Chapter 8
ALL THE GOOD THINGS
Winter
It takes less than five seconds for Alex Waters to notice me when I enter rink five. Part of it might be because I’m not suited up or wearing a team jersey.
Alex Waters is a big man—well over six feet, with broad shoulders, a thick head of dark brown hair, gray flirting at the temples.
He should be intimidating, but his wide, friendly smile immediately puts me at ease.
“We were hoping you’d come out today. Why don’t you lace up and I’ll grab you a temporary jersey.
Randy will introduce you to the team.” He brings his fingers to his lips and whistles shrilly.
Randy Ballistic glances over his shoulder, and as soon as he sees me, he gives the players instructions and skates over, wearing the same wide grin as Alex. “Very happy to see you here today, Winter.”
“BJ convinced me it was a good idea.”
“He’s got persuasion down to an art,” his dad says.
“I’ll grab Winter a jersey while you introduce her to the team, eh?” Alex asks.
“Absolutely. Let’s get you on the ice,” BJ’s dad says.
I jam my feet back into my skates, my toes protesting the return to their cramped prison. Alex reappears as I finish lacing up and hands me a jersey. “If you decide you want to play for the team, we’ll get you a number and set you up with new gear.”
“Right, okay. Thank you.” I have a million questions, mainly pertaining to costs and what playing on this team will look like, but for now I table them and give myself permission to enjoy this opportunity.
The Hockey Academy’s women’s team is number one in the state, and their captain has broken scoring records this season.
There’s a round of introductions, and I’m grateful everyone’s last name is on their jersey.
We spend the first hour running drills, and then we’re divided into two teams so we can scrimmage.
Despite my lack of formal training, I keep up with the rest of the players for the most part.
And thanks to my lesson from BJ today, I’m more confident in the crease.
I manage an assist and a goal for my team, which earns me praise from both sides.
At the end of practice, Coach Waters pulls me aside. “You were great out there, Winter.”
“Thanks. I had so much fun.”
He smiles. “I’m glad to hear that.” He passes me what looks like a coupon.
“Once you’re showered and changed, you can join the team in Iced Out, our cafeteria.
There’s a buffet. Just give the hostess that ticket because they comp our players.
If you decide you want a place on the team, you’ll get an ID card and the coupon won’t be necessary. ”
I frown at the paper. “You feed us after practice?”
“It’s all part of the program, which I’ll explain after you’ve had a chance to eat with the team.”
“Right. Okay. Thanks.” I grab my hockey bag and go to the locker room.
Fern Harmer, the team captain, sets me up with an empty cubby. “Girl, you’re all the buzz. Where the heck did you come from, and why haven’t I seen you on the ice before?”
I strip out of my jersey and unfasten my pads. “We just moved to Pearl Lake a couple of months ago. Before that, I played pick-up at the old arena because it was closer to home.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Welcome to the team.” She squeezes my shoulder. “We’re gonna love having you here.”
“Thanks.”
Other players compliment me on my playing on their way to the showers. When I start stuffing my gear back in my hockey bag, Fern holds up a hand. “Just leave it in your cubby. They’ll have it all cleaned for tomorrow’s practice.”
I freeze. “Seriously?”
“Yup. This team functions the same way as college teams, so all your equipment stays at the rink.”
“Right. Okay.” This is all new information for me.
We hit the showers, and I luxuriate in the pounding of water on my back. Each stall has body wash, shampoo, and conditioner that smell like eucalyptus and green tea. My whole life we’ve used whatever was in the clearance section, and we water down the conditioner so it lasts longer.
I don’t want to get used to this if it’s only going to be temporary, but tonight I’ll indulge.
After my shower, I slide my underwear up my legs quickly, then pull on my leggings.
It’s not about modesty; it’s about hiding my ancient, once-white-now-gray underwear from my teammates.
My sports bra is black, so it’s harder to see how ratty it is.
Once I’m dressed and my hair is braided, I join Fern and the rest of the team in Iced Out.
I hand over my coupon and follow my teammates to the buffet.
For a moment I’m unable to move as I take in the volume of food. There are two types of salad, roasted vegetables and potatoes, chicken breasts, a pasta bar, and an entire dessert bar. Some of the other girls are already picking up plates and filing down the line.
