I shake my head. Sorry, Burty, but you’re going to have to explain this one to me. I have no history of anything like this. It’s totally fucked. This whole deal feels like a joke.
She winces. Okay, I’ll level with you. It’s all going to come out in the next few days anyway. We’re keeping things confidential as far as the team goes, so no one is supposed to know that you’re being tested. However, it’s foolish to think people won’t put two and two together.
My guts clench in worry. I swallow hard and wait.
The police investigation is based on information that an athlete from Monarch is selling ephedrine and amphetamines to high school athletes. The claims were that they could improve their performance enough to make D1 or the NHL. She sniffs scornfully at the idea. Ridiculous, right? But the sales pitch was that another athlete using their hookup for ephedrine is suddenly having her best season ever. She’s leading her team in scoring for the first time.
At first, I can’t comprehend this whole idea. Yes, I’m the leading scorer on my team. And yes, I play a balls-out, high-tempo style that might make you think I’m on something, but still—why me?
But you can’t just say something like that! I exclaim. It’s like me saying that Taylor Heise is my bestie. Where’s the fucking proof?
Coach sighs. