Chapter 5
RUNNING ON EMPTY
CLEO
I WAKE UP LATE ON SUNDAY MORNING AND STRETCH.
THEN I GRAB MY PHONE FOR MY WAKE-UP scrolling.
My brother’s latest post is from a house party in Hillsboro.
Our hometown is so small that I recognize the house just by the ugly wallpaper.
Well, if he was partying until late, he must still be asleep. I decide it’s a good time to pounce.
Rooow? Jordan mutters into the phone.
Good morning, Sunshine, I coo.
Clee? Why the fuck are you calling me so early?
It’s actually 11:00, so practically the afternoon. I’m exaggerating by half an hour, but he’s not awake enough to know.
He groans loudly, then gives up and makes nice. Did you have a game last night?
Yeah, we played Essex College. We lost, though. Fuck. I hate losing.
Didja score? he asks.
Nope. We got shut out.
But you’re still the points leader, right?
Yeah. Thanks for all your support. Jordan has been bragging on socials that I’m the leading scorer on my team. It’s adorable, and even more so because he’s not playing right now, so hockey isn’t exactly his favourite subject. Look, I have something I need to discuss with you.
He yawns. Okay, shoot.
Can you tell me exactly what happened when Roy Matsumoto got you kicked off the team?
There’s a long silence. If it wasn’t for Jordan’s loud breathing, I’d think we’d been disconnected.
Why are you asking? You know I hate talking about this shit, he grumbles.
It’s because I have to do this charity fundraising thing with him. But if you let me tell your story to the fundraising lady, maybe I can get out of it. Or, better still, get Mats taken off the project, since Marjorie likes me better anyway.
Well, you don’t have my permission to share this shit.
And you already know what happened. That asshole had it in for me from the first puck drop.
I showed him up in drills, so he got worried about losing his place on the team.
At first, it was just slashing and spears behind the play, always when the coach wasn’t looking.
But when that didn’t work, he made up bullshit about names I called him.
Name-calling, like we’re eight fucking years old.
What did he say you called him? I hate grilling Jordan, but this is the important part.
He dropped the race card, which is total bullshit. All I said was the normal shit you say when you’re playing and things get cranked up. You know how it is.
I shake my head even though he can’t see me. Do I trash-talk my opponents? Absolutely. But I insult their skills or their gameplay, not them personally.
I’ve never done any name-calling, I say.
Yeah, fucking Saint Cleo. Women’s hockey is different.
Tell me exactly what happened, I insist. Maybe something was misunderstood, like Jordan used a word that sounded racist but wasn’t.
I can hardly remember, that’s how unimportant it was.
You know how it is now. Everyone is such a fucking snowflake, and they lose their shit if you look at them the wrong way.
And Matsumoto is the worst—always sucking up to coaches and acting like his shit doesn’t stink.
And his word is better than mine because he’s on that fucking Athletic Council.
That is the maddening part. Mats should not have been allowed to complain about Jordan and then sit in judgement on his own complaint. But since I’m not directly involved, I’ve never been able to find out the details, even from my own teammates who are on the council too.
Clee, you know how hard it is for people like us. We have to fight for every scrap, while guys like him get everything on a fucking platter.
Mats is someone with every advantage—scholarship money, a rich family, even NHL connections. Whereas my brother had nothing but his hockey skills. Our family isn’t poor, but hockey is really expensive. I’ve never had new skates in my whole life.
I sigh. Yeah, I get it, Jordan.
We chat a bit about what he’s up to, then he hits me up for twenty bucks.
You still owe me from last time, I complain as I’m transferring the money.
I’ll get you on payday, he promises. Jordan has been working at a construction job that Dad got him ever since he left Monarch. Got to go. Love you, sis.
I smile, even though he can’t see me. Love you too.
I head downstairs for a late breakfast. We have a long hallway where we play mini-sticks or practise shooting foam pucks. Jinx and Becks are already playing, and I jump in.
Oh, it’s Nelson. Coming in hot. Strips the puck off Moore, and… score! I make fake crowd noises. We jostle around for a bit, then I finally make it to the kitchen. Since we have a day off, I make myself a big breakfast with pancakes and bacon. Everyone is attracted by the smell of bacon.
I didn’t know we had bacon, Woolly says. Can I have some?
Sure. It was in the freezer. We got it on our last food run, I explain before my next mouthful of pancake.
