“How are you settling in? Classes okay?” He sat in his desk chair, folding his hands as if we had all day for small talk.
“Um, sure. So far so good.”
“Which house were you assigned to?”
“I’m in Turner. But since I wasn’t part of the housing draw last year, I’m living in a building called McHerrin.”
“Ah,” Coach said. “Hartley lived in the handicapped room there last year when he couldn’t climb stairs.”
“That’s what he told me,” I said.
Coach tapped his fingers on the desk blotter. “We’ll just give it another minute, okay? Bella had something she wanted to say to the team before practice.”
“Oh.”Oh. “Hell. Sorry. I don’t like being newsworthy.”
He grinned. “I’d like to be newsworthy.” He held up has hands as if hanging text in the air. “Harkness Wins the Frozen Four.”
“All right,” I chuckled. “Your version works for me.”
“I live in hope. We look good this year, kid. Hartley’s back. We scooped you up from Saint B’s. And those Canadian freshmen skate like crazy men.”
“I noticed that.”
The conversation died again. I felt Coach’s eyes on me, and I didn’t enjoy it. “You know…” he said, pausing. “I have a grandson who plays basketball at a small school in the Midwest. He had to conduct a few very awkward conversations with his teammates last year. But nobody died.”
I tried not to gape. Coach had a gay grandson? I didn’t see that coming.
“If we get any pushback from the team, I’m prepared to tell them to shove it,” Coach said. “So I need you to let me know if that’s necessary. But I thought I’d step back, and see if things got by on their own first.”
Jeez. “Thanks?” I managed. “I hope it won’t come to that.”
He looked tired for a moment. “Me too.”
There was a quick little knock at the door, and then Bella put her head in. “I told everybody to hit the ice now.”
Coach stood up and looped his whistle around his neck. “Lace up, kid. Let’s do this thing.”
The only person left in the locker room while I put on my skates was Bella, who sat picking her cuticles on Hartley’s end of our bench. “Well?” I said finally.
She shrugged. “Too soon to tell. Big-D made a face like I’d just served him shit for dinner. Everybody else just blinked at me. Then they picked up their sticks and went.”
I stood up and went for my stick, the last one in the rack. “Thank you, Bella.”
She followed me to the door, patting my ass pads. “Let’s see some action, Rikker. I fucking love this job.”
As I’d done the week before, I skated Coach’s drills as if zombies chased me. Then we scrimmaged for a good forty-five minutes. When I was on the bench, I didn’t try to speak to anyone. Instead, I watched the game as if there was going to be an exam later.
Our side was dominating. About halfway through the game, coach switched up the rotation. After that, whenever we were playing our defensive zone, I ended up covering Graham. I was still in the flow, still skating like the Stanley Cup was on the line. Because if this team was going to end up hating me, it wouldn’t be because I didn’t make an effort.
And Graham, to my surprise, played like a skittish granny. He coughed up the puck to me so many times that it almost got boring. “Focus, Graham!” Coach yelled more than once.
Ouch.
After practice, I volunteered to move the nets out of the way of the Zamboni. I stacked cones, and generally made myself scarce for a little while. By the time I made it back into the locker room, there weren’t very many people left. Facing my locker area, I hung up my pads until it was a safe bet that everyone was dressed. Then I headed to the showers alone.
When I came out, only Bella and Hartley were still around. Their two heads were bent over what looked like a glossy hockey program. Bella made marks on it with a black Sharpie.
“Rikker,” she said as I tried to drag my boxers over damp skin. “We need your bio info by Tuesday. Schools and teams, height, weight. You know the drill.”
