Zee and I exchange skeptical looks as Roger finishes with a few more platitudes and then cautions us once more to keep this matter to ourselves. As if keeping Council information confidential isn’t already impacting my life enough.
Afterwards, Zee heads off for a late-night date, so I end up walking home with Smitty and Knudy.
Ugh, I don’t like all this drug stuff. It feels too much like we have to spy on our teammates, Smitty says, breaking Roger’s veto as soon as we’ve left the building.
It does feel like we’re not getting all the information. Like what we’re supposed to notice, I admit.
Yeah, well, nobody on the women’s team is pulling up in a blacked-out Range Rover, or whatever it is that drug dealers drive, Knudy says, and we all chuckle.
Is this person dealing to other athletes at Monarch? Because that wouldn’t even make you enough money to pay for a beater, I say. Monarch College only participates in a few intercollegiate sports.
Knudy shrugs. Who knows? It’s a ridiculous ask. If something obvious shows up, then fine. But in the meantime, I’m going to carry on like I never heard any of it. I don’t want to be second-guessing every time one of my teammates has a big game.
Besides, did you read the full list? Caffeine is a stimulant. I’m pretty sure that every hockey player at Monarch would test positive for caffeine, Smitty jokes.
We switch to talking about the playoffs, which are coming up in March. The women’s team has a good shot at winning.
If Smitty here keeps improving, we are looking good, Knudy declares.
Smitty blushes. She’s very modest for a hockey player. It’s Nellie who’s having an amazing year. She’s a scoring machine.
Speaking of Nellie, I hear you do a mean Mashed Potato, Knudy says with a laugh.
I suspected that she was revealing all the embarrassing details of our Tuesday-night dinners, I say.
She’s been entertaining the whole team with stories about you, Smitty admits.
They are pretty hilarious, Knudy says.
My public image these days is entirely shaped by women’s personal narratives instead of my true self. When I sigh heavily, Smitty reassures me. It’s all good. I didn’t know you had such a fun side, Mats.
That’s ironic, because Cleo has made it very clear that she isn’t having any fun with me. I’ve gotten to know these two pretty well, so we can talk frankly.
Knudy nods. Yeah, what’s with Cleo’s big hate-on for you? Did you swipe left on her or something?
Both women are looking at me with innocent curiosity. Can it be that Cleo—who blurts out her most embarrassing dates to complete strangers—has not told them that she blames me for her brother being cut from the team?
I stumble over my answer. Uh, I’m not really sure. Something from last year, I think.
Jesus, Mats. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar? Knudy observes. Almost as bad as Cleo. This whole deal is getting curiouser and curiouser.
Smitty chuckles. Better watch out, Mats. Detective Nora Knutson is on the case now. No secret is safe.
Maybe I’m being overscrupulous. After all, who better to talk to than two women who are both Cleo’s friends and on the Athletic Council? But if Cleo hasn’t told them, then it’s not up to me.
Subject change, please, I say. And we start talking about the rumour that the assistant coach of the men’s team is dating the assistant coach of the women’s team.
9
OUR ORIGIN STORY
CLEO
I KNEEL ON THE COUCH AND PEEK OUT THE LIVING ROOM WINDOW TO SEE IF MATS IS HERE YET.
Black dress pants again? Tonight must be dinner at Marjorie’s. Knudy plunks herself down beside me.
Yeah. I don’t know why I’m even bothering to look out for Mats. He always gets here exactly at 5:00. Actually, there’s a very good reason. I’m used to men who run late, like hours late. Or who don’t even show up at all. Each time Mats arrives on time feels like a miracle worth celebrating. Of course, he’s not my date; he’s doing all this for the good of our hockey programs.