“I was overwhelmed at first too. It was hard to wrap my head around all the options when usually mine were limited to peanut butter and jam or mac and cheese.” Fern gives me a small, understanding smile and hands me a plate. “You can go up as many times as you want.”
The first round, I fill my plate with salad and vegetables and chicken.
I’m desperate for protein, and the only chicken we can usually afford is frozen or sometimes thighs when they’re on sale.
My second course is pasta with three different sauces.
I go back for more salad. And I finish with an ice cream sundae and a piece of chocolate cake.
Guilt makes my gut churn—that I get to eat all this amazing food while my mom eats crockpot chili makes me feel shitty. But then come the takeout containers. We’re all allowed one, but only about half the team picks up a container.
“What happens to the rest of the food?” I ask Fern.
“It goes to the foodbank for tomorrow.”
I remember getting a fully packaged family meal a few times when I arrived early enough at the foodbank. Everything about this program is designed to give back, to help the community, to give opportunity to people who otherwise wouldn’t have it. I fill my container to take home.
I’m so full, my stomach hurts, but I’ll take the mild discomfort because tonight I won’t be hungry.
The team files out of the cafeteria, and I go to the offices to meet with Coach Waters and Coach Ballistic.
They explain the ins and outs of the program, that it works on a sliding scale, like BJ said, and that for a good number of players, it’s fully subsidized.
Coach Waters is Canadian, and they’ve modeled the program so it aligns with the way they grew up, including their healthcare.
I don’t know much about how Canada works, just that it’s cold in the winter and they love hockey and maple syrup. Evidently they have good insurance too.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to make all the practices with my work schedule.”
“Most of our players have summer jobs at local shops. Management is always good about working around practices and games. And Tracey Lynn at Boones has always been more than accommodating,” Coach Waters says.
I bite the inside of my cheek and decide to be honest. “I need to maintain my hours at Boones so I can afford to pay for college classes.” I’ll also have to figure out how to keep up with my online class this summer and all the assignments.
Alex nods, like he understands. “Where are you heading in the fall?”
“I take online courses, part-time so I can work.”
“Can I ask what kind of grades you get?”
“Mostly Bs. I work hard to keep my average up.” I fight not to bite my nails.
“A lot of our players are on scholarship. They play for the school team during the year and for us in the summer.”
I tap on the arm of the chair, debating if I want to continue this truthful path.
BJ’s comment about divine intervention pops into my head.
If we hadn’t met the way we did, and if he hadn’t been such a flirt, these new opportunities wouldn’t exist. “I was offered a full-tuition scholarship at Hawking University, but I don’t have a car, and I can’t afford housing or books. ”
Coach Waters perks up. “Have you turned it down?”
“I have a few weeks before the offer expires.” Though I’ve already given up on being able to go.
“Okay. That’s good to know.” He props his elbows on his desk and leans in. “Now I have two questions; the first will inform the second. Are you interested in a spot on this team?”
I nod and croak out a quiet yes.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He passes me a folder of information. “Second question, what jersey number would you like?”
I fill out a bunch of paperwork, including a contract with team rules and regulations, medical forms, and another with sizes for equipment and a jersey.
Practice times rotate, but they’re mostly in the afternoon.
I’m given two copies of the schedule for the rest of the month, plus all the games.
Those are on the weekends. I can give one copy to Tracey Lynn and keep the other for myself.
There’s also an online schedule for reference.
“We’re excited to have you on the team,” Coach Waters says.
“Me too. Thank you so much for the opportunity.” I shake both his and Coach Ballistic’s hand and leave the office, beyond elated.
The sun hangs low in the sky, pink threading through the clouds when I step outside.
Parked to the right of the entrance is BJ’s Jeep.
BJ is sprawled out on the bench across from it, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting on his chest, legs crossed over each other.
He’s wearing sunglasses, so I can’t tell if he’s just lying there or sleeping.
I unlock my bike from the rack before I poke his shoulder, and he startles.
“I’m ready to roll!” He sits up in a rush, and his phone clatters to the ground.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were asleep.” I stoop to grab his phone and hand it to him. “I hope you haven’t been waiting a long time.”