Page 39 of Snowballed

“What happened?”

She still doesn’t turn around. “Well, in my sophomore year, my father had a stroke and needed a lot of care. Three months later he died. So Coach Cray cut me a lot of slack. But I don’t know why my playing still sucks.”

Zoe continues to make dinner, but now there’s a tension in the room. I get up and stand beside her. Now, instead of her warmth, I sense a void. It’s like all her energy dissipated once the subject of her dad arose. I regret bringing this whole thing up and making her feel unhappy. My hand jerks up instinctively to comfort her, but it seems like bad timing, and I pull away.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize he had passed so recently.”

“You say recently, but most people think that two years is too long to mourn.” I’ve never heard Zoe sound so cold.

“You can’t put a timetable on your feelings.” I reach out and rub Zoe’s arm. Underneath her sweatshirt, I can feel tensed muscle. She’s so determined and yet so alone. Almost like a key clicking in a lock, I feel something shift inside me. I do like Zoe—in an authentic way that keeps growing.

I immediately tamp that feeling down. There’s no way. If we go out and something goes wrong, I’d have to move out, and I can’t afford that.

13

Zoe

“I’m in charge of the team fundraiser, and I need your help,” Helen announces on the bus to our first road game.

“Why is she in charge?” I whisper to Rocky. The way it usually goes is that Coach Cray asks for volunteers, nobody volunteers, and then I do it.

“It’s about time you let someone else do it,” Rocky whispers back. But volunteering is a way to feel part of the team because I get healthy-scratched so often.

“This year, we need to raise $3000,” says Helen.

Again, I’m shocked. Usually, we need to raise about half that amount. “Why so much?” I ask.

Helen frowns. “There was an… unexpected shortfall in the team funds. If we want new training gear, this is what it’s going to cost.”

And we do want new team training gear. Last year’s championship celebrations involved alcohol, pink Biosteel sports drink, and silly string. The result was that our white and green tracksuits are now pink and green. And nobody on the team likes pink. Still, I’m surprised that the team can’t pay for part of this.

Suddenly, I put two and two together. The women’s team has a sudden shortfall in finances just after Noah gets a bursary! Obviously, the men’s team took money from us. The women’s team comes second in everything even though we won the championship last year.

“What’s wrong? Your face is a big storm,” Rocky says.

I whisper-hiss my theory to her.

Rocky frowns. “That’s crazy. You have no proof that he got our money. Coach Cray would never let that happen.”

“We’ve been shafted by the men’s program before.” Besides getting better practice times and equipment, they get more publicity and press.

“Men’s hockey also makes more money. Not only ticket sales but alumni donations,” she points out.

“But whose fault is that? If we got more publicity, we’d get bigger crowds too. And if our best graduating players were getting paid millions to play hockey, I’m darn sure that they would give more back to Moo U.”

My voice rises, and someone calls out, “Is Zee on her soapbox again?”

Everyone knows I hate the inequities of the two programs. Since my brother plays, I get exposed to the differences constantly.

“Calm yourself,” Rocky says. “And don’t take this out on Noah.”

I won’t, but this doesn’t make me like him more. Everything good happens to him. I still don’t understand why he has so little money when his family has so much, but he certainly doesn’t deserve a bursary when we have to fundraise for every little thing.

Helen sticks her fingers in her mouth and whistles so loudly we’re shocked into silence.

“I’ve decided that we’re going to do an auction,” she says in her best dictatorial manner. “Everyone is going to have to arrange for at least one prize. And good prizes, no crappy $25 gift certificates.”

There’s grumbling on the bus. Good donations are tough to come by.

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