Page 5 of Lucky Sucker

We didn’t have enough players to play against each other in teams, so we took it as a chance to play a puck tag, which was when one skater had the puck, and they had to hit you with it to pass the puck on. It was a game of speed, endurance, and most of all, fun, because nobody wanted to be tagged. There was usually a punishment involved with whoever the last one touching the puck, and Coach often set that, but he left halfway through, so I set it.

“Last one with the puck after ten minutes has to make group dinner,” I said. “Julia isn’t here until the end of the week, so we’re gonna need some good food, and if it’s not good, another punishment determined by the group.”

Nobody wanted to cook for the group, and I didn’t blame them either, we could be ruthless when it came to the foods we loved and hated. Julia had perfected being able to create food for each of us based on whatever the nutritionist was telling her. Being one of us and getting stuck with the job was going to be an absolute pain.

But I lowkey really enjoyed cooking, it was a shame I was nicknamed Lucky and not Loser, otherwise I might’ve been at risk.

3. WREN

My happy place had always been by the ice rink, it wasn’t so much wanting to play on it as it was the way the air was always a bit chilly, obviously because it was close to the ice, but it also held a special place for sense memories. My dad would always take me to games, and they were always so exhilarating.

Part of me knew it was possible for the Orcas, the college team to show up and play, but since school hadn’t even started up again, I figured the chance was slim.

I’d been in the middle of writing up ideas I could pitch for the college paper, The Caldwell Chronicle. I’d managed to get into the paper at the end of the last semester, there was a lot of hoops to jump through and submitting an article, which didn’t get published, but they must’ve seen some promise in me to give me that opportunity.

Bloo kept me company in the stands, but as soon as the team began playing and shouting at one and other, I had to leave. It was like being back at the diner, unsure if they were looking at me at all, and sweat trickling from my brow trying to avoid raising my eyes to see them. And when I did, I locked eyes with them.

“You finished up already?” Michael, the ice hockey coach said to me as I walked past him in the stands.

“Yeah, I was just um—catching the essence of the rink,” I said. “I’m hoping I’ll be able to write for the sports section of the college paper. I just wanted to see where the best place to watch the games from were.”

“Always up by the glass,” he said. “That’s where the real magic happens.”

My teeth clenched. That’s where I’d always be sat with my dad, right up near the glass. One of the earliest memories I had was smacking the glass and then one of the players went flying up into it, scaring me, but only because he busted his face, and I think he lost a tooth as well.

“But if you are serious about reporting for the team, you should chat with the captain,” he added, gesturing to the tall, handsome man in the number ten jersey. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to give you a statement even.”

“Right. I’m not even sure if they’ll assign me to the team, but I’ll make my case,” I said. I was torn from wanting to be in the stands, secretly reporting, to the coach now knowing who I was, and him forcing me into being social with the team captain. I’d probably become mute in the moment.

“I haven’t seen anyone else come in doing research, so if you want a word putting in, I can,” he said.

He didn’t even know me, and yet, he was almost willing to go to bat for me with the college paper. I thanked him and before I could really break down into a puddle on the floor, I walked off, but not through the entrance I’d come, through another door that looked just like the exit. It was the back of the rink where the offices and locker rooms were.

I kept my head down and walked right through it until I came out on the other side. I’d completely lost where I was from the mental map I’d made. Luckily, the campus was well signposted, and I made my way back to the center of the campus where I found a nice bench to sit.

My phone rang, and it was my mom. After the third ring, I answered.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m doing fine, just getting all my stuff ready.”

“Hey, honeybun, you didn’t text back last night. I got a little worried, didn’t call the cops though.”She laughed it off like it was something she hadn’t done before. She had, twice.

“I texted you back, I just didn’t text back again.” I held Bloo close. to my chest, running my fingers across the light bumps the crochet loops formed. I tried counting them as my mom talked at length about whether I needed anything and telling me, once more about all the perils of independent living and the type of laundry detergent I needed to buy because of the time when I was six and I got a rash. “Oh, mom, sorry, I’ve got to go. The shuttle bus is coming, and I need to go grab groceries.” The shuttle bus really was approaching.

“One last thing, if you do buy a bike, buy a helmet, knee pads, and elbow pads, because you know you can never be too safe,” she said, as if it wasn’t already ingrained in my brain and behind my eyelids.

“I will, I promise. Love you.”

“Love you more, honeybun.”

Hanging up, I always felt this cool air wash over me. Relief, but I felt bad for that. She was only doing what she knew best, and I couldn’t hold that against her.

My brain was a ball of mush by the time I was back at the house, going over everything, again and again, repeating scenarios like someone had a sour taste in their mouth because of something I said or did. Like, leaving the ice rink. I didn’t know if they took it as a sign of disrespect.

It wouldn’t leave my mind, but after getting back to the house, it was quickly replaced with my housemates who encouraged me to hang out. They wanted to get to know me, and I couldn’t say no to them again, I’d already told them no last night.

Donna, Tara, Elliot, and Sam, they were already such a strong friendship group. I didn’t want to tread on anyone’s toes by trying to become one of them, and I also didn’t want to tread on my own toes by committing too much time to them, especially when the friendship wasn’t going to last.

The four of them were in the dining room. Donna had her MacBook open, Elliot, I think, had a large stack of science texts in front of him, and Sam and Tara both had fresh notepads. I felt like I was becoming part of a study group, for a class that hadn’t even started, and I hadn’t joined.

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