Katie Fisher's high school years were not the greatest. She
was nerdy, poor and dumpy. Now, Katie is a sociology
professor at Fallowfield College, a very prestigious school
in Vermont. And she's on a year-long paid sabbatical
working on a book about sports and male identity. Much to
her dismay, she returns home to Didsbury, Conn., just in
time for her 10th high school reunion. And her mother has
taken the liberty of RSVPing that she'll attend.
To be a teenage brainiac was uncool, especially for a girl.
It was scary to guys, especially jocks. Katie is now svelte
and drop-dead gorgeous. Maybe the reunion isn't such a bad
idea. "Vengeance is mine," sayeth Katie.
Turning the tables, high school was just the opposite for
Paul van Dorn. He was a hockey star and every girl's dream,
even Katie's. Paul was also one of the bullies who teased
Katie about her weight.
Paul has been the star of the Blades, New York's
professional hockey team, until the doctor tells him that
one more serious head injury could incapacitate him for the
rest of his life. So, Paul takes early retirement from
professional sports, giving up his greatest love and his
identity. Back in Didsbury, he takes a job as a youth
hockey coach and buys a bar he's renamed The Penalty Box.
Paul and Katie face off when he finds Katie's brains very
appealing, along with her new look, which sends him over
the top. She finds Paul just as gorgeous as he was in high
school, and he's actually interested in her. What a concept!
These two are independent, strong-willed people, fighting
to keep the identities they've worked so hard to achieve.
Is it possible to have it all? To stay in the game? To find
that winning at love is better than any victory they've
ever had?
THE PENALTY BOX is Ms. Martin's latest winner. She breathes
life into two wonderful characters who are strong but
vulnerable, passionate but also compassionate. Paul is
incredibly sexy, sweet and determined. Prepare to fall in
love. And treat yourself to her entire hockey series,
beginning with TOTAL RUSH, FAIR PLAY and BODY CHECK because
each one is absolutely fabulous. I'm so crazy about the
gifted Deirdre Martin, I never miss one of her
stories. I'd strongly steer you onto the ice to take this
fun, fast-paced and delightful journey sure to melt your
heart faster than the ice your on.
Everyone from Didsbury High remembers Katie Fisher as the
dumpy brainiac from the poor side of town.
Everyone from Didsbury High remembers Paul van Dorn as the
school hockey star — and heartthrob. But now they’re facing
off — and matching up in more ways than one. Katie’s lost
the pounds, added some self-confidence, and become a drop-
dead gorgeous sociology professor.
And since a series of concussions put an end to Paul’s pro
hockey career, his star has dimmed. Now he hits the ice as
a coach. But he’s still got the hometown crowd behind him
as the owner of a bar called The Penalty Box.
Paul is reliving his glory days. Katie wishes she could
put those years behind her. And the battle of wills that
ensues just might knock love right out of the game…
Excerpt
According to Katie Fisher, there were two types of people
in the world: those who attended high school reunions, and
those who did not. She herself definitely fell into the
latter category, which is why she almost passed Diet Coke
through her nose when her mother casually informed her
she'd taken the liberty of RSVP'ing the invitation to
Katie's tenth high school reunion, saying she would attend.
"You did WHAT?" Katie gasped, inhaling an ice cube.
"I thought it would be fun," her mother replied gaily,
transferring chicken casserole from the oven to the
counter. She glanced over her shoulder at Katie with
concern. "Are you all right, dear?"
"Fine," Katie rasped. "Nothing like a good choke to end
the day with."
"Oh, you." Her mother, a small, cheerful, doughy woman,
clucked her tongue. She'd never quite gotten Katie's sense
of humor.
Having narrowly avoided death by ice cube, Katie filled
with dread at the thought of revisiting Didsbury High's
Class of '96. She wasn't a curmudgeon, or anti social, or
uppity. Nor had she contracted an unsavory social disease
the way Lulu Davenport had, farted in the middle of
chemistry class like Magnus Pane, or ruined the school's
annual production of "The Nutcracker Suite" by crashing
into a cardboard Christmas tree onstage like Bridget
Devlin. Katie's sin had been unpopularity. High school had
been painful.
She'd grown up poor, the result of her father having died
young, forcing her mother to support the family on a
factory worker's wages. It shouldn't have made a
difference (Tiny Didsbury, CT prided itself on being a
mixed community with rich and poor alike), but it did. In
the status driven world of high school, to be rich was to
be "in", to be poor "out". Katie was a girl in clean but
unfashionable clothing who came from the wrong part of
town. A girl who didn't have a home pc or a cellphone, who
used public transportation because her mother didn't have
a car she could toodle around in on the weekends. Not that
she had anyone to toodle around with.
