Chapter 18 The Fame Game
THE FAME GAME
CLEO
I HAVE TURNED INTO THE WORLD’S SAPPIEST GIRLFRIEND.
MY CALENDAR IS NOW STARRED WITH ALL the times that I get to see Mats.
Lunch together on Monday, yum. Tuesday is dinner at Marjorie’s, where she observes that I’m in an extremely good mood.
‘That’s because I’m finally getting some, and it’s sizzling,’ is what I want to tell her, but that’s definitely TMI.
Plus, I was already supposed to be having sex with Mats.
Wednesday, I go over to his place after dinner and we have sex.
My review: Five stars, would come again.
And again. Thursday, we’re both busy, but we manage to squeeze in a coffee date.
Then the low point of the week is the weekend, since we both have away games, and I have to settle for video calls instead of the real thing.
Yet I still find myself humming and smiling constantly. Becks calls me nauseatingly happy.
On the following Monday, I’m still flying high from the weekend games. We’re in first place in the division, and my hat trick on Saturday night definitely helped. I’m on my way to practice when a short Asian woman with glasses and long hair collars me by the arena doors.
Hey, Cleo. I’m Andy Robson. I’m the sports editor for the Messenger.
I break into a wide grin. Oh, I know exactly who you are. You’re the person who finally got the college newspaper to cover women’s hockey. And the Minks love you for that. Yes, C.J. Baker writes all the game stories, but it’s Andy who fought for the coverage.
She smiles. Well, thank you. It’s nice to be appreciated. Look, since you’re the captain, I thought I’d ask you first. I’d like to write another player profile on someone from the women’s team. Do you have any suggestions?
In the fall, Andy wrote a profile on Ella Smith, which was epic. Of course, I knew all about Smitty’s injury, but even I didn’t know the full extent of her setbacks and frustrations before she could play again.
I go over the women’s team roster in my head. Maybe Woolly? She’s a two-sport athlete who does sprints with the track team. Jenny Fry, who is president of the LGBTQ+ club at Monarch?
I’ll have to think about it. Let me send you some suggestions, I offer.
What about you? she asks.
Me?
Yes. You scored a hat trick on the weekend, right? You do a lot of charitable work. And I hear you’ve got a ton of personality.
I snort. You mean I’m a show-off, right?
Actually, Jack and Mats both suggested you, she says.
Oh, right. You’re dating Jack Sinclair, aren’t you? Mats said we should go out with you guys sometime, I reply.
She nods. That would be fun. But what about the profile?
I’ll be honest with you. Smitty’s profile was good because she had been through so much. Nobody wants to read about someone like me—I haven’t had any hardships. I’m just—eat, sleep, hockey. And incredible sex with my awesome boyfriend, but again, TMI.
Andy frowns. I can tell she’s someone who’s used to getting her way. After all, she must have had to fight the power at the Messenger, where they thought that just printing the Minks’ scores for years was enough.
I’m sorry, Andy. But I will find you someone good, I promise.
We exchange contact info, and I head for the dressing room. But as I’m passing Burty’s door, she calls out to me, Got a sec, Nellie?
I detour into her office and plunk myself into a chair. Sure, Coach. What’s up?
I’ve been contacted by Monarch social media. They’d like to interview you.
Wow. This must be my day in the spotlight.
Halle-fucking-lujah. So, they’ve finally acknowledged that women’s hockey exists? I quip.
Monarch social media consists of the college-sanctioned accounts, which are geared more towards parents and prospective students, but most students follow them anyway.
They regularly interview players from the men’s team, like new players or the first star of the latest game.
But they’ve never done a single story on the women’s team.
We may not be considered as sexy as the men’s team, but we are better right now. The Mustangs are only in second place.
Coach Burton snorts. I trust you’ll keep the sarcasm and profanities to a minimum while you’re interviewed.
Me and who else?
She shrugs. They only asked for you. Either because of your hat trick, or because you’re the captain.
That’s fine with me, but I prefer to share the spotlight. Hockey is a team game. Though I guess you can’t have too many people on camera at once.
When’s this interview happening? I ask.
She consults her notepad. Would today after practice work for you?
I pull out my phone to double-check my schedule. Yeah, I’m clear.
Fine. I’ll let them know. Make the program look good, okay?
How can I not? We’re awesome. I head to the dressing room, where everyone is grilling Fryer about a date she drove all the way to Minnie for.
Fryer is like me, someone whose dating life is disastrous and hilarious.
