Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Zaiah
Waiting for a game to start feels like molasses dripping in winter…
And now I want cookies.
I clock Lenore’s shut door again. It’s still closed like it has been most of the morning since my family didn’t take us out for a getaway. “Lose Yourself” by Eminem blares through my headphones, and even though I should be meditating like my mindset coach said, I can’t stop wondering why today feels off.
In half an hour, I have to leave to meet up with the team, and I’ve barely spoken to Len, even though we’re always together on game days. Always.
The song switches in my ear, and I skip it on my phone when a sad melody starts playing. I don’t need to double up the emotions coursing through me. Poor Len. What was supposed to be a trip that showed her what a great boyfriend I could be turned into a nightmare. I’m not sure she’ll forgive me. That has to be why she’s been distant for the last week. It’s like I’m living with a roommate and not a girlfriend—and definitely not a girlfriend I professed my love to.
My leg bounces up and down as I try to talk myself out of going to see what she’s doing. I don’t like this. I’m usually calm and settled before a game. In fact, the last time I wasn’t calm and settled before a game was when I was with Trish. She would guilt me into feeling bad that I had to take time out of our relationship to play a game I loved. That’s not what Lenore is doing, but my gut clenches all the same. I want us to be good. I don’t want to go into the game worried that there’s something wrong.
Pulling out my phone, I text my sister.
You guys still on the way?
No. We decided we didn’t like you very much, so we turned around an hour ago. We were going to wait for you to find out when you looked up into the seats and didn’t see us.
Shut up.
Well, don’t ask stupid questions.
My fingers hover over the screen. Iz and Len have gotten close. Would they talk about me? Would she know if something is up? The temptation is too much to keep quiet, so I send a text.
Has Len said anything to you today?
Her response takes a little time.
No. What’s up?
Nothing. I was only wondering.
Well, obviously, there’s something. You don’t write me random things, Z.
She’s been in her room all morning.
Maybe because you’re an idiot
My heart pounds.
Did she say something to you?
No, I just forgot the question mark. Are you an idiot? What did you do? You know she’s the best girlfriend you’ve ever had. Smart. Funny. Pretty. The trifecta.
When I don’t write anything, she texts again.
Why did you assume she said something to me? I really hope you didn’t do anything to her.
Geez, whose side would you be on?
Hers!
Never mind. Forget it.
Ha. I’m sure nothing’s wrong, big bro. She’s probably writing or something. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you.
That last comment sucker punches me in the gut. Talking to Iz isn’t helping at all. I put my phone away, sighing. I have to leave in ten. Iz is probably right. Maybe she’s writing. Maybe she doesn’t want to be disturbed this morning because she’s working on another article.
The convo she had with the editor from that magazine went really well, and they’re going to publish it. Not only that, but I also read it and it was phenomenal. She was right about it not being a hockey piece. It was a piece about goals and dreams and the determination of people to do those things with sports as a backdrop. The way she portrayed me was amazing. It was the kind of thing you would want people to write about you. She described me as driven and passionate, and not the loser I’d built up in my mind.
I turn the headphones off, the meditation clearly not working, then stretch a little before grabbing my bag. I can try again on the bus over to the rink.
Walking toward her room, I hear her voice. It’s soft, and I can’t tell if it’s muted because the door is closed or if she’s intentionally trying to be quiet. Without thinking, I knock and walk in.
Her gaze flies up to meet me. “That’s fantastic. Thank you so much,” she says into the phone before hanging up. She beams at me. “Hey.”
“Who was that?”
“Oh.” She hesitates. “My dad.”
My stomach drops. At least it’s good to know that she’s a terrible liar. “Yeah? What did he want?”
“To see how I was. You know, the usual.”
She’s collecting up stuff on her bed and putting them together, casually closing her laptop. On the comforter, her phone pings with a text, and I see the name Clark before she swipes the message away.
Okay, what? This is so not like her. Before I can ask her if everything is okay, she says, “I’m going to be a little late for the game. I have to meet with Clark about the, um, paper, but I’ll be there.”
My shoulders slump. If she looked at me at all, she’d see there’s something wrong, but she doesn’t. Instead, she gets up from the bed, making sure everything is tidy and put away, all the while avoiding my gaze.
“What about the paper?”
“Oh, there’s some sort of emergency. You know how he is.”
“I thought you weren’t letting him walk all over you anymore?”
She finally peers up at me. “I’m not. This might actually be an emergency. If it’s not, I’ll be at the game earlier.”
She shrugs like everything is fine, but I’m sick to my stomach. She wouldn’t cheat. Not with him. Not with anyone.
Right?
Distrust flows through my veins like a long, winding river going downstream. Despite telling myself not to go there, it picks up speed.
She walks by me, lifting to her tiptoes to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Don’t you have to go?”
My hands clench into fists. She doesn’t care that she’s going to be late to my game. She’s acting like it’s no big deal. This is what I get for ruining her announcement about her article, I guess. If she’s trying to get back at me, I understand what she felt now. I didn’t know she could be this petty, though. I apologized.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Have a great game. How did the meditating go? Do you think it will work?”
