Chapter 26 - The Gauntlet
THE GAUNTLET
CLEO
HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF THE GAUNTLET? I ASK ANDY.
It’s Saturday, and we’re making our way back from my latest drug test in Minneapolis. Now the lab has samples of my blood, pee, saliva, and even hair, so maybe they can clone me. Although the world’s not ready for two Cleo Nelsons.
Andy and I are sitting in the backseat of an SUV driven by Ryan Wallace, a photographer and videographer from the Messenger. Everything today has been documented, with the exception of me actually peeing into a bottle. Apparently, we’re making the Cleo Takes a Drug Test documentary.
Are you referring to the gloves used by knights in medieval literature? she asks, because of course she’s going to know the literary origins of every fucking word ever.
What? No, I mean the hockey drill.
Ah, right. I keep forgetting that you’re exactly like Jack. Every road leads to hockey. Or sharks. She scrunches up her nose. What is the gauntlet?
It’s a drill where half the team lines up about five feet from the boards and forms a corridor. Then one player tries to stickhandle the puck down that corridor while everyone body-checks the shit out of her.
Andy winces as she makes a note. She has recorded every single thing I’ve said or done today. That sounds painful.
It’s the worst fucking drill in hockey. You’re black and blue the day after. And some asshole always has to show off and try to plaster you into the boards.
I thought there wasn’t body-checking in women’s hockey, she says.
There’s body contact. But I used to go to boys’ hockey camps, where everyone hit me extra hard, just to show me that I didn’t belong. That bullshit just motivated me more.
Seeing as Andy is still writing, I continue. Anyway, I’d rather go through the gauntlet ten times than be interviewed by you again.
Ryan, who has hardly said a word all day, snorts with laughter.
Andy beams at me. I think that’s a compliment, right? I’ve been very thorough.
Yes, she has. She’s asked me questions about my childhood, my family, my hockey career, my post-college plans, and way too much about my psychology.
It feels like she’s gone into my brain and scooped out half of it.
And she’s already interviewed my coach and Becks.
I shudder to imagine what Becks has said.
Well, you’ll be relieved to hear that there are only a couple more topics to cover. Andy leans forward and asks Ryan, How much longer?
We should be back on campus in ten minutes, he replies.
Perfect. She faces me. Cleo, one important question is, why has this season been your best? You’ve scored more goals this year than ever in your career. Why do you think that is?
I nod. Yeah, that’s why people think I’m juiced, right?
Well, this is something I’ve thought about a lot.
I was good when I got here, but Monarch was a huge fucking adjustment.
Coach Burton changed my game in a lot of ways.
But I still had a great freshman year, stats-wise.
I finished fourth in scoring behind two seniors and one sophomore, Ella Smith.
Andy’s phone is recording my every word. I assume she’ll edit out the F-bombs later.
If I continued to improve, I should have been battling Smitty for the scoring title in my sophomore year. But instead, she got injured, and I finished outside the top ten.
So, your sophomore year is the anomaly. What happened last year? she asks.
My brother. I had to look out for Jordan. First, he couldn’t handle the academic workload at college. Then he started having hockey issues. And once he got kicked off the team, I dealt with a lot of fallout from my parents. All that stress and distraction took me off my game.
Jordan had been my responsibility, and I’d failed everyone. But now I can see that take was stupid. He was a fucking adult who should have solved his own shit. Maybe that was the moment I should have told my family to fuck off.
Excellent, you’ve really thought this through. And we don’t need to go into the estrangement with your family again, she says.
Halle-fucking-lujah, I declare. We’re on the outskirts of St. Viola now, so my torture is almost over.
One last question. Are you going to get back together with Mats?
Jaw drop. Are you shitting me? That’s part of the profile?
Andy giggles. Of course not. But Jack and I were wondering.
In that case? No comment. I’ve wanted to say that all day.
She tucks away her phone and notebook, zipping them into her giant purse. Fine. Don’t tell me, then.
Ryan pulls up in front of the Student Union Building. We thank him for driving, then they briefly discuss what he’ll do with today’s images. Once he takes off, Andy clasps my hand.
The lab is closed on Sundays, so we’ll get the test results Monday. I know this was a long day for you. But thanks for cooperating and answering so honestly.
No, thank you for pulling all this shit together. Despite my bitching, I do appreciate everything you’re doing. If it works, I’ll be able to play our first playoff game.