Katie was also brainy. Super-scary-knows-the- answer-to-
every question-the teacher-asks-brainy. To be a teenage
brainiac was completely uncool, especially for a girl. It
scared people. Especially guys. Especially jocks.
Katie had also been fat, which in high school was the
equivalent of being an untouchable. She was the girl whose
pants size exceeded her age. Boys walked behind her in the
hall making oinking noises. Girls slammed her into lockers
or invited her to phantom social events.
Nerdy, poor and dumpy. Three strikes and you're out. The
story of Katie Fisher's adolescent life.
Just thinking about it got her annoyed at her mother all
over again.
"I can't believe you did that to me." She cringed as her
mother deftly sprinkled Day-Glo orange Velveeta on top of
the casserole and slid it back into the oven. "No way am I
going."
Her mother clucked her tongue again. "Did what to you?
You'll have fun. You'll get to see all your old friends."
"And who would that be? Ronald McDonald?"
"I don't know why you're so hard on yourself, Katie.
You're a beautiful girl. You're a successful professor of
sociology."
"Now," Katie corrected. "I wasn't then."
"All the more reason to attend the reunion."
So that was why her mother wanted her to go. She wanted
her former loser of a daughter to go forth and gloat.
Maybe her mom was on to something here. Maybe it would fun
to walk into the reunion in her now svelte body and ramp
up the va-va-voom, just to watch their jaws drop. Or to
casually mention in conversation that she was now teaching
at prestigious Fallowfield College in Vermont? Katie
Fisher, the class of '96's biggest loser, back in town in
a big way. Vengeance is mine, saeth Katie. But that wasn't
who she was. Nor was it why she was back in Didsbury.
She was on a year long paid sabbatical, working on a book
about sports and male identity. She could have stayed in
Fallowfield to write the book; most of her research and
interviews were done. But there was her nephew.
"Where's Tuck?" she asked her mother, who was now humming
to herself as she set the table for dinner.
Her mother frowned. "Upstairs on that computer you bought
him."
"Mom, he needs the computer for school. Believe me."
"His eyes are going to go bad, playing all those crazy
games. He sits up there for hours." Her mother shot her a
look of mild disapproval. "It's not good, Katie."
Katie knew that look. Tuck was behaving the way Katie once
had, hiding away in his room. Though Tuck was only nine,
Katie knew he viewed his bedroom as his refuge, the one
place where he could escape and not have to face that his
mother preferred crack to him, and that no one knew who
his father was, his mother included. Katie knew firsthand
how painful being fatherless could be. She'd filled the
void by turning to food, while her sister Mina had
embraced booze and bad behavior instead. Katie wanted to
make sure Tuck didn't follow in his mother's footsteps.
She almost said something to her mother about Mina
screwing up Tuck but held her tongue, knowing it would
only upset her. Plus, she had to give credit where it was
due. Mina was trying to get her act together, having
entered a residential rehab facility six weeks before. And
Mina did have the presence of mind to ask their mother to
take in Tuck while she was away. Tuck loved his
grandmother, and she loved him. But that didn't mean she
had the energy or the means to care for a moody little boy
who had seen and heard things he shouldn't have. Katie
decided to spend her sabbatical year in Didsbury to help
her mother take care of Tuck. She wanted Tuck to know
there was another adult in his life, apart from his
grandmother, upon whom he could always count.
Taking the last plate from her mother, Katie set it down
on the table. "I'll talk to Tuck if you want. Tell him to
get out more, maybe join the Knights of Columbus or start
playing golf."
Her mother shot her another look, albeit an affectionate
one. "Thank you, Miss Wiseacre. He loves you, you know.
Thinks you're the bees knees."
"I think the same of him. And please don't use expressions
like 'Bees knees'. It makes you sound like you're ancient,
which you're not."
"Tell that to my joints." She gave Katie's arm a quick
squeeze before hustling back to the stove to check on the
broccoli. "So, you're going, then?"
"To talk to Tuck? I just said I was."
"No, to the reunion."
"Mom—"
"Promise me you'll at least think about it, Katie."
"Why is this so important to you?"
"It's not. I just think it'll be good for you, that's all."
"Mom, I hated high school. You know that. I would rather
watch C-Span than ever deal with any of those people
again."
"But you're different now, and I bet they are, too. Or
some of them. Go."