I force a smile to my face, kind of wishing now that I did actually meditate. Maybe then I’d be able to navigate around these emotions bouncing through me. “Yeah,” I lie. “It went awesome.”
“That’s great!”
The grin she’s giving me looks authentic as hell. Either she’s getting better at lying or… Or I don’t know what.
She walks over and wraps her arms around me, laying her head on my chest. “Have the best game, Zaiah. You’re going to do great.”
Those few words quiet the fear inside me. I squeeze her, kissing the top of her forehead. I’m being ridiculous. My regret about how I treated her is being mirrored back at me, I think.
Honestly, I have no idea. I’m new to this introspection shit.
However, my gut is telling me I’m worried she’s doing something wrong because I did, and I’m scared I’ll never be able to make it right.
That sounds legit, though. Like I could’ve been a damn therapist. Maybe I should do that instead of prolonging this hockey heartache. Still no views on the YouTube video, but I dismiss those thoughts. They don’t serve me, or whatever the technical term is that my mindset coach uses. I can only control a few things, and whether anyone views my video isn’t one of them.
“See you there,” I tell her.
“I’ll be the one wearing blue.”
I smile at her, then grab my bag and head toward the practice rink to meet up with the team.
After a brief meeting with Coach, we load onto the bus. I try meditating again, putting on my headphones and closing my eyes. I visualize the game happening like my mindset coach instructed. How fast I want to skate. The feel of the stick in my hand. The scoring motion as the red light goes off when I sail more than one puck into the net. I make myself feel excited, ready, positive. We’re going to win.
It’s difficult to do when things haven’t gone as planned this morning. No parents. No girlfriend. Just me, myself, and I. Much like the crowd that’s going to be at the game.
Despite that last thought, I stay as positive as possible through our pregame routine. In warm-ups, my limbs buzz, and when I get my mind on the actual task at hand, anticipation builds.
However, the second I remember how abandoned I felt this morning, it all comes crashing down, and I have to build the confidence up again brick by brick.
They’ll be there . She’ll be here, sitting in the stands.
We go back in to dress and hear Coach’s pregame speech. He’s drawing out a couple plays on the whiteboard when the muted echoes of the announcer greets us. A few of us look at each other. I glance at the clock on the wall. He’s talking earlier than normal. In fact, he barely talks at all.
Coach shrugs. “They’re probably testing the system.”
He goes back to drawing circles and arrows, but then other noises begin, too. It starts as a low buzz and grows.
Coach claps his hands to bring our attention back to him. “I want you guys to go out there and play your asses off.” His chin is stone, solid. Tension radiates through his body. “Let’s get this win for us!”
I’ve been on this team for four years, and I don’t remember Coach saying that before. He usually has the same spiels. He might switch it up year to year, but this is something brand new.
“On three?”
We move close, putting our gloved hands into a circle. Coach yells, “One, two…”
Then we all chant, “Bulldogs.”
We start our way through the tunnels, and something is definitely up. The announcer is still going, music echoing around us. The low buzz is still there, growing louder and louder the closer we are to stepping foot on the ice. We each give one another confused looks, and once we arrive at the mouth of the tunnel, my eyes blink in disbelief.
That sound isn’t a buzz at all, it’s people. It’s the hum of a crowd talking all at once.
When we turn the corner, we see them. The seats…they have people sitting in them. “What the…”
Adam mirrors what I’m thinking. “The fuck is going on?”
“Let’s go, gentlemen,” Coach says as he leads us out, not stopping like the rest of us. The crowd starts to cheer, and when my blades hit the ice, I skate in a large circle, taking everything in. So many people sit in the stands. In fact, it takes me a second to find my family in the throng, but they’re there, watching me, screaming their heads off. My mom wipes at her face, and I really would like to know what the hell is going on.
No one ever comes to see us. No one.
I search the seat next to Izzy where Lenore always sits, but it’s empty. I remind myself that it’s okay. She said she’d be late, but I want her to witness this.
Holy shit. People are here for us.
A chorus of boos rise up, and I peer around, worried that people have realized they’re here for a hockey game, but instead, I see the other team has skated out onto the ice.
A grin nearly takes over my entire face. Adam comes up and hammerfists me in the chest pads a few times. “Let’s go! We better have the game of our fucking lives.”
I do the same back. “Let’s do it!”
We skate back to our bench. The announcer starts listing off the starting lineup for the players on the opposing team, but then the lights dim and blink out.
“Shit,” I mutter. Of course this has to happen. We’re literally about to have the coolest game of our collegiate life, and the lights go out. What are the odds?
A strobe light flickers. Then another. Sinister music follows.
My gut clenches.
“And now, your Warner Bulldogs!”
