How Shitty met the best manager a hockey team could ask for.
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Shitty wasn’t exactly sure how he got signed up for and accepted to leading a freshman orientation group at the start of his sophomore year, but apparently Johnson had felt the need to, in his words, “start the flow of the narrative.” So this is how he found himself leading a group of freshman in a round of ice breakers, feeling like an ass.
He remembered hating these activities last year but it was on the program he had to follow, and he hadn't bothered coming up with any off his own to substitute, so he sat through “two truths and a lie” and a complicated body version of rock, paper, scissors. He got a little too excited through during the privilege lecture and activity, so by the end of the day he'd noticed a fair few eyes being rolled in his direction.
But after all was said and done, he waved his pack of frosh off and began to clean up his breakout space. Thinking no one would have left behind more than a few pieces of trash, he gave the room a cursory sweep and unexpectedly found a sketchbook.
He hadn't noticed anyone drawing during the day, but picked it up to see if anything was inside that would tell him who it belonged to.
Opening the front page, Shitty didn’t see a name, a number, or anything really that told him who it belonged to but saw that the top of the front page was dated. Seven months ago the owner of his book at marked the top corner.
Turning the page he saw some sketches and another date, two days after the first. Flipping over a few more he caught on that the book was in chronological order so flipped closer to the dates that read July and August.
Sure enough there were some doodles of Samwell and other abstractions. Surprisingly this person had been bored enough to draw their class schedule, giving the classes some rather interesting subtitles like - “Your friend the constitution” for Politics 101, and “The Oxford Comma Is Necessary” for freshman writing. Well at least Shitty had something to work off of.
Hoping for more clues, he turned a few more pages and saw some doodles from what appeared to be freshman orientation. Giggling at the way they portrayed Rachel, who gave the internet privacy lecture, and nodding in agreement at the small comic they drew about the sexual harassment lecture, he thought this person was not only a good artist but had an eye for observational humor.
Turning to the next page however made him burst out laughing.
The next two pages were covered in what were caricatures and satirical drawings of Shitty. The person who owned this sketchbook clearly thought he was very bro-y and very full of himself. In pencil the person had mocked his stache, his name, and his general attitude.
Reading the notes around the drawings he was impressed with how insightful they were, and seeing the notation “white savior” a few times, made Shitty actually reflect on what he was saying during his breakouts.
Glancing once more at the schedule, he saw that one of his gen-eds was the same as the mystery artist, and would at least have a way to get it back to them, even if it meant waiting until Tuesday.
***
That night, back in his shared dorm with Jack, Shitty told him about his day, lamenting about how lame it was, but exalting the find that was the sketchbook. Jack for his part was more amused with Shitty’s ability to simultaneously laugh off and take to heart the criticism made about him.
***
Come Tuesday, Shitty sat towards the back of “Great Works of American Literature” and watched as people trailed in. It dawned on him that he probably couldn’t pick out anyone from his breakout group by sight, and was soon distracted by the syllabus being passed out. Looking it over, he stared at the required and optional readings for the semester, and as soon as the professor asked if there were any questions, Shitty’s hand was in the air.
Looking at the seating chart, the Professor saw the same and audibly sighed. “Mr. Knight your reputation precedes you,” he drawled, and looked expectantly at Shitty. Shitty just grinned and pointed out the excessive amount of white, male authors on the required reading sheet and how women authors, authors of colors, and non-heterosexual authors had been shoved off to the optional reading list. In the midst of his diatribe he heard a snort and turned to see the source - a girl sitting two rows in front of him with long, black hair, was chuckling to herself, and visibly doodling.
The realization that the laughing girl had been in his breakout group made him pause long enough that the professor dismissed class before he had to respond to Shitty’s critique, and the students were clearly pleased to get out of class early.
Gathering his things and rushing out of the classroom, Shitty ran down the hallway until he was outside of the English building and spotted the doodle girl.
“Hey, hey you!” he called out, trying to get her attention and ignoring the other people who turned their heads to look at him.
When the girl in question looked back, Shitty waved, getting an eye roll in return.
“I have your sketchbook!” he yelled back, which caused the girl to stop and turn to face him. Waving the notebook in the air, he jogged a few steps to catch up with her.
“Sorry about that, but you left this in the breakout room yesterday and it seemed a bit important. Saw that you drew your schedule in there and we had a class together so I felt a little less stalkerish,” he grinned, but was met with a neutral expression in return.
“You looked through my sketchbook?” she asked, her tone both wary and incredulous.
“Well yeah it seemed important so I wanted to return it. You’re really good, so I’m assuming you’re here for the art school,” he smiled, rocking on his heels.
“Undecided major,” she answered curtly. “How much of my book did you see?”
“Um, up until the schedule you drew,” Shitty supplied, and as soon as the look of relief crossed her face he amended his statement to add, “and the caricature of me as the white savior.”
The girl before him went wide eyed but only look slightly ashamed.
“It was really funny, and I read your commentary too, if that was alright. Had a really good discussion with my roommate about it for the past two nights and I get why you thought that, and I guess I come off that way. Not my intention, brah,” he pointed out. “Not that I need to justify myself to you, or anything. You’ve got your own valid life experience that led you to draw that,” he shrugged.
“Are you stoned?” was all the girl could respond, a little unsettled by how well this guy was taking being mocked.
“Right now? No. Later? Probably,” he laughed. “Well I should let you get on with your day. I’m glad I could get it back to its owner…?” he trailed off, waiting to see if she’d fill in her name.
“Larissa. You’ll hear it in class eventually so there’s no point in hiding it,” she shrugged.
“Swawesome. Very nice meeting you Larissa,” he saluted, and turned on his heel to walk towards the Haus.
Shitty had taken only a few steps when he heard a voice from behind him call out, “Is your name really Shitty?”
Turning to face Larissa, he nodded and explained it was a hockey nickname. “Headed over to our Haus now actually. You asking me about pot made me want to visit the reading room,” he grinned.
“The reading room?” she asked, cocking her head.
“Yeah it’s what the roof of our Haus is called and I’ve got a deal with the goalie that I’m allowed to go out there to smoke if I’ve ‘moved my narrative forward.’ Not sure what he means still but I’m basically allowed to go there when the mood takes me.”
“Can I join?” she asked, surprising both her a Shitty with the request.
“Sure thing. You can come, take in the view, and chirp me some more,” he smiled, leading her down the quad to frat row.
“Chirp?”
“Hockey term. Means to make trash talk off. Something that comes naturally to you it seems.”
***
The two of them smoke and chatted until the sun went down and when they climbed back inside, coming down from their high, Johnson greeted them with the news that their manager had just quit.