Becks sits beside me and steals some bacon too. I knew this would happen, so I cooked the entire package. If there’s any left over, I’ll make a BLT for lunch.
Are we still on for a run this afternoon? she asks.
Yeah. Got to keep this body in tip-top shape. I pat my stomach, which is full of pancakes, bacon, and coffee.
After digesting my late breakfast, Becks and I head out. I’m not a huge fan of running in the snow, but I love being outside. As a native Minnesotan, I have zero fear of winter.
Last night’s game sucked donkey balls, Becks says, once we hit our stride on the trail.
Yeah. If we had won, we would have been the number one team in the conference. The only good part is that we didn’t lose to one of the teams we’re fighting for first. Portage College and St. Clare University are the other top teams, and we’ve been jockeying for points all season.
So, are we going to talk about why you sucked last night? she asks. Usually, I like Becks’s no-bullshit ways, but there are issues I’m avoiding right now.
I had an off night.
Right. Cleo Nelson, who is the dictionary definition of consistency, had an off night. Going into last night’s game, you had a twenty-game points streak. She huffs as we climb a small incline. Even your pregame pep talk sucked.
I’m not used to having problems weigh on me.
My usual solution is to get everything off my chest, then feel better.
That’s what makes me a good player—the fact that I can forget about yesterday’s shitty game and focus on the next one.
But there’s something bothering me right now, and I really need to talk about it.
Can I trust you with a secret? I ask.
She snorts. Please. Did I tell anyone when you got that super-embarrassing My Little Pony tattoo?
I laugh. Well, I can laugh now that I’ve had it painfully removed. Not only was it stupid and placed just above my ass, but the tattoo artist did a terrible drawing.
Why did I even get that? Was I celebrating a win over some horse-named team? If I can’t remember why I do stupid things, how can I stop myself from doing them again?
And did I tell anyone that you hooked up with that player from St. Clare? she demands.
Jesus, keep your voice down. Definitely in my hall of shame. He was such an asshole. And a lousy fuck. Sleeping with a player from a rival college was just dumb. The only reason it hasn’t come back to bite me on my non-tattooed ass is that I gave him a fake name and college.
And I never told Gilly who put the rubber rat in her hockey bag, Becks continues.
She knew it was me, she just couldn’t prove it. I giggle because Candace Gillespie’s scream when she opened her bag was epic.
Well, we could spend our whole run proving what a vault I am, or you could just tell me what’s eating you, she concludes.
Okay, but this one is triple-secret confidential.
Becks is ahead of me as we round the curve of the trail, but I know she’s rolling her eyes.
You know how I went to that donor dinner on Tuesday?
She snorts. With Mats? Yeah, complaining all the way about something anyone else would pay to do.
Whatever. Anyway, it went okay. Maybe I acted a little immature, but obviously Marjorie didn’t notice anything. Besides, he deserves it. Now they want us to go there for dinner every Tuesday.
Who’s they?
Well, the Alumni Office fundraising woman, and Marjorie Schultz invited us. She thinks we’re a cute couple.
Becks hoots with laughter. Is she blind? Why would she think you’re a couple? Wait, nothing happened, did it?
I scrunch up my nose. No, we both managed not to lunge over the dinner table and start making out. It’s tough to contain a sexual attraction that big, but we did it.
She giggles at that notion.
I don’t like spending time with him, I continue.
And I really don’t want to go and pretend that we’re a couple.
But Barb Peachy thinks I should overcome my scruples for the good of the college.
My only hope was that Mats was going to pull out, but then he told Barb he was ready to keep going.
When he asked for twenty-four hours, I had my fingers crossed for a reprieve.
We’re at the halfway point of the trail, so we take a quick break.
Becks puts her hands on her knees and looks up at me. Yeah, but you keep glossing over the real question. What have you got against Mats?
I inhale deeply and feel the chill in my lungs. Uh, do you remember when my brother got kicked out of school last year?
Something tightens in Becks’s expression. He didn’t get kicked out of school; he got kicked off the hockey team. He’s the one who dropped out, she says in a careful tone.
Same diff. Jordan loves hockey. He couldn’t stick around once he was off the team. It was too painful.
She snorts. Sensitivity isn’t something I associate with your brother.
That’s Jordan’s problem. He doesn’t make a good first impression, and he can seem like kind of a jerk. But I know what he’s really like and how hard he tries. I explain to Becks that Mats invented issues to get my brother off the team.
She frowns. Why would Mats do that?