Page 20 of Hockey 101

Owww, you fucker! O.D. roars, then reaches up to slug me. I lunge backward, but his fist still connects with my cheek. He pulls me down, and then we’re rolling around on the floor, arms flailing and the occasional punch landing. I hear shouts, then strong hands pull me off O.D.

That’s enough, Big Z, our captain, commands. Even though he’s a junior, he has a ton of respect in the room. He directs a couple of O.D.’s buddies to look after him, then turns to me.

Swanny, Bergy. Take Sinc home. Make sure he hydrates.

Everything after that is hazy until I’m sitting at our kitchen table. Swanny makes me pound back a couple of sports drinks, and if I wasn’t queasy before, a stomach bloated with liquid isn’t helping. When I cover my mouth, Bergy slides a mixing bowl in front of me.

In case you need to barf. Maybe take it to bed, he suggests.

How are you feeling? Swanny asks.

Shitty in every way. I hold my forehead in my hands. My head hurts from the alcohol and the blow O.D. landed on my cheek. And my entire body aches.

How bad is it? Do you want to go to the clinic?

I shake my head. Did I hurt O.D.?

Swanny snorts. He’ll live.

You’re not the first person to punch that guy in the face, Bergy reassures me. And many more want to.

I’m glad O.D. isn’t too hurt, but I still feel guilty. Our fight is the opposite of what I’d hoped would happen. Maybe O.D. didn’t like me before, but now he’ll have it out for me all season. I close my eyes as my head swims.

Well, if you feel okay, let’s get you up to your room. You can sleep it off, Swanny says.

Wait. I’m really cold. A wave of panic hits me. Shit. Am I gonna die? Chills are a sign of alcohol poisoning, right?

Swanny barks out a laugh. No. They’re a sign that you’re still wearing a maid’s uniform, you idiot.

7

BABY’S FIRST GAME

ANDY

ANDY, THIS IS called an uh-ree-nah, Joy Hoffman enunciates carefully while motioning around the place where we’re currently shivering.

I growl at her, and she laughs. What? You said you needed to learn all the basics of hockey.

I know the normal vocabulary of life, just not the arcane sports terminology, I grumble.

I’m at the men’s exhibition game with Emily, Dawn, and Joy. Emily is a huge fan of the Mustangs men’s team, and Joy dates someone on the women’s team, so they’re the perfect hockey experts to get me started. Dawn hates sports, but she finds my predicament hilarious and insisted on coming along for laughs.

I don’t understand why they can’t find someone who knows more about hockey to cover it, Emily says.

Which is literally everyone else at this college, Dawn replies.

Blame my stupid ex. I’ve given up on complaining at the Messenger office, since Bryce takes pleasure in my struggles. In fact, I’ve stopped going there altogether.

So far, I’ve accomplished five of the seven things on my sports editor to-do list. Tonight’s game is number six. I talked to the Monarch athletic director and learned that the biggest intercollegiate sports are hockey, wrestling, and track. This odd combination is mainly due to alumni donations.

If you go to even one women’s hockey game, it’ll be one more than the last sports editor, Joy says. They’ll be thrilled to get the coverage.

I will, I promise. But unfortunately, it’s the men’s team everyone wants to read about.

I hope they have a better season this year. They didn’t even make the playoffs last year, Emily says.

Did you go to every single game? I ask.

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