“I’ll let you know.” He nods, adding a smug smirk. “Are you taking photos again?”
“That is the plan, although I already hate this plan,” I say through gritted teeth, as I do my best to erase what just happened to me from my memory.
“You know what I like about you?” The casual way he offers to compliment me makes my spine straighten, and I stare at him with bated breath, praying this isn’t a setup. “What?” My T is extra sharp as I wait.
“You’re not like anyone else.”
“Are you rubbing that in my face?” I turn my head at a suspicious angle as my cheeks fire on like an oven. I already know I don’t fit in.
“No.” He drops his hand to my arm, and a sonic boom rumbles through it, searing my flesh.
“It’s not a bad thing. You just don’t conform. I don’t see anyone else walking about in all black clothes and combat boots. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
I stare at his hand on my arm while my esophagus malfunctions—which allows for an awkward pause. I could offer a rebuttal and tell him he’s wrong, but instead, I glare at him. His smile is comfortable, not at all condescending.
He holds up his phone, switching the conversation. “Want to watch TikTok?”
“Sure.” Our gazes synchronize on his phone as I do my best to drown out the neighboring whispers about me. It’s not lost on me that, once again, Noah rescued me.
Okay, there’s confirmation that I was maybe wrong, and he is nice. But that’s clearly just Noah, and he’s on the wrong team.
The rest of these guys are still horrid.
Standing in front of my seat behind the penalty box, my camera is positioned to capture anything that can happen. This is my favorite spot. I learned when I was a teenager that if I sit here, I can nonchalantly take selfies with the guys’ backs.
It’s sort of a weird obsession.
But it doesn’t make me a bad person.
I’m supposed to be finding the photos that make these guys look bad, but I can’t help but keep drawing my eyes back to Noah. He’s been sitting on the bench most of the game, and I got twelve “selfies” with him mewing. He’s an excellent mewer. Clearly, those selfies are going into my personal collection, which nobody shall ever see.
A time-out is called, and the Granite Ice team gathers around Coach Carlson for whatever genius words he has to say. I’ve eavesdropped on an awful lot of his speeches, and I usually zone out when Carlson speaks. He’s generic. It’s Bill Baker you want to lean in for, because he has all the gossip. I scan the packed arena, waiting for something interesting to catch my eye. My stomach growls, and I contemplate getting another bucket of popcorn, but I wasn’t much of a fan of the first bucket. Their salt-to-butter ratio wasn’t even close to average, with so much salt I had to get an extra drink refill to choke it down.
Scratch the popcorn idea.
In my peripheral vision, the players nod in agreement at whatever Carlson said, and they give knuckies in solidarity before they skate back out. Noah skates out on the ice with a fire in his eyes. I dutifully adjust my camera settings back to action mode.
The team’s losing pain is so thick it’s palpable in the air. I don’t think they’ll win another game this season, but I’ve never seen a team with more heart. That would be endearing if I wasn’t trying to make them look bad.
The puck drops.
I do my best to use my phone to follow the action over the ice, hoping to get something worth saving. Axl is the best for controversy, because he gets in the most fights. Unfortunately, he’s been keeping his temper in check, and he hangs back while Noah quickly takes control of the puck and streaks down the ice. He smokes past the defensemen and cuts toward the net. He’s so nimble and fast, it’s hard not to be amazed.
Noah has the talent to make me forget there is even a hockey game going on. I pull my gaze away from him for a second to scan the arena. All sets of eyes are glued on him as he puts on a fantastic show. Imagine just casually strolling by an ice rink and seeing him. Even people who have no idea what hockey is about would be stunned.
My gaze returns to Noah, and I follow him, snapping photos. When he gets to the front of the net, I rise to the tips of my toes in excitement, and I struggle to hold my phone steady. The crowd erupts in cheers as he shoots the puck, and it flies past the goalie and into the net! I snap a photo right as it goes in, getting both the goal and Noah in the shot.
That was easily the coolest thing to happen since I’ve been in Mapleton. Noah raises his fist in triumph, and his Granite Ice teammates swarm him. Seriously, somebody needs to tell Marvel about this guy. I don’t need a photo of him looking this good for my spread, as this would destroy my plan, but it’s an excellent shot. I’ll just slip this one into my personal collection as well.
The scoreboard shows they are tied. For the first time in weeks, they have a real chance to win a game. They battle for the rest of the period, with nobody able to break the tie. My heart is in my throat. You’d think I’m rooting for them.
I’m clearly not.
It’s the pressure to not miss anything.
As the clock winds down to the final seconds, Axl has the puck at center ice. He dodges a defenseman, skating along the boards and across the blueline. Another defenseman closes in on him, and Axl can’t break free.
My eyes dart back to Noah.
