Chapter Text
Late December 2001
Faribault, Minnesota
It’s winter break and Scott is alone. There are only a few people still on campus, the kids whose families don’t want them back for the break. The kids who don’t have anywhere to go. A few staff as chaperones, enjoying extra holiday pay. The scattered remnants of the populace of St. Thomas, left to freeze or die of boredom, whichever comes first.
Scott’s not really got anyone to go back to. He supposes he could have asked his grandma to come get him, but that's a 20 hour drive, if you don’t stop. And he’s pretty sure she hasn’t renewed her passport. She forgets stuff like that when Scott isn’t around to remind her.
It would be rude of him to ask for her to buy him a plane ticket. He’s already been enough of a burden. And if she did buy him a ticket he would need to find someone to drive him to the airport, an hour away. Plus, he’s a minor, so that's also a whole ordeal. And then, she would have to pick him up from Montréal–Dorval and she hates driving in winter. During the best of times she white-knuckles the steering wheel, while Scott squeezes the little handle above the passenger window.
And to do what? Sit in her dusty, quiet assisted living apartment and read comic books? Go for runs and ignore the fact that she’s on her way out and once she’s gone he’ll truly be alone? It’s better he stays here, alone and shoveling sidewalks around town for spare cash. At least it's been snowing buckets so he can afford a couple meals if he gets sick of the dining hall food.
He only needs to do the whole staying miserable at boarding school thing for one more year. Then he’ll go to college and play in the NCAA like his parents would have wanted, get a couple college credits before he gets called up to the Show, maybe win a frozen four championship. He used to be more worried about having a backup plan, but he’s one of the most talked about prospects and he’s not even a senior yet. But for now, he’s trapped in a small town in Minnesota, surrounded by nothing but snow, trees, and farmland when he isn’t in classes. 1000 miles away from home. Or what was home. His childhood home belongs to someone else now, and all that’s left of his life before is a few boxes scattered between here at school and his grandma’s apartment. If he thinks about it too long, he isn’t sure he’ll ever get out of bed.
He hears a knock at the door and sits up, twisting in his sheets and trying to somehow make the air of despair dissipate.
“It’s unlocked!”
The door swings open, creaking loudly. For how expensive he knows tuition is here, he thinks distantly, that the dorms should be a bit nicer.
It's a nasty thought for someone who doesn’t pay a dime to attend.
Jacob Crawford, his lab partner from chemistry last year is standing in the doorway. He isn’t here for hockey, and Scott is surprised he’s still around for break. He normally gets whisked back home over break. He’s distractingly pretty, with dark blonde curls and wire-rimmed glasses with thick lenses. He’s got a light spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose and lips that have gone from a plush pink to a more lavender shade with the cold that seeps through the walls. He's got a bit of facial hair coming in, but it's neatly shaved. It makes him look mature and adultlike. There were a few times in chem where Scott would find himself staring raptly at Jacob as he tried to explain a formula to him, staring at the line from his neck to his jaw, understanding nothing. He wonders if Jacob ever noticed. Jacob’s never dated any of the girls at the school, at least to Scott’s knowledge, but they run in different circles.
If he remembers correctly, his parents are lawyers down in Chicago, and Scott is sure there are a ton of fancy boarding schools down there. It’s a little baffling to Scott that they send him here but he doesn’t know Jacob well enough to breach that question. Most of their conversations last year were about ions and how much they hated their teacher.
Jacob raises a hand with a little wave, “Hey.”
“You’re still here?”
Jacob shrugs, “Mom and dad are going on a river cruise in central Europe with their friends. Going to all the Christmas festivals or whatever. Drinking mulled wine and eating gingerbread without the burden of children. So, I’m here.”
“That sucks?” Scott isn’t sure if Jacob sounds upset or resigned. Or if he really doesn’t care. Maybe he prefers to be away from home. The rich kids here all kind of have weird, distant relationships with their parents. If he thinks about it too long he gets a stomach ache. What he would give to have a relationship with his parents not separated by six feet of dirt. Even one filled with animosity would be better.
“Eh, I’ll see them over spring break. They sent me a care package and I don’t have to go and entertain a bunch of visitors with tales of how my parents have raised ‘such a wonderful young man.’”
Scott nods, “It’s pretty boring here over break so, you have that to look forward to.”
“Which is why I wanted to ask if you want to go to the Mall of America with me. My mom sent me two unlimited passes for Camp Snoopy and some extra allowance to spend. Said I should bring a friend stuck here too.”
Scott hasn’t been to the Mall of America before. He’s heard plenty about it, has seen it featured in ads on TV and as a setting in movies. A lot of kids at St. Thomas do their back to school shopping there at the end of summer, or spend time there on weekends if they have a car and permission to leave campus on their own.
His own time in the Twin Cities is pretty much limited to playing hockey games and getting dropped off at the airport to stay with a billet family or the few times he's actually gone to his grandma’s. His weekends during the schoolyear are filled with hockey, or catching up on studying, and if he does manage to squirrel away time to fuck off, he can’t easily get out of the city limits. He doesn’t have a car, and all his friends are also strapped for free time because they are his teammates. None of them just play hockey. The St. Thomas Sabres just came off a run last year during his sophomore year that ended with the 2001 Youth 17U Men’s National Championship title. Most of them are slated for some level of playing at an elite level, even if not all of them end up making it to the MLH.
He didn’t think that Jacob would consider him a friend. A friend worthy of giving an all day amusement park pass to. It makes his palms feel itchy with sweat.