I’m not worried about the tests themselves, but who knows what bureaucratic snafus could still happen? I won’t relax until the results arrive on Coach Burton’s desk.
Speaking of the playoffs, are you going to the Mustangs game tonight? Andy asks.
Tonight? Is it here?
She nods. Yes. I was worried we might not make it back in time. But we have ninety minutes until puck drop.
I’d forgotten about the men’s schedule with all my other problems. It’s their first playoff game, which is a huge event.
Let me check. I pull out my phone and message Becks.
Are we going to the men’s game tonight?
Becks: New phone, who dis?
I roll my eyes. Oh, fuck off. Tell me you got me a ticket, even though I forgot all about the game.
Shit. The men’s regular-season games sell out, so playoff tickets will be impossible to get last-minute. I cross my fingers.
Becks: Sorry, babe. Do you not remember me asking if you wanted to go?
What did I say? I remember nothing from my zombie period.
Becks: You said, If I have to watch my perfect ex play hockey I will literally barf and cry at the same time. Cry-arfing, you called it. I took that as a no and didn’t bother getting tickets.
I groan. When I look up, Andy is still there, watching me.
Something wrong? she asks.
Yeah. I fucked up and forgot about the game. Now it’s too late to get tickets.
Well, that’s natural. You’ve had an eventful week. Her smile widens. Luckily, there’s someone in your life looking out for you. She reaches into her bag and pulls out an envelope with For Cleo written in Mats’s distinctive scrawl. I grab it and rip it open to find… two tickets for tonight’s game!
Fuck yeah! I raise the envelope in celebration, then hug Andy and lift her into the air. She giggles.
When I put her down, she says, It’s not me you have to thank, though.
It’s Mr. Considerate, of course, I reply flatly.
You don’t sound completely happy about that, she notes.
I just find it hard to believe that things can work between us after the way I fucked everything up. He could do a lot better.
Andy bites her bottom lip. I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. Mats paid for your drug test today.
I’m shocked. When I read through the paperwork, the price was a lot higher than I expected. What the fuck? You said the cost was covered by the Messenger.
She nods calmly. I was counting on you knowing nothing about student newspaper budgets. Anyway, all I’m saying is that he’s trying really hard, and you should give him a chance.
A chance? It’s all I’ve been thinking about since he asked me to get back together. But I still feel guilty about all the mistakes I made by not pulling my head out of my ass sooner. So, maybe I’m punishing myself? Waiting until I have a negative drug test in my hand before I claim my reward?
But tonight is a big night for Mats. He’s got a huge playoff game. And afterwards, he’ll want comfort or a chance to celebrate. I could help with either.
Why deny us both what we want over some stupid guilt? I’ve done everything I can to fix the mistakes of my past. Now it’s time to grab my future.
I meet Andy’s eyes. Fine. I’ll give him a chance.
She smiles. See you at the game.
As she walks away, I yell after her, What would you have done if I was the kind of organized person who had tickets already?
Scalped them and bought a new spring coat, she calls back.
I laugh and message Becks to get ready.
I FUCKING LOVE THE PLAYOFF ATMOSPHERE, Becks declares. This will be us next week.
As much as I’d like that to be true, I’m not sure if it will happen. Men’s hockey always gets the biggest crowds, the loudest fans, and the most publicity. It’s an event the whole campus gets behind. But maybe this year, since we’re going in as favourites, we’ll be huge too.
At least we’ll get Musty, I say.
The school mascot is this giant grinning horse, who is currently skating around the rink.
He goes to every men’s game, but only comes to our games during the playoffs.
As I’ve said to Becks many, many times, the fucking horse only works for a total of fifteen minutes a night.
How hard could it be to work two games a weekend?
But the student inside the suit is famously cranky, so asking him once was enough for me.
Right now, Musty is giving his all to get the crowd worked up, encouraging the chants of Mus-tangs, Mus-tangs, Mus-tangs to get so loud that it feels like the old wooden rafters of the arena are shaking.
Then the team skates out, and the volume cranks up even louder.
I spot Mats, slicing across the ice with his elegant skating stride.
Fuck. When I see him skate, it’s like… I want to fuck him on the spot, I confess to Becks, though I have to yell, and the woman in front of us turns and stares.
Becks snickers. Saves time on foreplay. So, are you guys back together?