Page 26 of Heart Check
“I did.” He still doesn’t crack a smile. “And then I saw all your fumbles afterward.”
I wince. “We’re adjusting to our new coach. He and Noah don’t quite see eye to eye.”
“What’re you going to do about it?” He waits as I gape at him. “You can choose to just hope for the best, of course. You and I both know that’s not how careers get made. If you want things to change this season, you’re going to have to figure out how to change them.”
I open and shut my mouth a few times. My eyes are hot, pressure building behind them. It’s so fucking embarrassing being lectured by my dad in the middle of a crowd. Even if I know what he means, even if I know he’s got a point in there somewhere.
What does he expect me to do? I’m not captain, and I’m not coach. I’m just—
“You’re the most promising player this school has seen in a long time,” Dad says, almost as if he can read my thoughts. “Are you going to let all that talent go to waste?”
A pit grows in my stomach. My family’s invested so much in me over the years. All the money for gear and private coaching, for stickwork and footwork clinics, for ice time. All the time, driving me back and forth from practice and games until I could do it myself, reviewing my film and that of our opponents, strategizing about training and lifting.
Because of my potential. Because of my talent. All the support I get—from them, from my coaches, from the school—is because I’m the best. If that starts to slip… I shake my head. “No, sir.”
He nods, and that’s it. “Good. We’re thinking Olive Garden for dinner.”
“To celebrate!” Mom chimes in, still with that fixed smile. Lindsey bugs out her eyes behind their backs as we head for the doors. We both know this meal is going to include an excruciating play-by-play breakdown of where we went wrong tonight.
“Sounds great,” I say, but I’m a million miles away.
I’m pretty sure I just blew my only chance to impress a scout this season. And somehow I need to figure out a way to fix it.
10.HARPER
The whole town’s in mourningthe following day. Like, literally—half the school’s wearing black. I swear I even see some girl in a veil.
Part of me understands. I’m surprisingly melancholy myself. Not because of the hockey, but because of how crushed Dawson looked. For the first time, I felt kind of bad for him. It must suck to get defeated like that after putting in so much work.
I shake my head in disgust. No need to feel bad for the king of the jocks. I turn the corner, distracted by my own uncharacteristic sympathy, and bump right into someone in a Hawks jersey. They frown at me with way more aggression than necessary, shooting me dagger eyes. “Watch it, okay?”
I hold up my hands defensively. “Sorry! Not intentional, I swear!”
Serves me right for softening up. Dawson may have tried to call the rumor mill off, but you can’t put the genie back in the bottle. I guess enough people still think I’m responsible for their coach’s disgrace. At least the long Thanksgiving weekend starts tomorrow. These people need to eat some turkeyand relax. And I could really use a break from all the drama.
Just one test, four periods, and an indeterminate number of annoying conversations between me and freedom.
Arriving at Ms. Moore’s classroom provides momentary relief. Surely people will be focused on cramming for our exam and shouting out final questions during the passing period.
I should’ve known better.
As I slide into my seat, Josie says loudly behind me, “Is it too late to get Coach Red back? I’ve never seen the guys play so badly.”
Luckily, Liv butts in on that conversation, using her theater kid projection skills so even her casual, airy tone carries. “I mean, unless he wants to turn back time andnotembezzle… yeah, I think so.”
I toss her a grateful look, then open my laptop and fix my gaze stubbornly on my notes. I amnotgetting involved today.
But Josie raises her voice. “I hope no one took any joy in that kind of loss. It was embarrassing, you know? If it made youhappy, you’d have to be totally heartless.”
That onealmostgets me to turn around. The hockey team might get too much attention—why would anyone celebrate being surrounded by so muchnoiseandcold—but I’m not out herehopingfor people’s dreams to be crushed. What kind of a monster do they think I am?
But the gamewasbrutal. Had I underestimated how important a good coach was? Because surely that wasn’t the same team everyone’s always drooling over? The team that won regionals last year? It was so hard to watch that at one point I almost tucked my head under Marissa’s arm like a baby bird.
I’m glad I didn’t, though. Dawson’s goal really was beautiful. And the way he unlatched his helmet at the end and shook out his hair…
My gaze snaps up when he enters the room. His head is down, shoulders a little slumped. A chorus of voices meets him—“Nice goal, dude” and “Tough loss” and alotof “Why didn’t Coach play you more?”—and he forces a smile and some small talk. He clearly wants to be left alone to mope. I can relate.
Hope his bad mood doesn’t ruin the test for him. He was just getting the hang of permutations.
