Page 90 of Off The Ice

It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the jersey wasn’t mine. Down to my knees, I was practically swimming in the blue and gray fabric. I’d paired it with blue jeans and blue ribbons in my hair to go all out.

Spirit Week was big at our school, and I usually went full-fledged for it. In the past, I’d never paid much attention to the sports days, usually borrowing something of Dave’s so I could participate. But now? Everywhere I looked, I seemed to spot Harbor Wolves jerseys on the staff and students alike. I noticed Brody’s last name on one of them and chuckled, almost having the urge to snap a picture to show Maggie. Others were wearing the jersey of that blond guy who we were sitting with at the bar that night. And some were even wearingLiam’s.

But the one I wore? ItwasLiam’s. Not some knock-off with his name on it that anyone could get in a sports store. No, Liamhad bled, sweated, and played in the jersey I was wearing on my body right now. And no one had a clue.

It felt oddly intimate.

Still, they were our city’s home team, so I didn’t think it would draw much attention.

I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows, wondering if I looked weird in it. I was pretty sure I did based on the way Liam kept staring at me after I changed into it.

Feeling self-conscious, I slipped into the teacher’s room to put my lunch away. As always, it was filled with voices swirling together in conversations I could never manage to slip myself into.

I’d been at this school for over two years now, and I’d yet to find my footing with the staff. I was awkward, and my words tended to come out as rambling speeches that most people couldn’t keep track of. And usually, I ended up embarrassing myself too much to even bother trying again for a while.

It was the same way when I was in school. I was so hyper-aware of myself and everyone else that I overthought social interactions to the point where I ruined them before they ever began. It was exhausting.

“Didn’t peg you for a hockey fan,” one of my coworkers’ voices sounded.

I didn’t realize it was aimed at me until I shut the refrigerator and turned, watching the eyes of everyone at the table on me.

I tensed up, my brain whirling as I tried to think of how to respond. In comfortable settings, I had no problem having conversations. In fact, I thrived on it. I could talk a mile a minute with the right people. But with people, I felt that I hadn’t yet proved myself too? Knowing what to say next became a challenge I couldn’t conquer.

I wanted to be witty and know how to respond to their small talk that I’d never perfected the art of, like it seemed everyone else in the world had.

I laughed awkwardly, offering a shrug as a response. What else could I say? Iwasn’ta huge hockey fan. If they asked me to name a single sports term, I wouldn’t be able to. The only players I could name were Liam and Brody. And if they tried to talk about anything game-related, I’d have no knowledge to offer up.

“I’m not really,” I responded as they waited for my answer. “I mean, I just recently started getting into it.”

“Because of Brynn?” The art teacher at our school’s eyes lit up, nodding toward my #26 jersey.

I froze. “What?”

“I don’t blame you. Everyone’s a hockey fan for Liam Brynn. I don’t know where they found that boy, but he looks like they ripped him out of a Calvin Klein magazine and put him in hockey gear.”

“Oh.” I laughed nervously, heart racing. “Yeah, he’s really good.”

“He could be the worst player on the team and still have half the women in Boston showing up to watch him.” Another teacher laughed.

“Really?” I asked, forcing out another laugh to appease them, but anxiety gnawed in my gut.

It was strange territory to be in, tiptoeing around the edge of Liam’s status.

“I’m surprised you spent the money on a jersey for a sport you’re ‘just getting into,’” Marissa said, eating her yogurt and staring me down with equal intensity.

I couldn’t figure it out, but whenever her eyes were on me, they felt like a magnifying glass.

She’d never done anything outright to say, ‘I don’t like you,’but the sentiment always seemed to be clear, and the stronger Ifelt it, the more awkward I got around her, as if I could shrink myself down until she couldn’t even see me.

“I just needed a jersey for spirit week.” I shrugged, not understanding the feeling of having to defend myself.

She stared at me with what looked like boredom before continuing her conversation with the teachers sitting beside her.

This was how it always was. Her attention was on me long enough to make a comment, and then she was moving on as if I didn’t exist at all.

I looked down, brows raised, when I noticed she too was wearing a #26 jersey.

“So, Marissa.” I slid into the seat across from her. “Areyoua big hockey fan?”

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