He thinks of watching Mighty Ducks 2 with one of his teams back in Rochester, of the on screen team skating through the neon food court halls and indoor coasters.
Jacob must see the wheels turning in his head.
“No, we are not going to rollerskate through the mall ducky,” with a grin on his face, “You in?”
Scott nods vigorously, and slides out of bed, “Yeah, let me get ready. When do you want to leave?”
“We can go as soon as you are dressed, meet me at the front hall, and wear layers, it gets hot inside the mall.”
Scott spends more time trying to fix his stupid hair that won’t stop sticking up in all directions than he intends, and that’s before he’s even picked out something to wear. He shouldn’t be overthinking this, it’s just going to the mall. Jacob is just trying to be nice.
He runs his hands through his shaggy hair a few more times as he tugs on jeans and a faded Nine Inch Nails shirt he had begged his grandmother to let him get. She acquiesced easily, but it had been embarrassing to ask her, mostly because he thought she would be able to sense his attraction to Trent Reznor from purchasing a shirt.
He grabs his coat from where it hangs on the door, and pulls a hat over his head, hiding the hair that won’t fix. He would buzz it but the team is trying to bring matching mullets to nattys this go around, and he’s not going to be the only dissenter.
He meets Jacob in the lobby, where he’s flipping through a map book with his yellow choppers tucked under his arm. He’s got a looping handmade wool scarf wrapped around his neck, and he smiles when Scott enters his sight-range. They exchange greetings and Jacob leads him out into the cold and across the treacherously icy school parking lot to a parked red Toyota Camry.
“The uh, remote key doesn’t work so I need to unlock the doors manually,” he says, walking towards the passenger side. He holds the door open for Scott before going to his own side, and climbing in.
Scott’s knees scrape the glovebox.
“Uh, you can push the seat back. The release is under.”
“Oh yeah,” Scott mumbles, mouth feeling dry reaching for the metal bar below the seat.
Jacob starts the car, and reaches past Scott once he’s scooted back to dig through the glovebox. Scott holds his breath, keeping himself as still as possible. He won’t make this weird, no matter how close Jacob gets.
“What do you like to listen to?” He asks, head and arm blocking Scott’s view of his collection.
“Whatever you want to listen to is fine,” he says, feeling extremely accommodating and not demanding at all.
Jacob grabs a copy of Kid A by Radiohead and waves it in his face, “How about this?”
Scott offers him a small smile, “Yeah, that’s cool.”
Jacob pops it out of the case and feeds it into the stereo system and hands Scott the map book.
“I think I’ve got the way down but I’ll need you to do directions if we get off track.”
“How will you know if we get off track?”
“If we’ve been in the car for an hour and we aren’t at the mall.” He grins at Scott, and there’s a slight twinkle to his eyes. He is suddenly unsure why he agreed to spend a day in close proximity to a boy this pretty. Especially a boy that doesn’t fit into the usual “don’t think about it box,” he’s developed with hockey. That one is easy to maintain on the smell alone, and the general behavior he’s witnessed on and off the ice. Sure, if Rod the Bod wanted to kiss him while sweaty (and hopefully shirtless) he’d have 0 complaints, but he’s like actually hot and completely out of reach.
Jacob pulls out of the parking lot and onto the only recently paved country road on the way to the school, humming along to the start of the album. Scott tries not to think too hard about how bad some of the roads in town are from the recent snows or car crashes, and ends up clenching his hands around his knee caps. He’s mostly gotten over the anxiety of being in a car, all the counseling and therapy they threw at him during the aftermath combined with being on the team bus regularly mostly forced it out of him. But sometimes, when he’s in a car with someone he's never driven with before, and the weather isn’t great, the nerves creep back up into his throat.
They make it out of town and onto the freeway and Scott feels himself relax enough to try starting a conversation.
He clears his throat, “Did you know Bob Dylan’s album Highway 61 is about the, uh, highway that runs through the state.”
“I’ll do you one better. Prince has a compound like 20 minutes from the Mall.”
“Seriously?”
Jacob nods, “He records there. Calls it Paisley Park.”
He shifts in his seat so he can look at Jacob a little more easily, “I haven’t actually been anywhere in the state besides school and the rinks of teams we play. I just have a few fun facts and sights seen on buses.” He isn’t sure what is making him want to be so honest right now, “Well, the team did go to the Nomad’s Game at the X last year as a team bonding activity, so that’s one thing I guess. Have you, I don’t know, explored the state?”
Jacob’s mouth sets into a line, “My dad is from Minnesota, and my grandparents still live here. He went to St. Thomas, back before they started doing the whole hockey thing and it was all just college prep and getting out of your rich parents' hair. He wanted me to get the same ‘world-class education.’ Little did he know, it has been run over with jocks.” He says this with a teasing tone, light and not like he’s actually trying to dig at Scott.
Scott laughs, “Hey, I mostly try in my classes, I’m not just a jock.”
“You seem to be the exception to the rule, Scott.”
Scott cocks his head, “What rule?”
“You aren’t a complete douche.”
“Oh. Uh. Thanks. I try not to be that way. Some guys on the team can be real pieces of work. I think a lot of them are so used to being treated like the second coming of Christ because they can keep a stick to the puck, that they forget how to talk to regular people.”
Jacob hums in agreement, staring ahead at the road.
A pickup truck roars past them in the left lane, revving its engines, dispersing the tension that Scott feels after disparaging his teammates, and to some extent his sport to Jacob.