Frostbitten: The Complete Series (3 page)

CHAPTER TWO
KANE PATRICK

Wade had been through this many times before. His jaded demeanour was accentuated by a number of ticks and bored mannerisms. Every one of his loud sighs was a long deep groan. Each time he looked down at the day’s course work, he would hold his eyes shut for a moment—internally motivating himself to power through it.

While he waited anxiously for the class to get underway, he would rub his thumb against his pointer finger in small circles, and he would tap his foot perfectly in rhythm with the tick of the clock. If you listened closely you could even hear his teeth chatter along with the clock’s precise metronome.

The room’s stagnant silence was only ever disturbed by the occasional gust of icy wind blowing thick snowflakes against the school window.

“We may as well get started,” Wade said, breaking the silence. He looked down at his attendance list.

“Andrew Walker,” Wade read aloud.

“That’s me,” Andrew said with a handsome smile on his tired face.

“Kane Patrick.”

The room was silent.

“Kane–Kane Patrick?” Wade read again.

There was still no answer.

“Okay, moving along—Hanna Wilkinson.”

“Here,” Hanna said in a coy silence.

“Okay, good... How’s about Brittany Bru—Bru–Bruch—ev…” Wade tried to read.

“Brucheveskyj,” Brittany said, pronouncing her difficult name. “Brew-Chev-Es-Ski.”

“Brucheveskyj,” Wade said slowly. “Russian?”

“Polish,” Brittany corrected.

“Right,” Wade said. He looked back down at his list. “Connor Knight,” he read.

Again, there was no response, eliciting one of Mr. Fenner’s characteristic deep groaning sighs.

“Okay, and then...” Wade said, looking down. “Oh, that’s it,” Wade said as he realized he had already reached the end of his tiny attendance list. “I guess we’re done with that. I’ll introduce myself,” Wade said as he pushed back his chair and stretched his back out.

As Wade slowly stood up from his desk and opened his mouth to speak, the door opened. Another man walked in from the cold.

The new man wore a long black pea coat, and his hair was dark and long—down to his shoulders. He made no eye contact with anyone as he entered, and he carried no bag with him. The man carried a shroud of mystery with him.

He sat down in the back of the room, as far away as he possibly could from any other form of life. As the man pushed his dark messy hair off of his face, he finally scanned the quiet room. Andrew smiled and nodded at him.

“You’re late,” Mr. Fenner said to the man.

The man looked down at his surprisingly nice wristwatch with a puzzled look on his face. “I’m right on time,” the mysterious man replied. “It’s exactly eight.” His deep voice had a flare of hoarseness to it.

“It’s almost a minute after eight. If you aren’t five minutes early, then you’re late.”

“The program said to be here at eight...”

“I expect everyone to be five minutes early for class,” Wade said, dismissing the program.

“Then what’s the point of setting the start time at eight? Just set the start time for seven fifty-five.”

The man appeared to be a few years older than the rest of his classmates—although that wasn’t the case. Unfortunately, life’s mysterious circumstances had taken their toll on the man’s appearance. The skin on his face appeared weathered, despite the man only being twenty years old. Under his eyes were dark circles, and he was already starting to develop crow’s feet. His early-blooming dark facial hair didn’t help his aged appearance either—despite being neatly styled into a goatee.

Wade released another deep groan. “For you, perhaps I will do just that.” Wade forced a jaded smile at the late student. “What’s your name?” Wade asked in a monotonous, unenthusiastic voice.

“Kane,” the mysterious boy said.

“Kane—Kane Patrick,” Wade said as he marked Kane as late on his attendance. He looked up at the class as he mumbled something incoherent to himself.

“There are a lot of great, respectable people who are bad at math, and great, respectable people who are bad at science. Hell, there are even great people who are terrible with English—and that’s okay. But there are no great, respectable people who are unprofessional—remember that. Being chronically late for class is worse than failing the final exam as far as I’m concerned. Employers will still hire you if you have your academic shortcomings—most people do. Employers will not hire you if you are unprofessional.”

Brittany watched Wade’s lips move as he talked. Instead of hearing his cheesy, overly-prepared speech, she heard, “I hope you like community college, because that’s where you’re headed.”

“Do you think that the guys in the NHL all made it there because of their talent? No. Those guys made it because they act like professionals. They were the guys who made it out to practice every day. They were the guys who played the whole sixty minutes, night in and night out.