"'I'll think about it. But I'm not promising anything."
"You'll go," her mother trilled confidently.
Katie just rolled her eyes.
"I hate when she's right," Katie muttered to herself as
she slumped behind the steering wheel of her Neon at the
far end of the parking lot, the better to spy on former
classmates entering Tivoli Gardens. The Tiv was a faux
Bavarian catering house that served overcooked
wienerschnitzel and soggy tortes. Management made the male
waitstaff dress in lederhosen and occasionally yodel,
while Tiv waitresses sported the "lusty serving wench
clutching a beer stein" look. It was also the only space
in town large enough to accommodate an event like a
reunion.
Katie had pretty much made up her mind not to go. But then
she started thinking about what her mother had said. She
was different. She had changed a lot in ten years. Didn't
it stand to reason that some of her former classmates had
changed, too? The more she thought about it, the more
curious she became. Who was different and who was the
same? Who was divorced, married, successful, single, gay,
unemployed, a parent, incommunicado, dead? Who'd stayed in
town and who'd left?
Besides, she was a sociologist. It was her job to analyze
the collective behavior of organized groups of human
beings. Going to the reunion would be like doing research.
That wasn't why she was going, though.
To be honest, she was there because she had something to
prove. She wanted to see everyone's eyes bug out when they
realized who she was. She knew it was petty to turn up
with a not-so- hidden agenda that screamed "Ha! You all
thought I was a big fat loser, and look at me now!" but
she couldn't help it. She was human and wanted if not
revenge, then satisfaction. She wanted to see the "Wow,
that's Katie Fisher!" in their eyes.
So here she was, dressed to the teeth and wearing more
makeup than a drag Queen at Mardi Gras. At least, that's
how it felt. Normally, Katie dressed casual but
conservative: tweed blazers, turtlenecks, chinos, and
practical shoes for running across campus in. Rarely did
she wear her long, blonde hair up, or even loose; she
usually pulled it back in a ponytail. But not tonight.
Tonight it was up, soft golden tendrils falling around her
oval face. She'd poured herself into the tightest little
black dress she could find, showing off every firm curve
of the body she killed herself to maintain. When Tuck had
said, "Wow, Aunt Katie, you look hot!", she'd blushed
furiously because it was true: She did look hot.
Eyeing the dashboard, Katie checked the time. Eight
thirty. A few people were still arriving, but most had to
be inside by now. She could picture them standing in small
clusters laughing, the ice in their drinks tinkling as
their lips moved non stop: Remember this, remember that?
Panic seized her. Maybe she shouldn't have come. She
popped an Altoid in her mouth and took a deep breath. The
cruelties of the past can't hurt me now. Stick and stones
can break my bones, but names can lead to years of
therapy. No! Think positive! You can do this. You're just
as good as any of them. You're attractive and successful.
If it's too awkward or painful, you can always leave.
Remember: you're here as a sociologist observing group
behavior.
Head held high, Katie slid out of the car and headed for
Tivoli Gardens.
The minute Katie spotted the pert hostess in the peasant
skirt and green velvet bodice standing outside the banquet
room, she wanted to bolt. But Katie wasn't a quitter: she
made herself put one foot in front of the other until she
and Heidi were face-to-face.
"Guten Tag!" the woman said brightly. "Here for the
reunion?"
Katie nodded.
"And you are—?"
Katie cleared her throat. "Katie Fisher."
The woman skimmed her list of attendees. "Ja, here you
are." She handed Katie a name tag. "Would you like to fill
out the 'All About Me!' form?"
"Form?"
"Just to tell people a little about yourself and what
you're up to now. At the end of the night, awards are
given out. You know: 'Least Changed' 'Most Children',
things like that."
Katie discreetly backed away from the woman. "No thank
you."
Heidi pointed to the door behind her. "The reunion is
being held right here in the Rhineland Banquet Room." She
flashed Katie a retina burning smile. "Have a great time!"
"I'll try," Katie mumbled, affixing her nametag to her
dress. She toyed with the idea of not wearing it just to
be rebellious, but that seemed kind of dumb. Besides, how
rebellious could you be in a place named the Rhineland
Banquet Room?
The pounding undercurrent of a bass guitar coming from
within made the ground beneath her feet shake as her hand
lingered on the door. Do I really want to do this?
