team captain, Mackie. As I skate by she yells, “Hey, Parril, get the lead out, we’re taking out those pussies from Poughkeepsie tonight.”
    Good old Mackie’s coming off her third tour of active duty. She and I go back a long way. She yanked me out of the mud in basic and re-upped after I left. One round was enough for me. Since then she’s seen it all, from the Gulf to the scorching desert of Al Anbar and, to no one’s surprise, always comes home without a scratch.
    I pick up the pace. I’ve got my high sticking groove on now. Huh. That little left-winger over there thinks she knows how to play hockey? We’ll show these kittens what it’s all about.

CHAPTER 5
Hazard
    Hazard: A condition with the potential to cause injury, illness, or death of personnel; damage to or loss of equipment or property; or mission degradation.—Department of Defense Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms
    I hate being late. The parking lots are jammed so I have to park in the back of beyond and run for class through a cloudburst. As I arrive inside and hurtle around the corner, I spot Fortune ahead, also running late. He waits for me at the door, holding it open with a smile. The rain makes his hair curl up at the ends. I want to run my finger through one of the dark rings on his neck.
    Fortune hands our essay proposals back. As I scan the pages, I can feel my mouth go all baggy: the top of the page is marked with a C+ and a scrawled comment: A good start on a thorny topic, but not much more than a start. If you wish to try to improve your grade, you may take one week to rewrite and resubmit your work.—M. Fortune
    I’d like to stab a sharp stick through one of those scraggly curls. Rewrite my proposal? Fortune must have made a mistake. At the end of class, I wait behind to protest my mark.
    Fortune glances over my paper for a minute, and says, “I can’t increase your grade as things stand. In fact, I may have been too generous.”
    My face feels hot. “What do I need to do to improve it then?”
    “I have time now to go over your proposal if you like, in my office. Or we could go to the Dingy Cup. I could use a coffee.”
    Dingwall’s campus pub is packed but we manage to snag a tiny table at the back. Fortune begins: “Your ideas have potential but you need to think them through. Do you like to read?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Who are you reading right now?”
    I can’t possibly tell him that waiting on my bed stand is the latest Stephenie Meyer novel. What have I read lately that isn’t on the assigned reading list? What’s underneath Meyer? “ Beloved ! Toni Morrison!” I say.
    “Excellent,” he says. “You need to read as widely as possible. Don’t be afraid to read poetry as well as prose.”
    Taking a pen and paper, he jots down titles of books and papers that he wants me to read. Squeezed into the corner with Michael, shoulder-to-shoulder, poring over a growing list that contains names like Maya Angelou, Allen Ginsberg, and Robert Pinsky, I remember our motorcycle ride and the warm spring breeze in our faces. Now we’re having iced coffees and talking rhyme, free verse, ballads, and couplets. I feel like I’m coming awake after a long and dreamless sleep.
     
    What a boring way to spend a Saturday night: my butt is sore from sitting in front of the computer for hours, writing. I’ll show that Michael Fortune how to revise an essay proposal.
    The phone rings: it’s Mom. She has a new boyfriend. “Ted’s a stockbroker and he looked over my portfolio. He says Donald’s a genius. I’m set for life.”
    Mom has been Donald’s biggest fan ever since she and Dad went to Doubles for financial advice.