“Sure, you’ve got your Crosbys and your Ovechkins, but that’s just a few guys among thousands.” Wade looked directly at Kane and waited for Kane to respond.

“Who?” Kane asked.

“Crosby? Sidney Crosby? Alexander Ovechkin?” Wade asked.

“Never heard of ‘em,” Kane said. Kane wasn’t being sarcastic or facetious. He legitimately didn’t know anything about hockey.

Wade took a deep breath in and then groaned loudly. Brittany quietly giggled at the teacher’s floundering.

“Just don’t be late, or you won’t pass,” Wade said firmly.

As if on cue, the door opened and the final student walked in to the room.

He was tall and fit, with neat short hair and a chiselled, athletic jawline. He was your classic high school stud. He scanned the small room for an ideal place to sit–a sea of empty desks.

“Please have a seat,” Mr. Fenner said impatiently.

Connor hesitated a moment.

“Right there is fine,” Wade said, quickly losing the final ounce of patience he still had in his body.

The strapping young man took the nearest seat, which happened to be right next to Brittany.

“Your name?” Wade asked.

“Connor Knight.”

“Don’t be late for my class again.”

“I’m sorry—It won’t happen again. I borrowed my friend’s truck, but it got stuck in the snow…”

“I don’t care–don’t do it again, please,” Wade said, cutting Connor off.

Wade straightened his back—finally able to begin his class. He cleared his throat with a series of deep coughs, and he rolled his head in small circle, getting the cricks out of his stiff, chubby neck.

Brittany silently chuckled again at the eccentric teacher and his bizarre mannerisms.

“I’m used to bigger classes,” Wade said. “This is supposed to be a twenty-student class. I’m sure you can all guess why this particular group is so small—and I bet you are all wondering why, despite recent events, I’m still teaching the class.”

Wade looked around the class, immediately noticing that Kane wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was looking around the room, scanning his fellow student’s faces.

“Mr. Patrick,” Wade said.

Kane looked at Wade. “Yeah?”

“Do I have your attention?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to know why I’m teaching this class?”

“Why?” Kane asked.

“Partly because I have a screaming newborn and a hormonal teenaged daughter at home. But mostly, it’s because—believe it or not—I care about your educations.

“Now—This class is going to be a different experience than what you’re used to. First off—it’s a high school course, but this isn’t a high school, as I’m sure you all noticed. We’re in an SBU classroom. Unlike high school, you’re actually paying to be here. This is a course that you, or your parents, have paid for because there is actually something you want to do that requires this class. The Education Board has nothing to do with this class—which means I’m free to run the show however I want. I will personally input your final grade into the database, which gets sent to the provincial education system. What does that mean for you? It means, don’t be a shithead.

“Also, because I am certified to run this class however I’d like, I get to give you whatever grade that I’d like. I have the power to look the other way on your tests and your assignments if I so choose. Unlike your high school teachers, I have the right to remove you from the class for any reason I want. I can say ‘shit’ all I want. I can even say ‘Jesus was a transgendered pedophile’ if I really want to, and I don’t have to worry about losing my job. No, I’m not above the law, and I can’t slap your faces, no matter how badly I want to, but I also don’t have the Education Board breathing down my neck. So let me say this now, with as much emphasis as I can: If you show me your respect, you will succeed.”

CHAPTER THREE
CONNOR KNIGHT

“Before I start, I want you all to write down this number on the white board here,” Wade said, pointing to a poorly written phone number. “No, it isn’t my number. It’s the number for the University’s new Safe Walk program. I, the university, and the police strongly discourage anyone here walking home alone—no matter how ‘cool’ or ‘manly’ you think you are,” Wade said, looking right at Kane. “Two university volunteers will come right to the class and walk you home.

“I’ve also been asked to make sure you all know why this is so important–But I feel like everyone here already knows, so I won’t bother.”

“I thought the victims were all teachers,” Andrew said.

“Professors—not teachers. And no, two of them were TA’s.”

“What’s the difference?” Brittany asked.

“TA’s are students trying to get extra credits towards their masters degree. Professors are hired—But that’s irrelevant. Just call the damn number before you go home so that I don’t have to deal with having to give police statements. And so I don’t have to feel guilty because you thought you were too ‘cool’ to get walked home.”

Wade looked around the class at his students—none of whom were writing down the number.

“At least pretend to take the number down—Jesus,” Wade said.

Everyone pulled out their phones to store the Safe Walk phone number.