Steeling herself, Katie pushed the door open and slipped
inside. Her eardrums were immediately assaulted by a DJ
blasting Toni Braxton's "Unbreak My Heart", a song that
had been hot the year she graduated. The evening would be
filled with all the songs of 1996, good and bad. A banner
hung from the far end of the banquet room
proclaiming, "Welcome Back Didsbury High School Class
of '96! I Believe I Can Fly!", the latter line a reference
to the R. Kelly song that had been her graduating
class's "anthem." Katie had always thought the
Beatles "Free As a Bird", also a hit that year, would have
been more apropos. At least, that was how she'd felt on
graduation day.
She had to hand it to the reunion committee: The tables
ringing the room looked great. Each had burning crimson
tapers and a centerpiece of red roses and white carnations-
their school colors. She could have done without the tacky
napkins and glasses with "I Believe I Can Fly!" printed on
them, though. A small dance floor had been set up in front
of the DJ. Cocktail hour was in full swing. Just as she'd
imagined, her former classmates stood in small groups,
talking and laughing. Her stomach wobbled as she realized
she would have to join one of these groups if she wanted
to talk to anyone. She needed a drink.
She walked carefully to the bar, teetering in her too high
heels. It was stupid to have bought them, considering
she'd probably never wear them again. But she to admit:
they did make her feel sexy. Maybe there was life beyond
EasySpirit.
"A sea breeze, please," she told the bartender, who winked
in response and began mixing her drink. Katie watched him
work, finding it easier to face the bar than turn around.
A tap on her shoulder made her turn. Behind her stood a
large, smiling woman wearing so much perfume Katie's eyes
started to burn.
"Hi, I'm Denise Coogan! And you are—" she squinted at
Katie's bosom—"Katie Fisher!
Ohmigodyoulookfantasticgoodforyou!"
"Thank you." Katie wracked her brains. Denise Coogan.
Denise Coogan. She was drawing a blank. She smiled
apologetically at the heavily made up woman. "I'm so
sorry, but I don't remember you. I remember your brother,
though. Dennis?"
The woman chortled. "Honey, I am Dennis! Or I was. Now I'm
Denise. Grab that sissy drink of yours and I'll tell you
all about it."
For the next ten minutes, Katie listened to Denise/Dennis
outline the horrors of being a woman trapped in a man's
body. "I can empathize," said Katie. "For years I was
Jennifer Aniston trapped in the body of Marlon Brando."
Denise howled her appreciation.
Hovering on the periphery, Katie contemplated leaving.
Then she noticed Alexis van Pelt motioning to Katie to
join her. Katie hesitated; though Alexis was one of the
few people ever to be nice to her in high school, she was
standing among a small group of former cheerleaders. The
mere sight of these women filled Katie with apprehension;
still, she made herself approach the group. The
increasingly baffled expression on Alexis's face as Katie
came closer told Katie that Alexis thought she was someone
else. She gasped when she read Katie's name tag.
"Oh my God! Is that really you, Katie?"
"It's really me."
"Wow!"
The other women in the group — Tanya Donnelly, Marsha
Debenham, and Hannah Beck, all of whom had worked hard to
make Katie miserable in high school — also looked shocked.
Marsha, once suspected of having an eating disorder, had
put on some weight, and Hannah had obviously spent the
last ten years out in the sun: there were the beginnings
of crow's feet around her small green eyes. Tanya still
looked like a brunette stork.
"You really do look great, Katie," said Marsha in a voice
quivering with admiration.
Katie blushed, suddenly feeling shy. It felt odd,
receiving praise from these women. But it also felt good.
Maybe her mother was right: perhaps she wasn't the only
one who had changed.
"How did you do it?" Martha wanted to know.
"Had my jaw wired shut."
The women chuckled appreciatively.
Tanya Donnelly, who had once lobbed garbage at Katie in
the cafeteria, touched her arm. "We were just talking
about what stuck up bitches we were in high school."
Katie felt the nervous flutter return to the pit of her
stomach. "Oh?"
"I'm really sorry about the way I treated you," Hanna Beck
murmured, looking uncomfortable. "I have a baby daughter,
and the thought of anyone being as awful to her in school
as we were to you..." she shuddered.
Heat flashed up Katie's face. "Thank you. It means a lot
to hear that."
"Let's face it: Being a teenager sucks!" Alexis declared,
gulping her drink.
"I'll raise my glass to that!" Marsha echoed.
Katie was in a daze as she listened to the friendly cross
chatter of female voices. The last thing she'd expected
from these women was an apology or being treated warmly.
Yet here they all were, gabbing away about their lives,
asking about hers and seeming genuinely interested in what
she had to say. Maybe the past was just where it belonged:
in the past.
Then Liz Flaherty showed up.
