Chapter 36
Lila
“Can you believe this turnout?” Gideon waved the yellow rally towel even though the game hadn’t even started yet. “It’s like a One Direction concert in here.”
My heart raced, palms sweating as I clutched my foam finger like a lifeline. Here we go. Epic Fail Luck Night at the Miami Fusion game. Mason’s grand gesture to turn my humiliation into something positive. Sweet. Insane. Also… terrifying.
“These seats are absolutely fab-u-lous!” Gideon exclaimed beside me, adjusting his vanity glasses as he wiggled in his seat. “Mason really hooked us up, didn’t he? We can heckle the bench from here!”
I managed a tight smile. “Why would we heckle the Fusion?”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Gideon rolled his eyes as if it were obvious.
I had a hunch we were close to the team bench so that Mason could keep a protective eye on me. He’d never admit it, but he wanted this night to work almost as badly as I did. Maybe worse.
I glanced around, taking in the sea of yellow.
Banana graphics were plastered on every available surface.
Each cartoon banana sported googly eyes and that ridiculous grin, the one splashed across the T-shirts being hawked by vendors weaving through the stands.
Merchandise was everywhere: foam fingers, hats, even the free rally towels they handed out. It was surreal.
“This is psychological warfare. There’s bananas everywhere.” I groaned. “I can’t believe I let Mason talk me into this.”
My phone buzzed in my hand. Another text from Sam. She was demanding hourly updates, though she’d phrased it as a threat, something about revoking my honorary aunt privileges if I chickened out.
Gideon nudged me with his elbow. “Oh, come on, Lila. This is a good thing! Mason’s turning your viral moment into something positive.”
“By reminding the entire world about it?” I hissed, lowering my voice as a couple nearby glanced our way. “By blasting my most humiliating moment on the Jumbotron for thousands of people to laugh at?”
“Oh honey, try to relax! This is all for you. Mason wanted to turn your epic fail into an epic win. It’s a celebration of your resilience!”
I sighed, knowing Gideon meant well. And I was touched that Mason had orchestrated this whole Epic Fail Luck Night for me. But as much as I appreciated the sentiment, I couldn’t shake the dread humming in my bloodstream.
“Look,” Gideon said, pointing toward the ice where players were starting to emerge for warmups.
The entire team wore bright yellow shirts emblazoned with a googly-eyed banana, making them look like a bunch of overgrown minions. I couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculous sight, even as anxiety knotted low in my gut.
“Well, they’ve certainly committed to the bit.” I tracked Mason as he skated past the bench, giving me a subtle wink when he found my seat.
The announcer’s voice blasted through the speakers. “All right, Fusion fans, welcome to Epic Fail Luck Night!”
A cheer rolled through the stands. I gripped the rally towel and stared straight ahead.
“Tonight we’re unveiling a brand-new good luck charm.” His voice went full game-show host. “Give it up for the Crazy-Eyed Banana!”
The Jumbotron lit up with the new “lucky charm” in all its unhinged glory, eyes wobbling as it bounced beside a giant 7–0. The streak graphic earned a loud, smug cheer. Under it: EPIC FAIL LUCK NIGHT and #EpicFailLuck in huge letters.
Heat crawled up my neck like a warning.
“And no, this isn’t just for laughs,” the announcer continued. “Since the lucky charm showed up, the Fusion have been on a seven-game winning streak. Best opening run in team history.”
I groaned, ducking lower in my seat. “This is ridiculous. What was Mason thinking?”
Gideon patted my arm. “He was thinking about you, darling. Turning lemons into lemonade. Or in this case, bananas into... daiquiris?”
I made a strangled sound that might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve been a plea for mercy.
“And remember,” the announcer continued, “every towel, hat, and foam finger sold tonight benefits Miami Palms Children’s Hospital!”
Okay. Charity. Good. That part unclenched something in my chest.
The warm-up continued, and I watched Mason with a flutter in my stomach. Despite my reservations about tonight, the sight of him still made my pulse quicken. He caught my eye and gave me a reassuring nod. And even though nerves were fizzing under my skin, I believed him anyway.
The Jumbotron flashed a splashy graphic: a cartoon banana slipping, then immediately getting up with a thumbs-up. The slogan “#EpicFailWin” flashed beneath it.
When the warmups finished, the players skated off to prepare for the actual game. My nerves spiked again at the thought of what was coming. At some point during the night, they would play the video. My epic fail would be up there, ten feet tall. And there would be nowhere to hide.
