Chapter 7 Dawson #2
His eyes widen, and I immediately feel bad.
I don’t mean to say playing for fun isn’t enough, but there’s a difference between the players who are in this for the long haul and those who’ll stop once they graduate.
And it’s so weird without Coach drilling me on my backhand shot, and the stakes are so high, and I don’t trust myself to skate my best without him applying pressure.
I take a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m in my head. Had a run-in with Harper before this. Was trying to do my math homework in the library, and she was working on her website, and…” I trail off. Don’t know how to finish that sentence. And she got under my skin.
“She has a website?” Ryan says, eyebrows raised. He gives a long whistle. “Damn. Nerd alert!”
He’s grinning, so it seems like a good-natured joke, but Noah’s face darkens.
“That girl needs to face some consequences.” He swings his stick to underscore the point.
I nod and grunt my agreement instead of saying anything more meaningful.
That conversation Noah saw between Harper and Principal Castillo is fishy, but I promised I wouldn’t do anything else to mess with her.
I don’t particularly relish telling my captain about last year’s academic probation, but luckily, I don’t have time to explain the terms of our stalemate.
Dan’s blowing his whistle, getting us on the line for drills, and at last I can let everything else fade away behind the burn in my muscles and tightness in my lungs.
Drills are mostly the same as always—shooting on our goalies, conditioning, practicing a few plays. The relentless physical strain almost releases the anxiety knotted in my stomach. Maybe we’ll be okay this season. Maybe things won’t be so different without Red after all.
But when Dan starts putting us in lines for scrimmage, that illusion is immediately shattered.
“Okay,” he says, adjusting his glasses as he scans down his clipboard.
“After watching your first couple practices, I want to mix things up a little. There are a few guys on JV who have more potential than they’ve gotten to show.
So: Patrick and Alex, I’m moving you up to varsity.
” A brief, shocked pause follows his announcement, then a ripple of cheers and lots of celebratory back pounding.
I flash Alex a grin, hold out my fist for him to bump. He shakes his head in disbelief, beaming from ear to ear. “I gotta text Max,” he murmurs. “Holy shit.”
“Make sure your celebration is dinner and not another bookstore date.” I nudge him good-naturedly. I’m happy for him and Patrick Bui, a senior who never really got a shot at varsity. Getting them trained up might take some time, but the more the merrier, right?
But then Dan continues: “So, first line today will be Noah, Alex, and Jordan—”
“Excuse me?” Noah blurts out.
Dan looks up, eyebrows raised, and Noah shakes his head. “Sorry, Dan, but that’s not our strongest line.”
“Coach Dan.” Dan’s voice is mild as always, but it’s firm, too. Noah’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t say anything. “And today we’re trying it.”
I frown, the cold of the ice biting into my knees.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some feelings of my own about this lineup.
Usually I’m on first line with Noah, and that’s for a reason.
Last season we had more than fifty goals between the two of us.
What does Dan think he’s doing, jeopardizing that?
And does he have any idea what this means for me, how much this year matters?
I’m close to saying something, backing Noah up. But then I catch Alex’s eye, and the guy’s practically glowing. He can’t keep his smile locked down.
Noah doesn’t care. “If we’re going to win, we need to score,” he says slowly and deliberately, like he’s talking to a child. “And if we need to score, I need my line.” He jerks a thumb my way. “Like Dawson. Where are you putting him?”
“We’re going to try something different this season,” Coach Dan says, voice still somehow level.
I notice he ignored Noah’s question. “If we’re going to win, we need to give everyone a chance to play their best. That means mixing up some lines to see where the best chemistry is before we solidify them for the first game.
You never know who has potential that we haven’t seen because we’ve been following the same strategy for years. ”
Noah shakes his head in disbelief. “The same strategy? You mean the one that Coach Red developed? Are you questioning his judgment?”
Coach Dan raises one eyebrow. “Are you not?”
My gaze darts back and forth between the two of them. The whole team looks like they’re watching a tennis match. None of us are sure where our loyalty lies between captain and coach.
Red never explained his decisions like this. I’m not sure if I respect it or think it’s a dumb call to give Noah a chance to argue with him.
The question Dan raised gets under my skin more than I anticipated. I’ve never questioned Red’s coaching before. Maybe it’s the run-in with Harper, or maybe it’s nerves about playing without Red, but suddenly my legs are full of nervous energy.
Our first game’s almost here. We can’t afford to change our strategy now. We need to focus on winning. Skate like I know you can and you’ve as good as secured yourself a spot for next year, Red said. How am I supposed to do that if Dan doesn’t even have me on the first line?
The team’s all fallen silent, only our breathing audible. Are they thinking the same thing?
