Page 22 of Snowballed

“Thanks. I feel good.”

“Noah, you’ve got a lot of experience. I know you’re new to the team, but I’ll be expecting you to show leadership and even mentorship.”

“That’s a role I feel comfortable taking, Coach.”

“There’s one thing that surprised me. Derek Meyers said that you’re staying at his farm. Taking over his chores there. Is that true?”

I nod and swallow my nerves. Is this an issue for my coach?

“Noah, you’re in grad school. Isn’t that enough work? How can you give your all to the team? I suggest you rethink this. I can find you accommodations on campus or in Burlington.”

I crack my knuckles. I don’t want to throw my dad under the bus, but I can’t lie to my coach, especially a smart coach like Keller.

“Coach, can I tell you something in confidence?”

He nods, his expression wary now.

“My dad wasn’t happy with my decision to come here. He really wanted me to finish my hockey career at Arizona State, where he could, uh, supervise me. I know he means well, but…” I trail off, trying to figure out how to phrase this. “He said if I wanted to be independent, then I should be financially independent too and cut off my allowance. So, I don’t have a ton of money, and staying at the Meyers farm means free room and board in exchange for chores. Since Derek was able to do it and play, I should be able to do it as well.”

Coach Keller scratches his head. He’s probably thinking that Derek Meyers could do farm chores in his sleep. Or maybe that Derek isn’t the best example because, from what I’ve seen in practice, he’s not the most focused player.

The coach pulls open a drawer and pulls out some forms. “Well, you’re the last person I expected to have financial issues, but since you’re in graduate school, you could qualify for student aid. And I’ll see if there’s anything we can do for you around tuition. If you have any problems with the forms, talk to Cindy in the Athletics office.”

“Thanks, Coach,” I say.

There’s a short silence, then he adds, “I’m sorry that this move caused a rift in your family, but I do appreciate that you kept your word to come here.”

I exhale and the tension in my shoulders eases a bit. Coach Keller doesn’t seem like the touchy-feely type, so I don’t bother to add that I want to feel like my own man, and this feels like the first step.

7

Zoe

I’ve slept next door to my brother for years and never heard anything except loud snoring, yet now that Noah is in Derek’s room, I can hear all sorts of sounds. The creak of the bed as he gets in, a loud sigh, the low murmur of his voice on the phone. He must be calling family or maybe his girlfriend out on the west coast.

In only a week, he’s changed the dynamic of our household. My mother seems less tired and more outgoing; she’s on her best guest behavior. I’m definitely more awkward. I can’t stand Noah; he’s rude and arrogant. But he’s also fascinating. Noah is trouble, yet I can’t stay away.

We do the early chores mostly in silence. He’s grouchiest in the morning, complaining about the early hour or the cold. I give him coffee, and he turns semi-human in half an hour. The best part is that even though I told him I can handle the mornings alone, he always helps. To thank him, I make his lunch every day. He really appreciates it since he has zero kitchen skills.

Despite all this practice, Noah still sucks at milking. He scowls the whole time as if the goats are deliberately withholding their milk. Truthfully, none of the goats seem to like him much.

“It will come,” I reassure him. “You just need to find your own rhythm.”

Meanwhile, I’m scooping up the goat poop and spreading clean hay. “It’s the circle of life. We feed the animals, they poop out the food, and we clean it up.”

“Can’t wait for breakfast now,” Noah says, but he still ends up eating a big meal. Most of the time I have no idea how he feels about life here, but I know he loves the food. He has this adorable way of looking at each meal like he’s an alien who has never seen human food before; he eats tentatively at first but with increasing gusto. I like cooking for him because it makes him happier, and default Noah is not a happy person.

After breakfast, we head to school. Noah has been looking for a car but hasn’t found one in his price range yet. My brother is going to help this weekend.

“Well, we finally start real practices today. Are you nervous?” I’m involuntarily doing my best impression of the cheery mother of a kindergarten kid.

“No.” And that’s all he says for the next mile.

“The good thing about hockey is that you have a built-in group of friends,” I say.

He doesn’t even bother answering. If I peel back his smooth tanned skin, will I find metal and circuits?

“Have you already made friends on the team?”

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