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was like a consolation prize. You don’t have much use of your legs, so have a Big Smile on me .
    Of course, I never complained about these things out loud. It would only sound bitchy. But the last nine months had been humbling. The old me used to be offended when guys stared at my boobs. Now I only wished people would stare at my boobs. When they looked at me now, they only saw the chair.
    “Four more crunches, Corey. Then you’ll be all set,” Pat said.
    I looked up into Pat’s determined face and crunched. But we both knew I would never be all set .

Chapter Five: Drunk Giraffe on Stilts

    — Corey
    September quickly became October, and life was good. I stayed on top of my course-work, and I learned to navigate the campus with increasing ease. Dana was in the throes of the singing group rush process. Her audition song was Hey There, Delilah , and with all her practicing, I had started to hear that song in my sleep.
    I didn’t have much of my own social life yet, but that was probably going to take some time. Hands down, my favorite Friday and Saturday nights so far had been spent playing RealStix with Hartley. As hockey season got going, Hartley’s friends were increasingly unavailable. They were either at practice, or headed to parties in corners of the campus Hartley didn’t wish to climb to. On those nights, he would flop onto the couch next to me for a few games of hockey. Sometimes we put on a movie afterward.
    “You know, you depend too much on your team captain,” Hartley said one night, when I was losing.
    I wasn’t about to tell him, but the reason I was losing that night had very little to do with my center, and everything to do with the fact that Hartley was not wearing a shirt. I’d spent the last half hour trying not to drool over Hartley’s six-pack.
    He cracked open a bottle of beer and offered it to me, but I waved it away. “Digby is good, but there are other players on the ice.”
    “But Digby is dreamy,” I said, setting down my controller. And it was true — even the digitized version of the Puffins’ captain made my heart go pitter-patter. He was almost the hottest hockey player I could name. The hottest one was sitting beside me on the sofa.
    Hartley snorted into his beer. “Seriously?” He laughed, which meant I got to see more of his smile. “Callahan, I thought you were a real fan. I didn’t realize you were a puck bunny.”
    That made me gasp. “And I didn’t realize you were an asshole.”
    He held up two hands defensively, one of them still clutching his beer. “Whoa, just a little joke.”
    I bit my lip, trying to dial back my irritation. Puck bunny was a derogatory term for women who liked hockey players much more than they liked hockey. Nobody had ever called me that before. The happiest moments of my life had been spent on the rink.
    Hartley eased his broken leg onto the table and cocked his head, like a golden retriever. “I hit a nerve? I’m sorry.”
    Reaching across the sofa, I took the beer out of his hand and stole a swig. “I guess I should start painting my face and yelling at the refs. Since I’m such a big fan .”
    I stretched the bottle back in his direction, but he didn’t take it back. He just looked at me so intently that I wondered if he could hear my thoughts. “Callahan,” he said slowly. “Are you a hockey player ?”
    For a minute, we just blinked at each other. I’d always been a player — since I was five years old. And now, at best, I was just a fan. And that really stung.
    Swallowing hard, I answered the question. “I was a player. Before, you know… Before I gave it up.” I felt a prickle behind my eyes. But I was not going to cry in front of Hartley. I took a deep breath in through my nose.
    He licked his lips. “You told me your father was a high-school coach.”
    “He was my high-school coach.”
    “No shit?” Hartley cracked open a new beer without ever breaking eye contact. “What position do you play?”
    Did I play.