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DRIVE ME CRAZY
CLEO
ALL THIS DRIVING IN TERRIBLE WEATHER. YOU OWE ME BIG TIME NOW, NELLIE, BECKY MOORE complains as we motor through the January sleet.
Add it to the tab, I reply.
Living in a small town like St. Viola means that everything is walkable and I don’t need a car. But small-town life also means that there are no bargains, so once a month I hitch a ride to Minneapolis and stock up at the big-box chains. Today, I also picked up a pair of used skates, as my ancient ones were toast.
I wish women’s hockey had more sponsorships, Becks sighs.
Or rich alum, I say. Both of us play for the Monarch Minks. As college athletes, we’re currently prohibited from taking gifts from companies, but we can accept equipment purchased through booster funds. The NCAA rules change almost daily, but women’s hockey will be the last to benefit, given our lower popularity.
You were lucky to get skates that nice secondhand. She looks over at the skates I’m still cradling in my hands. They’re Bauers, and practically new.
If luck means combing the internet for size seven-and-a-half skates as well as calling every sports swap in the city for the past month, then yes, I’m pretty fucking lucky. Everyone on the team has more family money than me, but I’m okay with that. If I have to bust my ass to get new-to-me skates, I will. It’s the same determination that got me to Monarch College and made me the captain of the team. These babies are the nicest skates I’ve ever had. How many extra goals do you think I’ll score now?
You’re already leading the team in scoring, so leave a few scraps for the rest of us, Becks laughs.
Mi goals es tu goals, I reply in mangled Spanish, because we usually play on the same line. Then I attempt a little play-by-play. It’s Nelson, speeding down the left side in her new skates, she dekes the defenceman, moves in and slides a cross-crease pass to Moore. Moore one-times it. Goal! The crowd goes wild. I wave my hands in the air and do Kermit-style screaming.
She giggles. You’re crazy.
Guilty as charged. Oh, I love this song. I turn up the volume on her speakers and start seat-dancing to some retro Lizzo.
Becks head-nods along with me but keeps her hands locked on the steering wheel. It’s pretty shitty out there and she treasures her car, an older Subaru Forester she calls Subby.
Hey, isn’t that Roy Matsumoto? She points to a broad figure shivering in a bus shelter.
I’m closer to the sidewalk, so I can see him clearly. It is Roy Matsumoto, from the men’s team. He’s ridiculously overdressed for a random Thursday night. And why is he waiting for the bus instead of driving around in his expensive Toyota hybrid SUV?
It’s him, I confirm as we drive past.
Becks eyes her rearview mirror. Let’s swing around and see if he needs a ride.
I groan. Can we not? Please? I can’t stand him.
Cleo, are you serious right now? Mats is a really nice guy, and it’s awful weather out there. What’s your problem with him? Becks is already turning right so she can circle the block.
We have history, I say.
Oh, spill. You never hooked up with him, did you? No way, you could never have kept that a secret. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to hit that. He’s quiet, but that’s even hotter. I can’t stand when guys won’t shut up while you’re doing it. They should be using their tongues in better ways, you know?
Ugh, I’ve never laid a finger on him. Gross. I shudder at the very suggestion.
I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend anyway. One of those Barbie-doll chicks.
Becks is dismissive because nobody on our team could be classified as doll-like. We’re athletes with muscles and curves, and if guys don’t appreciate that, they can fuck themselves. The fact that Matsumoto chose a stereotypical model-perfect girlfriend is one more strike against him.
He’s going out with Lana Hillier. You know, she does Monarch College social media, I say.
We both groan in understanding. Our college has social media accounts to impress parents and potential students. Since it’s PR, only the most attractive students get that job. Lana, with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and statuesque body, looks like a quintessential Minnesotan, but she’s not even from around here.
You say you hate him, but you seem to know a lot about him, observes Becks.
Yeah, that’s because know your enemy is a battle principle.
