CLEO
GUYS! I CALL OUT TO THE ROOM AS WE’RE GETTING READY FOR OUR HOME GAME. WHO eliminated us from the playoffs last year?
Portage! A few players call back.
Yes! So, who are we getting revenge on tonight?
Portage! More people shout.
Fucking right, I yell.
You’re extra fired-up tonight, Woolly comments when I sit down beside her to pull on my gear.
You bet your ass. We’re going to beat Portage and take first place. And Marjorie Schultz is going to watch us do it.
You mean that rich lady you’ve been visiting? she asks.
Yeah. My answer is muffled as I pull on my jersey.
Isn’t she in her eighties? I hope she’ll be okay in the stands, Woolly says. Tight games can get a little rowdy, and tonight’s will be a close one.
It’s fine. Mats made arrangements, and she’ll be sitting in a special box. Well, Mats contacted Barb Peachy, who is laying out the red carpet for our guest of honour.
Becks, who is sitting on the other side of me, butts in. Wait. Mats is coming to our game too? You never told me that part.
I busy myself with straightening my jersey. It’s no big deal. A hockey player is watching a hockey game. Happens all the time. Well, maybe not a member of the Mustangs watching us. As Mats said, we usually have games at the same time. Also, most of them can’t be bothered.
Becks slides closer to me with her shit-eating grin. Uh oh. You know, I’m adding one plus one and getting something huge.
I hope it’s two. I cross my fingers, hoping that she’s not about to go off.
She holds up her forefinger. One, you have this supposedly innocent sleepover at Marjorie’s house. And even before that, you say you don’t hate Mats anymore, although I still don’t understand exactly why.
I told you, I got used to him. He’s a nice guy.
A nice guy with an amazing physique and the best smell of anyone I’ve ever slept with—even if all we did was sleep. But the best part was Mats’s concern with my comfort level. How ironic that his reassurances that I was safe with him made me want to jump him?
A second finger goes up. Two, you force me to take you emergency underwear shopping this week, even though you never gave a shit about your crappy underwear before.
I lean back. There’s no stopping Becks when she’s on a roll.
She waggles her eyebrows. Nellie, are you planning on having sex? Her high-pitched squeal carries across the room.
Nellie’s having sex? With who? demands Jinx.
I’m not having sex, I protest.
Gilly yells from across the room, Nellie has a boyfriend? How come I never heard about this? It’s headline news.
Headline news because I am famous for my disastrous dates. My longest relationship at Monarch lasted about a month and ended spectacularly with a hurled plate of spaghetti.
I don’t have a boyfriend, I declare firmly. Maybe if I say it loud enough, we can drop the subject of my love life.
Fine, who’s your non-boyfriend, then? Gilly asks.
I sigh loudly. Once I release his name into the den of wildcats that make up our team, there will be no end to the teasing.
Roy Matsumoto, announces Becks, because apparently, I took a millisecond too long.