Noah skates to the face-off circle without another word, knuckles white on his stick. I take a deep breath, trying not to let my irritation show. I just have to hope Dan will see how much this strategy sucks after one practice and things can go back to normal.
Dan nods, adjusting his glasses once more. “All right. On the other side of the ice, let’s have…”
I stand automatically. It’ll be weird not skating with Noah, but maybe Dan has a point and it’ll be good for us to mix it up. Whatever stands a chance of making me better this year.
I don’t quite believe it, but as long as we’re stuck with Dan’s coaching, we may as well try to make the best of it.
“Patrick, Aaron, and Louis for forwards,” he says.
My face isn’t the only one that falls—next to me, Brady lets out a surprised huff. “He’s really gonna do me like that? He better not embarrass me in the Washington game, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not playing in college. I only have so many games left.”
I grunt sympathetically as we head toward the bench, but damn, I wish that was all I had on the line. Nausea churns in my stomach at the idea of this becoming a familiar view. At riding the bench during the season that matters most. This would never happen if Red were still here.
I square my jaw and send a text.
Harper crosses her arms over her chest against the growing chill as evening falls, bracelets jangling at her wrist. She’s wearing another one of her monochromatic sweaters.
Black today, so her face stands out pale and delicate against the increasing dimness.
The neon signage of the Lakeside Diner flickers on behind her, casting purples and oranges over her cheekbones.
She could be in one of those artsy indie movies. She probably likes those.
“Make it quick, whatever it is.” She frowns, jolting me out of my daydream. “I’m on break.”
I bite my lip and take a step forward. Close enough to see her slight shivers. It’s early November. The trees have lost their leaves. Doesn’t she have a coat? “Are you cold?” I ask. “If you want, you can borrow my—”
“Okay, now I know you’re up to something.” She narrows her eyes. “I take back what I said about you having potential. You should know that I’m not one of your groupies, and I’m not going to fall for that trick. I saw you use it just last week.”
This girl doesn’t want me to do anything nice for her, does she?
I cast my eyes up to the sliver of moon, letting out a slow breath to compose myself.
Harper gets under my skin more than trash talk during a game.
“I’m not up to something. I just wanted to give you a gesture of peace, or whatever. But fine, freeze.”
Harper doesn’t so much as flinch. “A peace gesture. Come on, spill, Dawson.”
“I know we said we’d keep our distance,” I say, “but our team is screwed this season. I just came from practice, and it was a hot fucking mess.” I pause for emphasis. “Because Red isn’t here, and Dan doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Harper raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Sounds like a you problem.”
I take a step forward, my breath coming faster.
The unspent adrenaline from practice, wasted on the bench, floods my veins.
“Unless you were part of getting him fired. Unless you know something, and you could help us get him back—undo whatever you said to the administration, convince them to rehire him—”
Harper takes a step forward too, tilting her chin up defiantly. Those green eyes flash with unmistakable anger. It stops me in my tracks. “I already told you. And I told you to leave me alone about it. Coach Red may have gotten what was coming to him, but I didn’t have anything to do with it!”
I’m too worked up to let that story lie. “And what about what you said last week, when the arena was unveiled? That you were going to talk to the principal about misuse of funds?”
Her mouth drops open. “I was talking about filing a petition, Dawson! Not that I had some sort of secret information I was going to use against you! What, did you think it was my villain monologue or something?”
I try not to wince. Yeah, pretty much exactly. But the way she says it—so genuine, so shocked at my assumption—makes me feel like an idiot.
“And for the record”—she takes another step forward, jabbing a finger into my chest—“this kind of stalking wouldn’t convince me to tell you anything even if I did know.”
I’m getting an increasingly sinking sense that I’m barking up the wrong tree, but I can’t help trying one more time. “So you admit—”
“I don’t know anything about your stupid sport or your stupid coach, Dawson!
” she almost yells. “I know it’s hard to believe the world doesn’t revolve around you and your henchmen.
I know your coach tells you every day that the sun shines out of your asshole, that you’re God’s gift to Hamilton Lakes, that you’re some kind of hockey messiah come to Earth to bless us all with your presence.
” She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“But trust me, I had better things to do this summer than spy on Coach Red. All I want to do is spend less time thinking about you and your team, not more!”
When she puts it that way… I flush with embarrassment.
What am I doing? Her story makes sense. I’m used to trusting Noah’s judgment on the ice, but suddenly I’m not so sure he’s right about this one.
He never had anything other than circumstantial evidence and wild guesswork, but between my trust in my captain and my irritation with Harper, I let him get in my head—and then I let that horrific practice convince me to harass her again.
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. I’ve never felt like such an idiot. “I shouldn’t have—”
“I have a shift to finish.” Harper turns on her heel before I can even finish my sentence. “And it sounds like you have to figure out how to play nice with your new coach. Goodbye, Dawson.”