Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Savannah
Being A Little Sister
“He’s not normally that flustered,” Izzie says once we’re alone, sitting a seat away from me, taking out what looks like a math textbook.
“He seems like a good big brother.” More based on their relationship than how he just coerced me into watching her.
“He’s the best. I was kind of hoping his big house meant we could have sleepovers, but I don’t think he trusts his roommates,” she shares with a heavy sigh.
My eyes must go wide, because she adds, “To not give me extra chocolate bars or ice cream before dinner. He wouldn’t live with them if they were mean. ”
“Does Liv usually watch you while he practices?” I shamelessly try to find out about who I assume is Noah’s girlfriend, based on his reaction to the security guard’s question, but it is absolutely none of my business.
“I have no idea who Liv is,” Izzie argues.
I nod, but a guy who looks like that and dotes on his little sister has to be taken. Or fighting off more conquests than he can handle.
“Are you a figure skater?” I ask of Izzie’s sparkly outfit.
“Not really.” She looks sad for half a second before she lights up again. “But I play hockey. Not that I’m very good, but I’m working on it. Did you know they have girl leagues? And they let a girl play with the boys in the NHL once?”
“I did not know that.”
Noah skates to the middle of the ice, drawing my attention even before Izzie jumps up and waves, making sure to only use one arm.
He waves to her, his smile making his blue eyes shine before he sends a grateful nod in my direction.
That, combined with the intense look on his face as he runs his hand through his hair before putting on his helmet grips my core in the same way steamy scenes in books usually do.
And that’s before he and his teammates start stretching, thrusting into the ice in a way that almost makes me cover Izzie’s eyes.
I don’t think it’s enough to make me blush, but given his sister’s proximity, I tear my gaze away and look down at her books.
“Math?” I ask. “Is that one of your favorite subjects?”
“No, I like gym. And French, but we don’t have that a lot. I brought this because Noah’s good at numbers and explaining them. Way better than my teacher,” she adds.
“Are you having trouble?”
“I’m not the best at it,” she admits with another heavy sigh.
“I wasn’t either,” I assure her. I hated it, because school was usually my thing. “My brothers were so good at it, and they never even tried, but I had to study for hours to get the same grades.”
“Did it get better?” She sounds hopeful yet skeptical.
“The great thing about math is that once you understand it rather than just memorizing your formulas, it gets easier. That, and you get to a point where you might not have to take it anymore.” I get by mostly with the math I’m sure Izzie has already mastered.
“I’d love that,” she says with yearning. “I wanted to be good enough at something that I could go to the Olympics and not have school anymore, but Noah told me they’re still homeschooled or tutored, so I’d have to learn the same things in less time and without friends.”
“Sounds terrible.” I humor her. “Do you play other sports?”
“No, just hockey. Noah came today, even though he wasn’t supposed to, and he was cheering loud like it was an actual game. It was embarrassing.” Her smile tells me she enjoyed every minute of it.
“I think it’s the curse of being a little sister,” I say conspiratorially, remembering how loud my brothers were at my ballet recitals, before I quit. I think they were each kicked out at least once.
“What sports do you play?”
“I used to do ballet.”
“Why did you stop?” There’s a hint of fear, like she’s afraid to give it up, but worries she might have to.
“I just got busy.” I smile, but the truth is I wasn’t good enough.
Not that I was terrible, but I was never going to be a ballerina, and while no one ever pointed it out to me, I knew that every Saturday Mom brought me to ballet meant Dad had to miss work to take my brothers to their sports things, or they had to go with a friend’s parents, which meant they had no one for them in the stands, and that’s not how the James family rolls.
I also felt silly having athletes who win championships and MVP awards cheering me on at a silly recital when I was never going to get a solo.
I’ve always enjoyed being active, like swimming or barre workouts, but if given the choice, I will always choose a book, so I can read about ballerinas at the top of their game.
Or a pen and a blank sheet of paper, so I can write those same stories.
“We’re too busy too sometimes,” Izzie admits, bringing me back to our conversation. She shouts, “Let’s go Noah!” before I can ask more.
“Did he score?” I try to read the play.
“No.” She looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “He’s number 19, with Callahan on his back.”
Their practice seems to have gone from drills to a practice game, so Izzie watches instead of talking, and while I was oddly enjoying the conversation, I am immediately enthralled by the skaters below us.
The drills were impressive, but now they’re tearing across the ice faster than any of my brothers’ teammates could ever run.
And the puck is a lot smaller than a football, so it’s hard to keep track if you’re not paying attention.
Which I am, mostly. But I think I follow number 19 more than I follow the puck.
Every time someone scores, they all come together and congratulate the scorer, as well as anyone who helped.
I don’t know why I thought skates would change that, but watching them interact, it's very clear I’ve found a band of brothers.
And the best part? When I imagine my novel’s hero as a hockey player, I don’t have a single relation, or brother’s best friend, pop into my head.
I slightly picture Noah, but that’s to be expected, because he’s the only hockey player I can name.
With a little research, maybe a few games, I’m sure I can come up with a hero who won’t make me blush too hard if I ever run into Noah on campus.
I look around and find so many settings and ideas…the inspiration I’d been lacking hits me like a freight train.
He’ll play hockey.