Of all the rich, perfectly dressed rah rah girls who gave
Katie a hard time in high school, Liz topped the list.
Once, over a long period of weeks, she pretended to be
Katie's friend, eventually inviting her to a party at the
house of Jesse Steadwell, one of the most popular guys in
school. Katie was so excited she could barely contain
herself. Invited to a party! Finally! But when her mom
dropped her off and she rang the Steadwell's doorbell, no
one was home. It was only when she was walking back down
the driveway that Liz and her friends popped out of the
bushes, laughing at her and calling her a loser. By the
time Katie arrived at school the following Monday, the
story had made the rounds. Complete strangers were coming
up to her jeering, "How was Jesse's party?"
"Hi, everyone!" Liz squealed. She looked almost the same
as she did in high school: thin, tan, with long, caramel
colored hair and big brown eyes. Her makeup was
impeccable. She wore a killer red sheath dress. She
continued her girlish squealing as she hugged each woman
in turn. But when she came to Katie, she froze.
"It can't be." Her face contorted in disbelief.
Katie made herself smile warmly. "How have you been, Liz?"
"Fine." Her laugh was mirthless. "Well, I guess miracles
really can happen."
"No miracle," said Katie. "Just years of hard work."
The atmosphere, so congenial mere seconds before, began
crackling with tension. Liz looked Katie up and down with
a coolly appraising eye.
"I'm surprised to see you here, Katie."
"Why's that?"
"Well—" Liz glanced at the other women for confirmation—
"because you were such a fat loser in high school."
The other women glanced away.
Katie met the challenge head on. "People change. Or, at
least, some people do."
"Meaning?"
"You're exactly the same as you were in high school."
Liz smiled as she took a sip of champagne. "I'll take that
as a compliment."
"Katie was just telling us about the book she's writing,"
Hannah Beck said tentatively.
Liz sucked in her cheeks, bored. "That's nice. Katie,
remember that time Paul van Dorn pasted a sign on your
back that said 'Built like a Mac Truck' without your
knowing it?" She laughed as if it were the funniest thing
in the world.
Katie said nothing. Paul van Dorn...there was a name she
hadn't heard in awhile. Paul had been the boy every girl
in school had a crush on, Katie included. He'd been Liz's
boyfriend, of course. They were the golden couple: Captain
of the hockey team and head cheerleader. When he was apart
from his friends and Liz, Paul had always been nice to
Katie. But the minute he hooked up with his crew, he
teased her mercilessly like everyone else.
To Katie's chagrin, Liz Flaherty continued goosestepping
down memory lane. "Remember in gym class, when Mr. Nelson
made us do the five hundred yard dash, and Katie collapsed
huffing and puffing because she was so fat and out of
shape?" No one answered as all eyes dropped to the
ground. "Oh, come on, I know you guys remember!"
"Can it, Liz," Alexis growled under her breath.
"What?" Liz batted her eyes. "All I'm doing is
reminiscing! That's why we're all here, right? To
remember?" Another sip of champagne slid down her
throat. "I was thinking about the prom on the way over
here. As you all know, I went with Paul van Dorn." Her
gaze glittered with malice. "But I can't seem to recall
who you went with, Katie."
Katie smiled brightly. "Actually, I had two dates to the
prom: Ben and Jerry. Can you excuse me a moment?"
She said her goodbyes to the other women and quickly
extricated herself from the group, quivering so hard
inside she thought she might break. She'd always used
humor and self deprecation to deflect criticism and pain.
It sprang from a determination never to let her tormentors
see they'd gotten to her. That she'd just been forced to
use two of the old weapons in her arsenal made her sad.
It had been a mistake to come. No, that wasn't true. The
mistake had been thinking Liz Flaherty could ever be
anything but a bitch. Katie had meant what she said,
though Liz had failed to see the irony: Liz was the same
person she'd been in high school. Clearly the woman was
insecure as hell. Katie knew she could have called her on
it, but it seemed pointless.
Draining the remains of her glass, Katie returned it to
the bartender, hustling as fast as she could toward the
banquet room door and the promise of blessed release. Her
heart was hammering in her chest, while her mind was a
kaleidoscope of painful memories she'd been foolish to
think she could avoid. She was walking so fast in her
heels that when she hit a wet spot, she went flying. Were
it not for the lightning fast reflexes of a man who
reached out to grab her, she would have wound up spread
eagle on the floor with her front teeth bashed in.
Mortified, Katie slowly looked up into her savior's face
to thank him.
It was Paul van Dorn.
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