I scanned the crowd, breathing shallow. Eyes lingered on me, some curious, others amused, but no one approached me with hostility.
A couple of girls nearby whispered, glancing my way.
I braced, waiting for the inevitable mockery, but instead, they smiled shyly.
I hated the attention, but at least no one had outright hassled me yet.
My fingernails had dug crescents into my palms by the time the lights dimmed for player introductions. The spotlight swirled over the rink as each player was announced to roaring approval.
As the pregame festivities wrapped up and the players lined up for the puck drop, I finally let myself breathe. Then the first whistle blew, signaling a break in play. That was when I’d been mocked and harassed before, but this time the fans were fully captivated by the on-ice entertainment.
The team’s mascot, the Miamiasaurus Rex, skated out. New accessories and all. A peel sat atop his prehistoric head like a hat, and plush bananas were strapped around his waist like a skirt.
“What in the...” I muttered, watching as the mascot loaded yellow plushies into a giant slingshot.
Gideon, of course, was loving every minute of it. He clapped his hands gleefully. “Now that’s a fashion statement!”
“Heads up, folks!” the announcer’s voice rang out. “Miamiasaurus Rex is about to launch some potassium-packed prizes your way!”
The stands went wild as plushies and T-shirts launched through the air. Kids and adults alike jumped up, eager to snag one of the souvenirs.
“This is insane,” I said under my breath.
He grinned. “Insanely awesome, you mean. Look how much fun everyone’s having!”
I had to admit, the energy in the arena was electric. At the next break, Miamiasaurus Rex glided out to the center circle, his stupid costume drawing cheers.
“Is everyone ready to learn the official Epic Fail Lucky Banana Dance?” the announcer asked, as the T-rex struck a pose.
“Day-O!” The opening strains of “The Banana Boat Song” reverberated through the stadium.
The dinosaur committed, shimmying in the ridiculous skirt while his stubby T-rex hands attempted the world’s dumbest banana-peel move.
“Come on, everybody! Follow along!”
Gideon immediately jumped to his feet, mimicking the dinosaur’s movements with alarming enthusiasm and precision. All around us, fans joined in, following the absurd dance.
“Lila, you have to do this,” Gideon insisted, tugging at my arm.
“I think I’ve done enough public dancing to last a lifetime,” I protested, but the energy in the arena was infectious. Before I knew it, I was standing, half-heartedly following along with the silly choreography.
“That’s it!” Gideon encouraged. “Embrace the banana!”
I laughed despite myself, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. “This is completely bananas!”
By the end of the first period, the Fusion were up 2–0.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer’s voice boomed across the arena, “while our players take a break, head over to the concession stands for your official banana-themed Fusion fan gear! Remember all proceeds go to the Miami Palms Children’s Hospital!”
A buzz of activity broke out on the ice, with staff in yellow shirts racing out to set up cones.
“Ooh, this looks fun!” Gideon exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Look, they’ve got tiny banana sleds!”
Sure enough, kids in bright yellow helmets riding the little sleds were being pulled onto the ice.
“Alright, folks!” the announcer bellowed. “It’s time for the Epic Fail Lucky Banana Relay Race! Watch as our lucky fans get pulled in sleds by players from the minors, all in good ol’ Fusion style! First team to cross the finish line wins an Epic Fail Luck prize package!”
The race began, and I couldn’t look away. Sleds slipped and skidded across the ice while upbeat music played. The whole relay was a hilarious mess, and the kids getting hauled around were having the time of their lives.
As the racers crossed the finish line in a tangle of limbs and banana peels, I almost forgot for a moment that my time in the spotlight was fast approaching.
While the ice was cleared off in preparation for the next period, Gideon checked his phone.
“Would you look at that,” he whistled low. “You’re trending again, but this time it’s positive.”
He held out his phone, where the hashtag #EpicFailLuck was indeed trending.
The Fusion had put out a short blooper compilation of hockey fails, but fans had added pictures of the team warming up in their banana gear and selfies with the themed merchandise.
My name popped up, but it wasn’t the headline.
It was all about the team’s antics, and when people did mention me, they were… nice?
“I can’t believe this,” I murmured, scrolling through the comments.
“Believe it, honey. Your banana spanx are helping sick children. You’re practically Mother Teresa.”
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t suppress a genuine smile. “Stop.”
But as I looked around at the excited fans, at the silly merchandise, at the way my embarrassment had somehow been transformed into something good, I wondered if maybe Mason had been right after all. Maybe this was how I stopped letting it win.