"So, why chess club?"

Wisps of smoke curl out of the corners of his mouth and he tries to hold them in while still grinning at me. I take a huge hit of the joint that he's offering me and shrug.

"I figured there was no chance that any of the jocks would be there." I blow a perfect smoke ring at him and add, "Besides, I used to play with my grandma and it was alright. Better than Song and Dance club."

I hand the joint back to him and blow one more smoke ring at him.

"Show off…"

I give him a shocked look. "You can't do that?"

He glares at me and I grin charmingly.

"It's all in the throat."

A slow smirk stretches across his face and he says, almost like he can't help it, "That's what she said."

We both erupt into a fit of laughter and I struggle to control my breathing as he hands me the joint back. I finally calm down enough to take a hit as he asks, "So why this big aversion to jocks? You're a lacrosse player… You should be captain of the douchebags."

"Just for that…" I exhale the smoke and take another huge hit without handing it to him and he frowns.

"Didn't your mom ever teach you to share?"

"Didn't yours ever teach you not to call people you just met a douchebag?"

He grabs the joint from my fingers and shakes his head.

"I didn't call you a douchebag. I said you should be a douchebag, which implies that you aren't a douchebag, so in reality I just paid you a compliment. You should be flattered, not hogging the weed."

"Yeah, whatever."

In this light his eyes are a subtle blue-grey, and for the briefest moment I'm convinced I must be dreaming. Despite his horrible reputation at this school, the moment I saw him he seemed untouchable, as though he was just visiting from some faraway place. To have him sitting in front of me in the back of the Audio Visual room smoking a joint and trading banter, it feels as though I've known him forever. I somehow return to reality, to find him staring at me expectantly.

"Uh, sorry what?"

He's smirking at my obvious lack of attention.

"I asked if you like hockey."

"Yeah. I went to a couple games back home. There aren't a whole lot of opportunities to play though, not like here."

"You skate?'

"Some. Not enough to play but I can get around the rink without killing myself."

He passes me what is now a roach and grins. "That's good. You should be killing other people, not killing yourself. Why don't you join the hockey club instead of Chess Club?"

"I didn't even know it was an option. I'm pretty sure I looked at every flyer in Haver's office and I do not recall seeing one for hockey."

"That's because it's really only the team. I'm sure once you meet them they'll be fine with it. In fact," He glances at his watch, "My time with Haves is almost over. I'm supposed to head down there right now. You want to come watch us play, maybe skate some laps?"

"Sure."

He stands, his movements oddly fluid for someone his size, and offers me his hand. I reach for it then pull back suddenly as it shocks me. He gives me an odd look as he rubs his hand on his shirt and then offers it back to me. I take it cautiously and he pulls me up effortlessly.

We exit the dark building just as a line of boys carrying chessboards and a boom box are walking toward it. They skirt around us, leaving an almost comical amount of space as they head for the door.

I turn and glare at them and the last one in line makes a small 'eep' noise and almost pushes the boy ahead of him into the building.

"Are they all scared of you?"

Fulton looks back at me questioningly. "Who?"

Did he really not see their unwillingness to even walk by him?

"All the students here."

He shrugs. "I don't even notice anymore. I like to be left alone."

I let the subject drop, since the next logical question is why he tolerates me, after only meeting me a half an hour ago. I'm not sure I'm ready to go there, since I'm not sure I'll like the answer, so instead I follow silently.

We swing by the guidance office to let Mrs. Haver know where I'll be. When Fulton tells her, she raises an eyebrow but is silent, instead just nodding and penciling something onto a piece of paper on her desk.

I follow silently as he leads me down a wide stone path toward a towering black building that he identifies as the sports complex. As we walk inside there's a large sign with arrows pointing to the various courts and such inside; apparently it houses not only the ice rink but an indoor basketball court, Olympic size swimming pool, racquetball court and several indoor tennis courts. He heads left and we walk down a large, brightly lit hallway that is lined with trophies from every sport imaginable; big trophies, the ones they give you when you win championships. There are also photos on the wall of numerous star athletes that began their careers at this school; hall of fame basketball players, Stanley Cup winners, Heisman trophy and Superbowl winners. He doesn't seem phased in the least, not even when we pass a picture of Dean Buckley standing with the entire Minnesota Wild team.

