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Jackie and her dad drive down to Samwell together.
It was Mom's idea-- she wants them to bond or something.
"You used to be so close!" she says, two days before they leave, when Jackie's making a last ditch attempt to get her to come. "And you've hardly talked since you got-- back. I'll stay here."
So, there they are, 500 kilometres from Montreal to Samwell, the back of the car full of everything Jackie owns, and snacks, and the front of the car filled with disappointment.
Jackie's dad keeps looking over at her, opening his mouth, and then stopping. It's better than when she first came home from rehab, when she had to leave her door open all the time, and if she closed it for more than five minutes, her father nearly broke it down. Then, he didn't even start to say things.
She reads through her entry pack, again, like she hasn't already been through the 50 glossy pages welcoming Marie-Jacqueline Zimmerman to Samwell, Class of '15.
It's a long 500 kilometres.
Jackie found out, afterwards, that her dad was the one who found her. The one who broke down the bathroom door, and called 911, and kept her airway clear so that she didn't choke on her own vomit, and rode with her to the hospital.
The thing is, she doesn't remember any of that. What she remembers is no one meeting her eyes, as the doctor asked her if it was a suicide attempt, and her father's voice, "Ah, Jacquette, ah, cherie, qu'avez-tu fait?"
Her father thinks he has a daughter who couldn't even kill herself right.
He might even be correct.
By the time they make Samwell, mid-morning of the second day, they've discussed nothing except where to eat (wherever her dad wants), and where to stop for a comfort break (again, wherever her dad wants.)
Jackie feels sick. She's been breathing carefully through her nose since breakfast, trying not to scratch at the insides of her wrists, because they won't give her Valium, anymore, won't give her anything but talks on deep breathing and CBT and the parrot of negativity, as if that does anything, as if any of that is going to help, when she is going to fail. She's going to fail at this, like she fails everything that really matters, and she doesn't know what she'll do then.
She really wants to be sick.
"We're here," her father says, unnecessarily, following the signs for the parking. There are cheery people in tabards directing them. He gets to his assigned spot, and puts the car in park, then leans over, covers Jackie's hand where she's unbuckling.
"Jacquette, cherie-- try not to be so hard on yourself?"
She can feel tears, sudden and stupid, stinging at the back of her eyes.
Eventually, her father pulls back, and lets her get out of the car.
**
Of course Shitty knows that Jackie Zimmerman's enrolled in fucking Samwell. Everyone knows that Jackie Zimmerman's enrolled at Samwell. Even his fucking father knows.
He just didn't expect to be sharing a room with her.
But they're both on hockey scholarships, given rooms in the Haus, and now Shitty’s watching Bad Bob Zimmerman head off, while Jackie Zimmerman looks at Shitty like she’s expecting him to challenge her to a dick measuring contest, or something.
“So,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You wanna go get pizza?”
“Sure.”
On the way to the pizza, Shitty discovers that, like him, Jackie has a fucking awful given name (no, really, Marie-Jacqueline? “I’m Catholic, and Quebecois, and my father’s family are quite traditional.”) and therefore goes by Jackie or Jacks in the hope that people will eventually forget it, is clearly kind of freaked by the prospect of having a roomie (she doesn’t say, Shitty is just a genius that way), let alone a guy, and is super-twitchy about--- everything, especially the team tryouts.
"Obviously they're going to take you," Shitty says, putting one slice of pizza on top of another, to get more into his mouth, "You were supposed to go first at the draft."
It wasn't actually guaranteed, on account of she's a girl, but she was first round material for sure, Bad Bob's darling girl. Shitty saw an interview once that called her the Princess of Montréal.
She fiddles with her thin slice. "That was three years ago."
"And?" Shitty says.
"And I've been in rehab since then. They don't give you skates in rehab." Her eyes widen, like she can't believe she just said that.
"Yeah, and you've been out for two years. You're a shoo-in." Shitty shrugs. "What classes are you taking, anyway?"
By the time they get back to their room that night, he thinks that Jackie might like him. Maybe.
By the end of their first week, he's met the best bro ever, (her name is Lardo, she is a fucking beauty), and covered for Jackie hyperventilating in a washroom for twenty minutes.
It's gonna be an awesome fucking year.