I nearly pass out. None of us know what to do when they start announcing our names, so Coach pulls us up one by one and shouts in our face, pushing us over the wall to skate onto the ice. I’m the fourth announced, and when he gets to me, he smiles, slapping my shoulder. “This is what you’ve deserved, Zaiah. All these years. Go out there and make them fucking wish their asses were sore for how long they should’ve been planted in these seats. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He pushes me, and I skate out onto the ice, the applause nearly deafening. I skate in a circle, peering up at everyone. My mom is recording, and I’m so glad because Lenore needs to see this. That I matter. That I’m doing something with myself. What a shame that she had to miss the puck drop of the game of all games.
“What is going on?” Adam asks when I find my spot next to him.
“No fucking clue.”
“There has to be a reason all these people are here. Look, there’s hella students in that section.” He points in their direction, and that section stands, screaming. “Oh, shit. Did you see what I did?”
I laugh, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re like a wizard.”
“I’m Harry Fucking Potter all of a sudden. Lumos Maximus.” He points at the student section again, and as if on cue, they all go bananas. “I like this.”
We stay out on the ice while they play “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and then we skate to our bench again, waiting for puck drop.
All the guys are hyped, but there’s a general consensus that no one knows what is happening. Why are there so many people here?
The lights dim again, and this time, I’m pretty sure it’s not because the rink is about to lose power. It’s because the game is about to start. The crowd screams louder.
This hype. This energy… It’s addictive.
I skate to my starting position, body tingling. I spy the same excitement in my teammates’ eyes. We’re all on fire. When the puck drops, they skate like their asses have literal flames flickering out of them. They skate like there’s no fucking way we’re going to lose this game, and holy shit, who knew that all we needed was people to believe in us?
Throughout the game, more and more people fill the arena. Unbelievably, nearly all of the lower level is sold out, people sitting and cheering.
I’m on and off the rink with my line, trying not to listen to the chatter because I understand how important this game is. This single game could change the direction of Warner Bulldog hockey. If we win, if people like watching us, this could be our norm.
So far, we’re completely wasting our opponent, seven to nothing. I have more than one goal. Two, I think. Maybe three. Truthfully, the game has been a haze.
I keep peering up, trying to spot Len, but she’s still not in her seat. Sweat dots my forehead. I’m handed a bottle, and I swallow it down, handing it back over my head, wondering where she is. I thought she’d be here by now. It’s the third period. She said late, not missing the whole damn thing.
Someone leans behind me and says, “Hey, I texted my girlfriend to see what was up. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Tell anyone what?”
“About the article your girlfriend wrote.”
I turn, finding one of the assistant coaches staring back at me. “What are you talking about?”
“Dude, it blew up.” He turns his body to block out Coach, then shows me his phone. “People everywhere are reposting it.”
I peer at the screen, expecting to see the headline I read a few days ago—the one she’s publishing in the magazine—but that’s not it at all. He’s showing me the front page of today’s Warner University paper. “If You’re Not a Hockey Fan, You Need to Be” by Lenore Robertson.
I nearly pick the phone right out of his hand, but Coach shouts my name.
“You’re shitting me,” I say to him, and the assistant lifts his shoulders.
She did this.
I jump over the barrier and jump back onto the ice. I’m dying to look up into the stands to search for her again, but I keep my head in the game, stealing the puck and getting a breakaway. The opposing goalie is the only thing in the way of my puck and the net, and I deke him out, sailing one into the corner below the crossbar.
I throw my hands in the air, and the roar of the crowd coupled with the sirens gets my blood pumping. My teammates skate over to celebrate with me, and then I sit back down on the bench.
With only a few minutes left, Coach calls for third string so we don’t annihilate the team. Plus, he probably wants the lower classmen to experience this. Keep them sticking around year after year.
Again, I look up to where my parents are. Iz is staring at me, and she waves. I smile at her, but Coach would have my ass if he thinks I’m not paying attention to the game, so I don’t wave back. I certainly don’t ask where Len is, even though I’m dying to know. I also need to get my hands on that article. Front page and everything.
Our third string scores again, so by the time the game ends, it’s nine to zero. Not a single person has left their seats when the final buzzer sounds. We skate onto the ice to shake our opponents’ hands, and then we celebrate a little, raising our sticks in the air.
This is… Wow.
I slowly skate off the ice, peering around and taking the cheering crowd in. What a game. What a moment to remember. This is what life for me could be.
We’re all hyped as we walk down the tunnel. Adam slaps my back. “Holy shit, dude. You got a hat trick! You’ll be the talk of campus.”
“I just want any talk,” I joke.
The rest of my teammates laugh. Replays of the game begin immediately, players recounting their scores. We turn the last corner to head into the locker room, and a body runs up to me, throwing its arms around me.
I squeeze it back. For a split second, excitement builds. Len saw the game. I’m so—
But then it’s all wrong. The hair color. The height. The squeak that’s coming out of her voice. Plus, I’m not sure Len would throw herself at me in front of all my teammates. When I peel the person off me, my heart sinks.
It’s Trish.