But I can’t claim that title anymore. I don’t talk about dating Mats because—like I said to Andy—who wants to hear about someone’s perfect life?
He’s smart and considerate, and he challenges me to be better.
And anyone with eyes can see how hot he is.
She looked nothing like her photos, Fryer complains. And she was at least fifteen years older than she claimed.
Oooh. She must have really been excited to meet a young hottie like you, Gilly coos.
Maybe? I could not get out of there fast enough. I drove four hours round-trip for a fifteen-minute date. Fryer makes a sad face.
You should date someone from Monarch, and then you’ll know what you’re getting, Gilly urges, because that’s what she did. She and her girlfriend, Joy, have been going out for almost two years now.
Dating another student is the way to go, I agree enthusiastically, and someone pitches a tape ball at me. I’m flattered though, since no one has ever been jealous of my love life.
Practice is tough, and I forget about the interview until I see a tall guy filming our scrimmage.
Somebody stealing our drills now? Becks asks while we’re on the bench during scrimmage.
No, Monarch social media is interviewing me after practice, I confess, still feeling guilty that it’s just me.
Shit. Is that who I think it is? She searches the rink. I look around too, but the tall guy is the only one here. Then we’re back on the ice. I hustle out and make a nice tic-tac-toe play with Jinx that ends up in a goal.
Coach whistles us all in for one last huddle and some advice about this weekend’s opponents. I like the way she’s always focused on the future, win or lose.
The tall guy waves at me and motions to the bench. That must be where we’re doing this.
I pull off my helmet and Becks hands me a towel. Then she starts smoothing down my hair, which is sweat-soaked and beyond saving.
What are you doing? I try to push her hand away, but she redoubles her efforts.
Lana Hillier is here, she hisses. Is it a coincidence that our first-ever appearance on Monarch social media is happening now that you’re dating her ex? She’s probably here to check you out.
I open my mouth to argue and Becks silences me by applying lip gloss. Did she have some hidden deep in her hockey pants? If so, gross.
Are we ready here? A poised voice interrupts Becks’s futile makeover attempt. Nobody who just worked her ass off in practice can look good afterwards.
We both turn to see the runway-ready Lana entering the bench. Shit. It’s easy to make fun of her while watching her videos, but real-life Lana is actually perfect—from her porcelain skin to her immaculate white parka to her beach-waved hair. Hers is the approved face of Monarch College.
Becks whispers Good luck as she departs. Part of me wants to haul her back for moral support, but I straighten my shoulders and face my fate.
Hey, I’m Cleo Nelson. I hold out my hand before realizing I still have my hockey gloves on. I yank them off and try again.
Lana Hillier. So nice to meet you. She shakes my hand and smiles in a friendly way. Maybe Becks is delusional. After all, Lana is the one who broke up with Mats. Why would she care about me?
She looks over her shoulder. Tim, where should we put Cleo for this shot? Maybe with the rink in the background?
Yeah, sure. As long as the Zamboni isn’t a distraction. The ice is being flooded before the men’s practice, because God forbid they’d have to skate on chewed-up ice.
Actually, the men’s team will be out here in fifteen minutes, so maybe we shouldn’t be on the bench at all, I explain.
Don’t worry, we’ll be done by then, Lana reassures me. I’m just going to ask a few easy questions about the season and the upcoming playoffs. Is that okay?
I nod as I stare at Lana’s mouth. No haphazard lip gloss there, just perfect pink lips. Lips that Mats has kissed, many times. Fuck.
I put my helmet and gloves on the bench, but hold on to my stick. Feeling it in my hands steadies me.
Okay, let’s roll. Lana faces the camera and switches on a blinding smile and professional demeanour.
We’re here with Cleo Nelson, captain of the Monarch women’s hockey team, the Minks.
She turns towards me and beams. Cleo, can you tell us about the Minks’ season so far? Where are you in the standings?
We’re number one right now, and we’re hoping to hang on to that ranking right into the playoffs. I try to smile, but my lips stick to my teeth.
Is that an advantage? Lana asks, with a serene blink of her baby blues.
Yes, then we’d get a first-round bye, which is as good as winning a playoff game. Fuck, does everyone know that a bye means advancing automatically? Also, could I sound any stiffer?
She nods. Cleo, I understand that you had a big game on Sunday afternoon against Essex College.
You’re probably talking about the hat trick I scored, but that’s a credit to my linemates, Becky Moore and Candace Gillespie, who are on fire. We’re lucky, because our team is peaking at exactly the right time.