Chapter 5
LEONORA
It feels too quiet after Markus leaves.
I wave like an idiot until he disappears through security, even though he can’t see me anymore, then drive back to campus with that empty feeling that always follows when he leaves. The house used to feel like that after he left for away games when we were younger, especially after Dad passed.
When I get back to the dorm, I decide to distract myself with study.
Which is how I end up lying on my bed with my sports science anatomy textbook spread open in front of me.
The diagrams stare back at me.
Muscle groups. Tendons. Labels everywhere.
It should be interesting - I’m sure the job will be.
But the process of learning it all?
Painfully dull.
I drag a highlighter across a paragraph about ligaments and immediately realize I’ve absorbed absolutely none of it.
God, this is boring.
A knock on the door interrupts my suffering.
Willow bursts in without waiting. “Snack break!” she announces.
Katie appears behind her carrying a few bags of crisps like a rescuer arriving with supplies.
Within seconds we’re sprawled across my bed in a chaotic pile of blankets, textbooks shoved aside while the crisps are passed around.
This is the part of college I actually like.
“Your brother,” Willow says dreamily, “is ridiculously hot.”
I throw a crisp at her. “Stop.”
She dodges it. “No seriously. Like unfairly attractive.”
“Willow.”
“I’m just saying-”
I grab another crisp and fling it. “I do not want to hear that about my brother.”
Katie snorts into her drink.
Willow laughs but then her expression shifts slightly. “Okay fine,” she says, crunching a crisp thoughtfully. “But he was right about one thing.”
I groan. “Please tell me you’re not about to say I should think about transferring.”
“No,” she says quickly. “Actually, the opposite.”
That gets my attention.
She gestures vaguely toward the anatomy textbook lying open beside us.
“That thing looks like it’s slowly killing you.”
“It might be.”
“What you actually love about college,” she continues, “is the fun stuff. The lake. The games. Parties. Us.”
She pokes the textbook disdainfully. “Not… whatever that is.”
Katie peers at the open textbook solemnly. “Ligaments.”
“Exactly.” Willow leans back against the pillows.
“But Markus was wrong about the way you should go about it.”
“Oh?”
“You shouldn’t leave. We wouldn’t survive without you,” she says firmly. “Katie would never leave her movies, and I’d fall through the ice trying to do triple spins and have no one to pull me back out.”
“True,” Katie says.
“But,” Willow continues, eyes lighting up, “I’ve been thinking about what he said.”
That tone immediately makes me suspicious.
“He said it himself,” she continues. “You’re better than most of the team.”
“I did not agree with that statement.”
“Well, you are. So why not have some fun with it?”
“With what?”
She leans forward conspiratorially.
“I heard something at the rink yesterday. They’re holding emergency try-outs.”
“For what?”
“The left-wing position. Turns out there’s a bit of a shortage of good players right now. And you,” she says, pointing at me dramatically, “are a Shaw.”
“You’re joking.”
“I can help you.”
Katie lets out a scoffing noise. “Oh please,” she says. “Like she can pretend to be a guy. This isn’t Mulan.”
Willow rolls her eyes.
“It’s hockey, not the military.”
Then she turns back to me, suddenly very serious. “Baggy jersey. Helmet. Pads.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “No one will know.”
Katie crosses her arms. “That is the worst plan I have ever heard.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Katie says slowly, “if she gets caught, couldn’t the whole team get disqualified?”
Willow shrugs. “And what? They literally haven’t won a game yet. What difference would it make if they got kicked out? And besides, it won’t happen.”
She sounds confident.
“Either cut your hair or stuff it under a skullcap. Don’t talk much. Keep your helmet on. It’s college so all the helmets have cages instead of visors. Easy.”
Katie watches my face carefully.
I’m not laughing.
I’m thinking about the ice. The speed. The puck sliding across the surface. The way it felt on the lake when I stole it from Markus.
“Leo,” Katie says slowly, worry creeping into her voice.
But Willow is still grinning. “It’s not forever. We can pull it off for a few weeks.”
And if I’m honest with myself, the idea is a crazy, tempting possibility. And part of me really wants to try.
I sleep terribly.
It’s the kind of night where your brain refuses to shut up entirely. Every time I drift off, the same thought comes back.
Emergency try-outs.
By the time morning light leaks through the dorm window, I’m already exhausted.
The idea should have faded overnight. Most ridiculous ideas do once you’ve had a few hours of sleep.
This one hasn’t.
Willow is sitting at the small table in the corner, eating cereal from a ridiculously large bowl. She looks up when I enter, spoon halfway to her mouth.
Then she lowers the spoon slowly.
“Oh my god,” she says.
I drop into the chair opposite her. “Don’t start.”
“You’re thinking about it.”
Katie is still asleep which means we’re without our voice of reason.
I drag a hand through my hair.
“This is insane,” I say, just to state the obvious.
Willow nods. “Yes.”
“It’s dishonest.”
Another nod. “Also, yes.”
“And if anyone finds out-”
“The world will not immediately explode,” she says.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
But the problem is that she’s right.
Every single muscle in my body still remembers the way it feels to play.
And right now, all my effort is being used to memorize muscle groups rather than actually use them.
I rub my forehead.
“Katie’s right. This could get the whole team disqualified,” I say quietly.
Willow shrugs and takes another bite of cereal.
“If you get caught, you’ll stop. It’s just a try-out,” she adds. “Hey, maybe you won’t get in.”
I sit there for another long moment.
Finally, I look up.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
Willow’s eyes widen. “Wait - really?”
“Yes.”
For half a second, she just stares at me.
Then she slams the cereal spoon into the bowl with a triumphant clatter.
“Oh my god.”
She leans across the table, suddenly all focus. “Right. We need a plan.”
I laugh nervously. “This is already a terrible plan.”
“No,” she says, already thinking ahead. “This is an excellent terrible plan.”
She points at my hair. “First problem.”
“My hair.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m not cutting it.”
“Fine. Skullcap.”
She starts counting on her fingers.
“Baggy jersey. Helmet always on.”
“Don’t talk a lot,” I add.
“Yes,” she says immediately. “Definitely don’t talk a lot.”
“And skating style?”
Willow grins.
“You already skate like a hockey player.”
That part, at least, is true.
She sits back, clearly delighted with herself.
“We’ll get you to the rink early. Less people around. Less chance of anyone asking questions.”
I swallow.
This is really happening.
“This is a terrible idea,” I say again.
Willow beams.
“But it’s going to be fun.”