“Moving on… I can finally introduce myself. My name is Mr. Fenner. I will be your professor. I’ve been teaching University English for fifteen years. I’ve been teaching night classes like this one for five years.

“When I was your age, I found myself in the same position that you’ve all found yourselves in. I fell behind in school because I was more focussed on my hockey career. I ended up getting drafted to the AHL, so I dropped out of high school. A couple of years later, life happened and I had to quit playing.

“I had to take night courses, just like this one, in order to apply for University. So consider me sympathetic of your situation. I’ve been in your shoes before.”

“What happened?” Kane asked.

“What was that?”

“Why did you get kicked out of the AHL?”

“I didn’t get kicked out.”

“Whatever...”

“I found out my wife was pregnant.”

“Oh—shitty,” Kane said.

Wade sighed and then refocused his attention back on the whole class. “This course lasts ten weeks—at the same time every week night. I don’t care if it’s Friday night, and all of your friends are going to some big party—I expect you to be here every night. I make very few exceptions, and I will not hesitate to fail you. One more note, before I start—You may or may not know this, but this is your last chance to finish high school English. If you fail this class, they do not let you sign up again. Every university in the country requires you to have finished high school English, so don’t screw this last chance up—or you’ll be dropping greeter applications off at the local Walmart. Is that clear?”

The class was silent.

“Yes, Mr. Fenner. As clear as day,” Wade said, impersonating the class. “Okay, enough talking. Let’s get started. I want everyone to copy down what I write on the board. We’re going to start by talking about nouns, verbs and subjects.”

Wade turned to the board and began to write down a list of words.

“Hey,” Kane whispered to Hanna across a series of empty desks.

Hanna looked over at the longhaired boy.

“Can I borrow a piece of paper?” Kane asked.

Without replying, Hanna tore a piece of paper out from her binder.

“And a pen?” Kane asked. “Sorry–I didn’t have a minute to pick anything up.”

Hanna dug into her bag and retrieved a spare pen. She handed it to Kane.

“Thanks,” Kane said. “I owe you one.”

Hanna forced a smile and then looked back towards the front of the class.

Brittany turned and looked at Connor. As she did, Connor looked up at her.

“Hey,” Brittany said with a smile.

“Hi,” Connor said.

“I’m Brittany.”

“Connor—Nice to meet you.”

Brittany looked at Connor curiously for a moment. “Did you go to Vanier in high school?”

“No—I went to Bellmore.”

“Oh. For some reason you look familiar,” Brittany said.

“Really?” Connor asked.

“Yeah,” Brittany said.

As Brittany stared at Connor, Connor noticed Hanna out of the corner of his eye. His gaze was instantly drawn to the shy dark-haired girl. Mesmerized, Connor sunk into an almost hypnotic gaze.

“Connor?” Brittany said.

Connor snapped out of his daydream and looked back at Brittany. “Huh?” he said.

“I said–I know you somehow, don’t I?”

“Really?”

“Yeah–Do you live on Crescent Road?”

“Oh—Yeah, I do.”

“I live just down the street from you–That’s right! I’ve seen you playing hockey in your driveway.”

“Oh—funny. Small world,” Connor said, his mind still churning over the image of Hanna.

“Do you play?”

“Do I play?”

“Hockey.”

“Hockey?” Connor said, not quite tuned back into reality. “Oh, yeah. I was first line centre for the Bellmore Lynx.”

“Really? The first line?” Brittany asked. “I bet you’re really good.”

“Yeah—I was pretty good.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to skate,” Brittany said as she stared into Connor’s blue eyes. “No one’s ever taught me how.”

“Oh, well you should definitely learn sometime. There are some great courses at The Centennial–The rink near our neighbourhood. It’s a lot of fun,” Connor replied naively.

He looked back over at Hanna, and found himself lost once again in his own imagination.

“Hey,” Andrew whispered at the duo.

Brittany and Connor turned and looked at Andrew.

“The campus bar is just around the corner from here. My brother-in-law is the bartender, and can probably get us a few drinks on the house. If you guys want, we should all go grab a drink after class” Andrew suggested.

“Um,” Brittany said.

Before she could answer—“I’m down,” Connor said.

“Cool,” Andrew said.

“I’ll come,” Brittany said.

“Great—pass it on to everyone else.”

And just like that, six players stepped onto the stage to reprise their role in life’s curious fiction. Unknown to all of them, their lives would quickly become an interrelated mosaic of love, friendship and tragedy. Their individual fates would rest in the actions—past, present and future—of one another.