Page 23 of Heart Check
“I’m not— I didn’t ask for that!” I call after them.
“Don’t try to pretend you don’t like it,” Harper calls back without even turning around.
I bite back my retort.Stay focused, Dawson.Even if Harper’s wearing a blue sweater, an unusual departure from her usual muted wardrobe.
This is not the time to wonder if she’s wearing color in a show of support. I know better.
I slam my locker shut, shaking my hands out and jumping up and down to try to channel some of this nervous energy. I’ve never been so wound up before a game. Couldn’t even eat the eggs and toast Mom always fixes on game mornings for extra energy. I’ll regret it in a few hours when I need to make up those calories, but there’s no way my stomach’s keeping anything down this morning.
My phone buzzes, lighting up with a text fromthe line. Alex came up with the group chat name in ninth grade and it still makes me smile. Even if we’ve never been on a line together on the ice, it’s the best way to describe the way we have each other’s backs.
Alex:did you eat today Dawson
Me:can’t. Too nervous.
Alex:you can’t boss everyone else around and then ignore the advice when it gets dished back at you
Ryan:don’t be nervous, idiot
Ryan:you’re too good for that
Ryan:besides, win or lose, the birdcage is going to be by our side
Ryan:ready to celebrate or console you… if you know what I mean…. .
I flash on a sudden mental image of Harper cheering me on and have to blink to clear it. It’s just because I want to prove her wrong about me. It’s hard to deal with someone hating you after years of being admired by everyone else.
With Harper in my head, my stomach churns through the rest of the day. I’m surrounded by good luck wishes andclocks whose hands never seem to move. When I finally make it to the locker room after school, it’s clear everyone else is just as wound up as I am. It’s church quiet as we suit up, the silence broken only by Sam muttering to himself while twisting his bracelets—whatever his pregame superstition is, I hope it works—and Ryan’s horrible attempts at humor.
“Noah, are you skipping haircuts on purpose?” he asks. “Maybe going for a man bun this year? Trying to maximize your flow for good luck?”
Noah’s voice is curt. “I don’t need good luck.” Then he mutters, “Just a coach who fucking knows what he’s doing. Where the hell is Dan? He should be briefing us on Washington’s weaknesses from their last game. Giving us a few last-minute plays he’s had up his sleeve, like Red always does—did. Is he just hoping we execute the same boring plays we’ve been practicing for weeks?”
I can’t be the only one who hears Noah’s grumbling. Not the most confidence inspiring when we’re about to go on the ice following that coach’s “same boring plays.” But maybe he’ll pull out something more rousing for his pregame captain’s speech?
When Noah claps his hands, the guys all circle up. He looks around, making eye contact with each one, before nodding decisively. “All right, let’s do our best. You heard Coach.”
The locker room is silent as we all wait for more. Noah turns around and heads for the door without saying another word.
Okay, I guess that’s it. Cool.
I follow him out, shooting a tight-lipped smile at everyone I pass, doing my best to project confidence. It’s clear Noah’sskeptical of our strategy today, and who can blame him? But hell, I could use a pep talk myself today. I need a lot more thanlet’s do our best.
This season’s my shot.
I clap on my helmet and skate out onto the ice for warm-ups, shoving all my doubts and worries deep into the back of my brain. It’s game time.
The first thing I see is Harper and her friend Marissa, in the stands right above the face-off circle. I come to an abrupt stop, spraying ice and frowning their way. They’re not wearing jerseys—of course not, Harper would never be caught dead in something that school spirited—but now I’m sure that sweater was chosen on purpose, whether she’d admit it or not. It looks soft, and it drapes around her neck in a way that shows off her delicate collarbone. I don’t take my eyes off her as I do a few loops of the rink to warm up.
I’ve never seen her in the stands before, and after everything she’s said about the team, I never expected to. What, is she hoping we lose so she can gloat?
And does she have to look so damnprettywhile she’s at it?
I tear my attention away for my pregame warm-up ritual, juggling the puck and trying to catch it on the flat side of my stick, but I keep dropping it. Because I keep sneaking glances at Harper and Marissa.
“Dawson!”
I jerk to attention, looking at Noah as he glides past. He’s nodding up at the stands.