We finally turn at a small sign marked HLR1 and he pushes open the door to reveal a large locker room. There are several other boys already in there changing into hockey gear and a few are lacing up skates and walking through a door marked 'Rink'. Fulton throws his bag down next to an empty space and motions for me to sit.

"What size skates do you wear?"

"Twelve."

He nods and pulls a duffle bag down from the top shelf and begins digging through it, muttering to himself.

"My last pair of skates should fit you. If not I'll see if I can find any in the shop."

He throws a pair of thick socks at me before holding up a pair of worn black skates.

"Try those on and tell me if they fit."

I obey wordlessly, trying to ignore the numerous stares being thrown my way from his teammates. While I pull on the skates, he begins to quickly change into full gear; padded pants, shoulder pads, and brace on his left elbow, and then shrugs into a faded green jersey with a duck on the front. I managed to squeeze into the skates and lace them up, and by the time I'm done he's completely changed and waiting patiently.

"I think they fit."

"Well, they should be snug, but without hurting your toes. Try standing up."

I obey once more and find they fit perfectly. He nods with satisfaction when I tell him this.

"I thought so. Well, let's go introduce you to the team," and he grabs his gloves, stick and helmet and marches toward the door. I follow awkwardly, trying not to break an ankle on the thin blades. We move through the door and he steps gracefully out onto the ice while I stare in amusement. There are pro teams that don't have rinks this nice. The ice is perfectly smooth and there's a professional zambonie parked on the other side of the boards. The scoreboard is dark with a large duck on it, similar to the one of his jersey but in red and white instead of green and white. His teammates are circling the ice, one following after the other and the two goalies are warming up on either side of the ice. The big guy on the far side ignores me but the girl closest to me takes off her goalie mask and gives me a curious look.

Fulton skates over to a pale boy with short brown hair and converses with him for a second before motioning to me. As he turns I see the 'C' on the front of his jersey and realize that he's the captain. He listens to Fulton for a moment longer then smiles and nods and Fulton waves me over. I swallow hard, realizing I'm going to have to skate over there and I suddenly remember how long it's been since I've been on ice skates.

A long time…

I put one foot on the ice tentatively and am thankful when it all comes back to me; shift my weight forward, keep my ankles strong and before I know it I'm moving steadily toward Fulton and the Captain. I manage to stop without falling over and the other boy gives me a smile.

"Hi, I'm Charlie."

"Portman." I shake his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Any friend of Fulton's is a friend of mine."

"All none of them!" A redheaded boy shouts as he goes skating by.

Charlie smirks and looks over his shoulder.

"Shut up Averman!"

"Aye aye, captain!" and the redhead, Averman, salutes him before nearly running into another of his teammates.

"You're more than welcome to skate around until you get used to it. We normally just fool around and play games, or shoot goals. We try to save the real scrimmage for when Coach is watching."

He gives me a friendly smile and I instantly feel more comfortable.

"Sounds good."

Moments later I find out he's not joking. Several of the players are trying to score goals skating backwards, Averman has been trying to learn how to rope from a skinny boy wearing a cowboy hat and the small Asian kid has been doing some fancy figure skating moves in the center of the ice. They hardly look like a championship-winning hockey team. Charlie skates along with Fulton and me, both giving me pointers and encouragement. I've finally found my groove and I've managed to skate several laps without faltering once.

Out on the ice I see a whole different side of Fulton. That one day in class he seemed distant, as though he were a million miles away. Out here he's smiling and laughing with Charlie, joking with me and occasionally he'll skate off to tug one of the girls braids and then take off, leaving them shouting jokingly after him. Throughout the next couple hours I'm introduced to the rest of the team and they all give me the same the look, friendly with a thinly veiled curiosity. I'm beginning to think Averman wasn't entirely joking when he said that Fulton didn't have any friends.

I pause behind the far goal to take a breather and give him another contemplative look.

Why is he so nice to me?

AN- I know its short but at this point I'm just happy that I'm writing anything… I really want to finish this story, and I think I know where I'm going with it so please, all three readers that I have left, bear with me… He he. Chapter title is a Johnny Cash song.