Chapter 39 Adrian
ADRIAN
(Adrian, fifteen years old)
Normally, I drag myself out of bed to meet them at the rink, but this time I’m ready early because I’ve been awake all night. It’s cold sleeping in the garage, even with the space heater my mom plugged in for me.
“I’m sorry, Adrian. But I don’t know what else to do,” was what she told me.
We’re a family of nine cramped in a one-story house.
Four bedrooms aren’t enough. Mom and the dude she thinks will stay but won’t are in one room with my newest sister.
The second room is for three of my younger sisters, and the third room was for two of my oldest sisters, but now they’re fighting.
Screaming. Threatening to run away. Normal teenage shit.
To separate them, Mom asked if I could give up my bedroom. Just for now to keep the peace.
That’s why I’m in the garage.
I made a big show of moving into it yesterday, packing up my stuff and making goodbye speeches to everyone (except for my fake dad) as if I’m never going to see them again and am being shipped off to war.
I told my mom to cook my favorites as a last meal, mashed potatoes from the box and mac and cheese, also from a box but spruced up with my mom’s special spices.
I told her to feed me extra, because who knows how quickly I’ll wither away in the dungeon. Demonstrating the process, I’d slid to the floor as if melting.
My jokes made her smile. And they made my younger sisters giggle and pretend to melt, too. With the last few days of teenage screaming matches, they had stopped playing. I hated that.
When dinner was ready, the fake dad took a lot of the mac and cheese for himself and talked about how he’s going to put all this work into building an extension of the house, so we all have more room.
He won’t. Us kids are waiting for him to leave. We like it better when it’s just our mom and us. And I hate that we need anyone else, but Mom tells us he pays the mortgage.
That was yesterday.
Today, the sun hasn’t fully come up, but I’m trekking to the ice rink behind our house, flashlight in one hand and a duffel bag of equipment in the other.
Jesse is already there with his dad. They share the same cropped hair, though his dad’s is gray. He also has dug-in wrinkles around his stern eyes and a whistle always ready to go. In the town we live in, I’ve heard people call him a helicopter parent more than a few times.
But Jesse never complains.
Maybe he looks at my life and sees that I have no idea if my dad looks like me because I’ve never met him. And that the only reason I’m any good at hockey is because Jesse’s dad has paid for all my gear and made sure every minor league his kid joined, I also joined, quietly paying for my fees.
I have a feeling it’s because while Jesse’s not my only friend, I’m his only friend. He doesn’t like to socialize with anyone else and his dad knows that.
But whatever the reason, I’m fucking grateful.
They wave at me now, gesturing for me to hurry.
I run over and get dressed, and then the drills start.
Jesse’s dad shouts the instructions. We practice passing, chasing the puck, skating the inside edge, the outside edge, making tight turns, puck protection, and pivoting.
Then repeat all that, but this time, faster and working to keep our heads up.
Two hours later, our clothes stick to our skin. And it’s a matchup between me and Jesse to see who scores first.
Jesse wins.
His dad blows the whistle. His eyes gleam with pride as he nods at his son. “Way to go.” Then he nods at me. “Keep working at it, Adrian. You have so much potential.”
With that, he goes to gather the orange cones scattered around the rink.
Jesse hands me a water bottle. Our helmets are off. “One day, you’ll get me, dude.”
“Naw.” I grin. “You’re good enough to go pro. Me? I’m alright.”
Jesse chucks his water bottle at me. “Better than that, man.”
I catch it. “Just remember us commoners when you make it.”
We toss the bottle back and forth slowly at first, and then start whipping it at each other and laughing. In the distance, Jesse’s dad rolls his eyes.
Sitting down on the snow afterwards, I start unlacing my skates. “I mean it, don’t forget me when you’re famous.”
Jesse snorts. “Relax, as soon as I’m drafted, I’m telling them to draft you, too.”
“Don’t think it works like that, bro.”
“It does if you’re the greatest hockey player.” He stays standing as if he’s not quite ready to take his skates off. “I’m going to be the best. And then the league will have to listen to me. Especially when I win for Canada in front of the world.”
My eyebrows shoot up as I grin. “The whole world?”
“Shut up.”
“Didn’t think the whole world cared.”
He picks up a hockey stick, ready to bop me with it. But I’m fast so I’m diving for my own and then—
His dad yells that we’re going to be late for school.
Twenty minutes later, we’re in the back of a sedan. Jesse’s parents are driving us to school.
Jesse turns toward me. “You think I’m kidding, but I’m not.
I’m going to be Team Canada’s captain and score the game winning goal with two seconds until the buzzer hits, and the crowd’s going to lose their shit, and then this”—he glances at his parents, who are too busy talking to each other—“this hot chick’s going to fall for me and we’re going to have a fancy ass wedding on an island—”
“And have ten kids? Bo-ring.” I glance and confirm his parents aren’t listening, but still lower my voice. “If I make it, I’m going to have a group of hot chicks into me.”
“And?” asks Jesse.
“What else, man? That’s all that matters.” I smirk. “Me getting laid.”
He groans. “Bro, you haven’t even done it yet.”
“Neither have you!” I elbow him lightly. “Also, where’s the support in my dreams? I believe in yours.”
“Yeah, yeah. If that happens, I’ll high-five you.”
“Just a high-five?” I mime a knife going into my chest.
Jesse rolls his eyes, looking exactly like his dad when he did the same gesture earlier. “Fine, you’ll be my hero if you pull that off. Happy?”
I laugh. “That’s more like it.”
We stop inside the school parking lot, and I find my smile slipping a little. Only because I’m reminded there’s only two more years of this left before we graduate, and then Jesse goes off to be great, and I… I don’t know.
I don’t want it to end.
The mornings practicing hockey with him and his dad are like nothing else in my life. Those hours belong to me. I don’t have to share them with my sisters, or think about giving up my room, or giving up most of my mac and cheese because it’s been fucking swiped—
All I want is a say in my own life. For once.
But that only happens if I make it, right?
That’s why you can’t get left behind. No matter what.
Just imagine it.
Jesse and I winning gold in front of the whole world together, because if anyone’s going to do something like that, it’s him.