Page 85 of Rookie Season
I sigh heavily. These are my friends, my guys, my family.If I can’t talk to them about Ally, who can I talk to? Besides, it’s becoming impossible to hide this thing between us, and I don’t want them—especially Fisher, who knows what happened to Ally last spring—to think she’s just a hookup or something.
“I think I’m in love with Ally,” I blurt before rushing forward and trying to snap the puck away from Sandine again. I don’t reach him in time, and he shoots the puck at our goalie, who makes a stick save.
A faceoff is set up and the reprieve from action has me thinking about the words I just spoke.
I think I’m in love with Ally.
Wait, that’s not what I meant to say. That was too much, too soon. I clearly don’t know how to do this ‘opening up’ thing…
Penn and Fisher skate close to me, crouching down and ready to snag the biscuit if we win the faceoff. They’re both staring at me like I’m an exotic animal on display at the zoo or something.
I squeeze my eyes shut, regretting my choice of words. Not because it’s not true—I know, if I’m being honest with myself, that’s how I feel—but because that’s a lot of information to trust these two hooligans with.
“Wow, okay, that’s not what I was expecting,” Fisher finally says.
“Love?” Penn asks, his voice rising a whole octave.
Our team wins the faceoff and we all skate quickly down to the offensive zone. Carver steals the puck away and rushes it back to the defensive zone where he scores on a breakaway.
Mitch uses his whistle to indicate we have a break, and I remove one of my gloves and let it drop to the ice. I swipe my hand across my sweat-dampened face, but the sweatkeeps coming. Penn and Fisher skate up next to me, clearly waiting for me to continue explaining.
Does opening up to your friends always make people this itchy?
“Shit, I didn’t mean to say love. I just really like her, okay?” I feel too flustered and hot and agitated to be honest with them.
Penn’s mouth slowly curves into a smirk, then his head falls back, and he laughs. Fisher grins and his arm goes around Penn’s shoulders as he gazes at me like he’s a proud dad.
“Our little Downsby is all grown up and in love,” Fisher says.
“I’m never telling you two anything again,” I mutter, turning to skate away.
Penn reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me. “Oh no you don’t, get back here.”
I stop but cross my arms, glaring at them.
Penn takes one look at my defensive stance and huffs an unbelieving laugh.
“That’s it,” I mutter, and Penn’s face suddenly grows serious, and he holds up his hands.
“Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop. I’ve just never seen you like this before, Noah. Over a girl, or hockey, or…anything. You're completely obsessed with her, huh?”
I tut. “I’m notobsessed.” But I can feel the heat rising to my face.
And just like that, Penn’s moment of seriousness evaporates, and my two idiot roommates start punching each other’s arms and pinching their mouths closed with their teeth so their squeals are muffled into small squeaks. Clearly, they can hardly contain their excitement over this; they’re acting like my nieces right now.
“Downsby, Matthews, Fisher! What in the hell are you doing!” Mitch’s thundering yell comes from the edge of the ice, and we all snap to attention. I’m horrified to see that sometime during this inane conversation we missed the whistle and the faceoff forming at center ice.
Sandine sneers at us. “This isn’t high school, ladies. This is the National Hockey League. So how about you stop your giggling and get your asses over here?”
I’d roll my eyes, but Mitch is glaring at me. The three of us skate to center ice and get into position.
When I’m close enough, Sandine whispers under his breath, “Some of us actually have to work at practice because we’re not buddies with the coach.”
I glide my tongue across my front teeth to keep from saying something I’ll regret. I’m here to work, not gossip with Penn and Fisher…I just got sidetracked with all their questions.
We’re playing the Sacramento Fire Cats next weekend and their power play skills are impressive, so this practice is crucial, I get it. But Sandine is giving me whiplash. One day he’s got a stick up his ass and hates me, then the next he’s telling me I did a great job.
For the rest of practice, I give it my all, not allowing myself to become distracted by Penn and Fisher’s taunting looks and prying questions. Sandine seems appeased with my performance and leaves me alone. Once we’re all in the locker room taking off our gear, Coach Anderson and Coach Slater come in, standing in the center of the room.
