There’s silence as we both contemplate what it would be like to have the hunky Mats realizing your dirtiest thoughts. Fire doesn’t even cover it; it would be solar core.
Fuuuuuck, Becks fans herself.
Also, I sensed that Mats might have had certain dominant fantasies that he would never ask for. I blame his inner feminist. But what if I had suggested them first?
Am I the world’s biggest idiot for fucking up our relationship? I ask.
You’re up there. Maybe that guy who attached a jet rocket to his Chevy and drove into a cliff would be first.
I sigh. He was an urban myth. Therefore, I am number one.
She bites into her wrap, then lifts it in salute. Congratulations.
I hope Mats is doing okay. He looked so defeated when I last saw him. I hate that I hurt him with my stupid family issues.
Becks grimaces. I saw him at the rink this morning. He looked… tired.
I groan loudly. The universe never sends me nice boyfriends because I don’t deserve them. And all those strange women on campus have probably heard about our breakup and are busy DMing him again. Awesome, I fucked up a relationship that most women would kill for.
I notice a new message on my phone.
Weird. Coach wants to see me ASAP. What’s that about? I wonder.
It means ‘as soon as possible,’ explains my smart-ass friend.
Genius. But it’s not like her to message. Usually, she’ll grab me at practice.
Here’s an idea: Go see her and find out, Becks suggests. Of all your problems, this is the only one with an easy solution.
Please, I haven’t been that bad.
Sure, I had my crying jag, but I’m pretty sure Becks doesn’t know about that. And I’ve been pretty good at putting on a happy face. Well, if not happy, at least not unhappy. I’m not my usual energetic self, but nobody can be like that all the time. Of course, I’m distracted and forgetful and dozy, but that will pass. Besides, a boyfriend like Mats is as rare as a solar eclipse, so I’m due for another in about 375 years.
The cherry on top of my life sundae is that my brother and dad are still unhappy with me, even though I’m not going out with Mats. Just because I dared to tell them the truth. Fuck my life.
I put away my lunch containers. Thanks for keeping me company, anyway.
Becks makes a face. Ugh. I can’t believe this, but I actually wish you would prank me. I can’t stand this meek, sweet side of you.
I don’t even have a snappy reply, so I just take off. Since I don’t have a class right away, I head to the arena. Coach Burton is in her office with Connie Lundstrom, a former Minks player who works part-time as her assistant. Both of them look up at me with worried expressions. There’s a tension in the room that I don’t like.
What’s wrong? I look between them, but nobody even cracks a smile.
Lundy, maybe you can get things set up for the, uh, you know. Burty motions with her head to the hallway and Lundy leaves, shutting the door behind her.
A closed door. That’s never good. I flop into the seat across from my coach.
She massages her temples, then looks up at me. Cleo, there’s no good way to break this news, so I’m just going to come right out with it. You’ve been accused of using drugs to enhance your on-ice performance. So, we’re going to have to test you.
What the fuck? This makes zero sense. I train like a maniac, but that’s it. I’m notorious for not even following a proper athlete’s diet, as Mats can attest to. I flush with anger.
That’s bullshit. I’ve never taken anything. I don’t even take cold meds, not after everything that happened at the Olympics.
Coach nods, her jaw clenched. Look, I know you. And I’ve already argued this with Roger Gordon, but unfortunately, it’s out of our hands. This is part of an investigation that the St. Viola police are conducting.
For a moment, it feels like the breath is knocked out of me. I’m sorry, the police? Is everyone getting tested?
No. Just you.
