Page 10 of Slapshot
Eventually the action begs for my attention. The team is young, and they make mistakes you’d expect college players to make, but they’re dominating the puck.
Patrick Graham makes a goal off a rebound by Weston Griggs seconds before the end of the first period. The guys on the ice celebrate and then they all head off to the locker room with huge grins on their faces.
One down, two more to go. Times about thirty more games. Ugh.
I have just enough free time between periods to clean up the bench, check on Northeastern, and jog back to the Moo U bench before intermission ends. I should have eaten or grabbed a coffee before the game. Oh wait, I’m broke. Well, not totally broke, thanks to Vivian.
Coach Garfunkle and Coach Keller are talking with one of the players as I take my spot behind the bench. Number twenty-three, Lex Vonne, left-handed forward, size eleven skates, uses a ninety-flex stick. Oh, god, that file Alec put together was too good. I’ve memorized the entire roster and that is not something I’m proud of. At all.
Lex skates back and forth a few times while the coaches watch him. He’s a good-looking guy if you’re into that blond hair, brown-eyed, cleft chin, perfect body kind of hockey dude. A frown pulls at his pouty lips. “It doesn’t feel right. Something’s different.”
Coach Garfunkle stares at his skates as he continues to glide. “We can re-sharpen them after the game or swap you out for another pair of skates now?”
Before I realize I’m being helpful, I stand and move closer. “I’ll grab another size eleven from the locker room.”
“Nah.” Lex shakes his head and steps up to the bench. He played less than two minutes of the last period, but he’s got that same determined and focused look the others wear. “They’ll be okay for tonight.”
“You’re sure?” Coach Garfunkle asks.
Lex glances to me and then quickly looks away. “They’re fine.”
I feel some ridiculous resentment that he won’t let me do my job, but I can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t trust me not to screw it up or because he’s one of those guys who thinks if he switches skates halfway through a game he’ll give the team bad juju. Hockey players are ridiculously superstitious.
Both coaches briefly look to me for help as if they expect me to convince this kid to switch skates. I shrug. “He says it’s fine.”
And fine is great because it means less work for me.
5
Lex
The guys are celebrating our win tonight as I head to see our new equipment manager. For once, I can blame my shitty game on someone else. Whatever she did to my skates, I felt like Bambi standing for the first time out there.
“Hey, uh, can you sharpen these for tomorrow?” I ask, holding out my skates. “Half-inch radius.”
She stares blankly, blinking a few times. “Your file says five-eighths.”
Okay, so maybe not completely her fault. “Alec had me try it, but I like the half-inch.”
“Okay.” She takes my skates. I’m sort of impressed that she doesn’t cringe or make a big deal out of the smell because it’s not roses.
“Could you replace the lace on the left one, too? It’s frayed.”
“How old are these skates?”
I shrug and then straighten my shoulders. “Not that old.”
Three years and I think they were used when I got them, but I like my skates. I get plenty of shit from the guys about them. Most of the team has newer ones from Dalager, but I prefer mine.
Kaitlyn looks like she wants to say more about my beat-up skates but doesn’t. “Okay. I’ll re-sharpen them and replace the laces before Monday.”
“Can you do it tonight?”
“You guys are off tomorrow.”
“No official practice, but I usually come in.”
I don’t move and neither does she. I try to see Declan Dalager in her, but aside from the blue eyes, she looks nothing like him. Her hair is a shiny brown, and she has high cheekbones that seem vicious when she purses her full lips, like she’s doing right now.
