Page 1 of Snowballed

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Noah

“With the eighth pick of the NHL Draft, Vancouver selects Adam Goodwin of the Arizona State Sun Devils hockey program.”

Okay, it’s showtime.Stand. Smile. Look happy, no—happier. If only my lips weren’t sticking to my teeth. There are cameras everywhere. Not only the sports networks, but everyone’s phones. All they need is one photo of me, not looking completely delighted that my little bro just went in the top ten and I’m toast. People love drama and jealousy.

And besides, I am happy. Adam worked his ass off, and he deserves this. I watch him envelop our tiny mother in a hug, and then get an embrace and whispered words from our dad. The expression on Dad’s face does me in. He looks delighted… and relieved. He must be thinking,finally a son who made it to the NHL. Like I was supposed to do. My stomach clenches, but I push down the reaction—stay mentally strong.

Adam shuffles his way towards the aisle, hugging our sister Chi who makes him laugh, then me.

He bends to whisper in my ear, “Couldn’t have done it without you, Noah.”

“I know. Who helped you pad your stats this season?” I reply. Since I’m 22 and he’s 18, this past season was the first time we’ve ever played on the same team. We both had our best seasons ever, but only Adam’s counts. Again I swallow down the bitterness that I really don’t want to feel. He’s my little brother, for fuck’s sake.

Adam grins, then heads down towards the stage. He sheds his suit jacket on the way. When he gets to the stage, he shakes hands with the Vancouver management team, then pulls on the brand new jersey and team ball cap. When he faces the crowd, his smile is blinding.

How many times have I imagined this exact moment: getting chosen by an NHL team, pulling on the jersey, and making my family proud? I must have sighed because Chi squeezes my hand. Time to put my game face back on—hey, you don’t become team poker champion without learning to hide your emotions.

“Excuse me.” An attractive young woman with auburn hair and a French-Canadian accent taps me on the shoulder. I look up and smile. But she doesn’t even see me. She’s trying to get my parents’ attention. She leans over me, sticking her rounded ass in my face like I’m nothing more than furniture.

“Gary? Candy? Could you come with me for an interview with your son?”

My parents rise. I move out of the way so they can follow the woman down to the TV set-up. My father straightens his tie, his face a portrait in pride and joy. My mother doesn’t primp at all, since she already looks perfect. You have to get up pretty early to catch a former figure skater without camera-ready hair and makeup.

“Usually they only interview the fathers,” Chi points out to me. “As if the mothers did nothing.”

I shrug. Sure, I’ve played with guys whose mothers did all the driving to practices and tourneys, but our dad coached all three of us. Besides, the draft is a tedious day with seconds of excitement followed by minutes of boredom. Who could resist an interview with ice royalty: a former NHL defenseman and an Olympic figure skating champion?

Chi holds up her phone. “Want to watch the interview?”

“No,” I reply childishly. Naturally, moments later I’m wearing one of her AirPods with a screen shoved in my face.

“We’re so pleased to welcome our latest draft pick, Adam Goodwin, and his parents—former NHL defenseman, Gary Goodwin, and Olympic gold medalist, Candy Sugimoto. Well, Gary and Candy, you must be so proud of your son.”

I tune out. I know exactly what will happen next: my father will link hard work and training to Adam’s success and slip in the name of his hockey academy in SoCal. My mother will be charming and razor smart, as befits her current job as a powerhouse sports agent. And Adam will say something goofy and hilarious. He’s the fun one in our family. Chi’s the smart one. And I’m the serious, responsible one—like oldest siblings everywhere.

But right now, the last thing I want to be is responsible. I want to throw a tantrum like a three-year old. I want to pound my fists and feet on the ground and scream out, “Why is life so fucking unfair?” Well, maybe a toddler wouldn’t use that language. The big Montreal arena feels hot and oppressive. I can’t breathe, and there’s sweat trickling down my back.

“I’m taking off,” I tell Chi.

Her eyes widen. “Now?”

“Yeah. Adam’s drafted now. We don’t have to keep hanging out here.” I glance at Dad and Adam’s empty seats. Nobody will even notice I’m gone.

“I’m coming too.” Chi jumps up, and we both make our way out of the arena. “I’ll text Mom that we’ll meet them back at the hotel.”

Chi is the consummate diplomat, covering my hissy fit so that nobody will lose face. But damn, I want to rebel, even if it’s in a small way. There’s so much frustration in me right now and nowhere to direct it. It’s nobody’s fault that I’ll never get a shot at the NHL. Unless I blame my petite Japanese mother for passing on her height genes. My whole life, all I’ve heard is that I’m too short for a defenseman. Maybe that’s bullshit, because there have been other 5’9” defensemen in the League. Not many, but it’s not impossible. What I know beyond a doubt is that if I were 6’3”, I would have been drafted. Not in the first round like Adam, but some team would have taken a chance on me. I’ve got the skating skills, I’ve got the hockey smarts, and I have the family pedigree.

The Bell Centre is like a rat maze with exits blocked everywhere. As we’re making our way out, someone calls my name.

I turn, and it’s Bart Keller, coach of the Burlington University hockey team. He’d tried to recruit me before I entered college, and he’s the only coach who has kept in touch since then.

“Noah. Good to see you.” He shakes my hand.

“Coach Keller. What are you doing here?” He’s a fit middle-aged man with graying hair and stern expression. Rumor has it that he’s tough but fair.

“It’s a short drive from Burlington,” he says. “I’m here to support a few guys from the team who are in the draft. Also talk to some new guys.”

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