Page 70 of Heart Check
The scout’s eyes flick over me, and I do my best to smile even though my gut is churning. I should be happy. I’m getting the recognition that I craved at the start of the season. Red has come through just like I knew he would. And his good opinion used to fill me with pride—where’s that warm glow in my chest? But…
Has Red always been like this? Putting me on a pedestal at the expense of everyone else? Alex is good, okay? Maybe he’s not quiteasgood, but he deserves attention. But Red is only highlightingme.
I frown. He probablyhasalways been like this. But I never saw it until today. Not until I’d been coached by Dan for the last few weeks and gotten to see his strategy. The way he mixed up our lines, the way he gave guys like Alex and Patrick and Louis as much coaching as the rest of us. The way they’ve improved as a result, shooting percentages skyrocketing.
Maybe Harper was right about our team. Maybe I really was acting like I was better than some of the other guys—because Red treated me that way. Because I was afraid of not being the star he thought I was. Afraid of not proving my worth to everyone around me.
The stands are starting to fill with students, a wave of blue for the home team against Northview’s red and black. I hear my name a few times, raise my hand in a distracted wave.
Red’s grinning, looking around at the crowd. “Built this program from the ground up and look at it now! This team’s going to have a great season. Just wait. Incredible game ahead tonight.”
I mumble a goodbye as I turn away. Red doesn’t even notice.
Everything feels blurry and distant, like I’m watching itthrough thick glass. I used to idolize this guy. But right now he just seems… sad. Sad that he’s clinging to his own ego after he’s been knocked down a peg. Sad that he’s acting like he’s the one responsible for the success of the program when it’s so, so clear that it was a team effort.
The wind’s knocked out of me.
He’swhat Harper was always warning me about. The guy clinging to his glory days.
I was getting a little too close to turning into him. Until I started hanging out with Harper, I didn’t realize how much of my own success was a team effort too. The coaching from both Red and Dan, the edge that Noah gave me, the quiet support from Alex, Ryan’s reminders not to take myself too seriously on the hard days.
I take a deep breath, letting the sharpness of the cold pierce my lungs. Everything comes into crystal clear focus.
Ryan skates out for warm-ups, grinning, arms outstretched like the hockey messiah Harper once accused me of being. At first I just give him a distracted smile—but then my eyes snag on the dozens of bracelets loading his arms.
“Want a spirit bracelet?” he asks. “We have everyone’s number, or plain blue. Some have slogans on them. Ooh, but my favorites are the ones with little skates!” He dangles them in the air with the fervor of a man who’s just been gifted his first friendship bracelet.
A little silver coin hangs from the end of each one. It looks like…
I skate closer. “Can I see one of those?”
When I get a closer look, heart in my throat, I confirm it: They’re Harper’s. That’s her littleBBengraving on the insignia,Beads by Braedon. “Harper’s making spirit bracelets?”
My voice comes out more desperate than I intend. Because if Harper’s making spirit bracelets, maybe she doesn’t totally hate me. Maybe she’s even sending me some sort of sign.
My pulse kicks up.Isshe sending me some sort of sign? But why wouldn’t she just talk to me?
Ryan smirks. “I don’t know, some girl gave them to me… about five feet tall, long brown hair… pretty green eyes?”
“Don’t mess with me today, man.” I shake my head. “I’m too fragile.”
“Yeah, okay!” Ryan holds up his hands defensively. I wonder how crazy the gleam in my eye is. “Harper made them. She was selling them in the lobby with Marissa and Sabrina. They’re quite a trio.”
My mind spins. If Marissa’s helping her, did Harper tell her about me? Did she tell her all the shitty stuff I did and said, and did she tell her the good parts too?
I want to dash outside to ask her everything myself. To tell her everything I’ve been thinking but—stupidly, so stupidly—not saying.
Mostly,I’m sorry.
“Be careful Coach doesn’t see you wearing them,” Ryan says. “You know there’ll be hell to pay if one of these breaks on the ice and someone’s skates hit a bead. Oh man, oh man, I can see the injuries now—”
I cut him off, voice tight. “Got it. Gimme the bracelets, bro.”
Ryan presses a handful of bracelets into my palm, and I slide them onto my wrist one at a time.
One saysFLY HIGH, HAWKS.
Another, decorated with tiny birdcages, makes me laugh.BIRD POOP = GOOD LUCK, in tiny letters. No one but Harper could come up withthatpeppy slogan.
