Page 12 of Lines

I always liked pushing her buttons, getting some kind of reaction out of her, but now I got a different kind of thrill out of it.

Seeing her reaction mademereact. My heart rhythm sped up, if only the slightest bit. The palms of my hands started to sweat and the need to touch her, the need to connect someway to her, became overwhelming. When I’m standing like that behind her all I can think about is how it would feel to trace the line of her neck with the tip of my nose and press my lips to the hollow between her neck and shoulder.

I’m positively going crazy. There is no other way to explain it.

She made me fucking mad when she went to Miss Rodriguez’s desk and told her we couldn’t work together. Like there was a chance in hell I would give her the opportunity to get out of working with me. A chance to escape right through my fingers. Amelia would probably ask to work with Max and I wasn’t having it. At least I was lucky this once because our Spanish teacher wasn’t keen on her idea.

“King!”

Without stopping I look over my shoulder and face my best friend who’s quickly approaching me.

“What the hell, man? Where are you running to?”

“Gym and then hitting the ice,” I explain as I put books in my locker and start walking toward gym where I’ll pass the next few hours. “Practices are officially starting soon, and I want to be in the best possible shape, no more screwing around. It’s our senior year and I plan to take that trophy home again.”

Our school hasn’t won the trophy in three years. Two out of three years we were close, so close, to winning that I could almost feel it. Now it’s our last chance,mylast chance, before going to college where I’m hoping to keep playing on the next level. Maybe someday I’ll even go pro, but it’s so far in the future that I can’t bring myself to even think about it. One step at a time—that has always been my motto.

From the moment my parents took me to ice rink, even though I was practically a baby, I knew it was it for me. Out there on the ice where cold air bit my cheeks, I felt more at home than in my own house. My parents tried to make me try other sports—baseball and football—but I wasn’t having any of that. Hockey was my first love. Always will be.

“I know and we’ll make it,” Andrew puts his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

Andrew always looks at things that way.

Don’t worry too much.

Don’t think too much.

Relax and enjoy.

He is so laid–back and simpleminded, so I murmur something in acknowledgment not really saying anything. I know he loves the sport; we’ve been playing our whole lives together, but I don’t think he understands me 100%. Hockey is my future, but I’m not sure is it his.

Once in the locker room, we quickly change into our workout clothes and go to the gym. I like to start my exercise with a quick jog on the treadmill to get my heart rate up before switching to weights.

Andrew gets on the treadmill next to mine and we jog for a while without saying anything. Some rock song is blasting from the speakers to pump us all up for hard exercise.

There are a few other guys here, doing their own thing to prepare for the beginning of the season. Every year there are tryouts the first week of practice and there is no guarantee you’ll keep the position or line you played in the last season. With senior players leaving and even sometimes guys quitting the team, there is always an empty spot or two just waiting to be filled by somebody else.

Not mine though. I planned to stay first line center and team captain.

“So …” Andrew starts, looking at me sideways. “Will you tell me what the fuck has been going on with you?”

I feel my posture stiffen, and I have to make my body relax. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” I try to play dumb, but Andrew just laughs at my lousy attempt at it.

“I’m talking about Dotty.”

There it is again. That stupid nickname.

I still remembered the day he gave it to her.

* * *

It was recess, the late autumn day warm and sunny, so we played outside. Andrew and I were playing catch with a few other friends from class.

Justin, one of the boys, threw the ball high in the air. I looked up and the sun was making me blind, but I saw a glimpse of the ball starting to fall down. I started running backwards—the only thing that mattered in that moment was catching the darn ball and staying in the game.

I didn’t see her behind me, I wasn’t expecting it, so when I crashed into her I could barely regain balance and stay on my own two feet.

Turning around, I saw her on the floor—Amelia Campbell, the prettiest girl in our class. Her face was pale, making her freckles stand out even more then usually. Her bright, wild hair was messed up. I saw her clench her hands by her side and could see bloody scraps on them.

---