Darkroom: A Moo U Hockey Romance

had this way of asking me questions that not only made me really think but that I wanted to answer. I’d found myself voicing feelings that I usually didn’t share with other people or even examine for myself. And then, like a slap in the face, he’d said that shitty thing and it had felt like someone had said, “Indi, congratulations, you just won a new car!” and then a moment later told me it was a joke.
I’d tried to forget about it and him but when he walked into the classroom today, it stirred everything up again.
Despite my scattered thoughts, I managed to take some decent notes, but at the close of the class, Professor Larkmont dropped a bomb on us.
“We’re about out of time,” she said, “so quickly, written assignment 1A is to choose two of the pioneering photographers from the list provided and write a total of five hundred words about their contribution to photography. That is due on Friday. In the meantime, you should be getting a jump on the first portrait assignment which is due on the twenty-fifth. For those of you who have neglected to read the syllabus, you must pair up with someone from class, someone you don’t already know. You hear me in the back?”
Some grumbling from the hockey contingent could be heard as she dismissed the class. They weren’t the only ones thrown for a loop.
I had read the syllabus and seen the assignment required a partner, but I’d assumed Ruby and I would work together. Now, compelled to find someone else, I broke out into a cold sweat. When I was a little girl, when a teacher told us to pair up or form a group, I was often everyone’s last choice or worse, I was shunned. The person or group would close ranks or turn their backs on me. When this happened, the teacher would either force someone to be my partner or step in and be my partner herself. It was an exercise in humiliation.
I usually managed to hold in the tears in until I got home where I would tell my mother what happened. As she enfolded me in her comforting arms, she would remind me how perfect I was, that I should never change to fit someone else’s ideal and when people were mean to me, I should feel bad for them because what a person was like on the inside was more important than what they looked like. Easier said than done.
Once I learned to cover my birthmark with makeup, I didn’t have any difficulty finding a partner when required, but that didn’t stop the anxiety, or the memories, for that matter, from reappearing in a rush.
As I packed up my things, my stomach in knots, I was surprised by a tap on my shoulder.
It was, of course, Hudson.
“Hi,” he said with a tentative smile.
I nodded once, my jaw tight.
“I wanted to apologize to you for what I said on Friday. It sounded like I thought you wanted to be white, as if being white was something all non-white people aspire to, and that’s not what I meant, or believe, for that matter.” Sighing, he shifted his weight, a heavy-looking backpack on his shoulder. “I was just trying to confirm what I thought you were saying—that you’d wanted to be like your parents. That’s all. And it came out wrong. Really wrong and I apologize.”
He looked me in the eye during his entire speech and as I took in the remorse on his face, the anger and hurt I’d felt all weekend seemed to evaporate. He seemed sincere and I was no saint myself. I’d said things before that I wished I hadn’t or had come out differently from what I’d intended.
“Apology accepted,” I said and a smile broke out on his face.
Lord, that smile needed to come with a disclaimer. Side effects of this smile may include raised temperatures, heart palpitations and increased sexual desire.
“I want to make it up to you somehow,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Two voices said simultaneously, “Yes he does.”
Arms crossed, Ruby looked at the guy who was standing next to Hudson. “Who are you?” she asked.
He grinned. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
Without skipping a beat, Ruby said, “I think you must have me confused with someone else. I only have five fingers.” She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers to prove she was not the Six-Fingered Man from the movie.
“Ah, a fellow Princess Bride fan,” he said, holding out his own hand.
Ruby shook it. “Ruby Chang.”
“AJ Scoville.” He jerked a thumb at Hudson. “This guy’s roommate. Want to be partners for that portrait project?”
“Sure,” she said.
As they stepped away to discuss the details, I pressed my lips together. It was my childhood all over again. When faced with a choice, people never chose me. But I had to rise above and not let my insecurities get the better of me. I was a twenty-one-year-old woman, not a seven-year-old child.
I turned to Hudson. “Hey, you wanted to know how you can make it up to me? Be my partner for the portrait project.” I hoped I sounded carefree and not as if a lifetime’s worth of angst was in my throat.
“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he said.
My mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, but then he said, “See, you’re supposed to pick something that’s like a punishment or a chore. At least, that’s how it usually goes when my dad messes up with my mom. Partnering with you is the opposite of a punishment. I want to be your partner.”

9
Hudson
I was getting dressed for practice, thinking about how perfectly the relationship reboot had worked that morning when a burst of laughter came from the doorway. Birdy and Briggs ambled into the locker room. They seemed to be taking their time, which wasn’t smart because Coach Keller did not tolerate tardiness and we were expected on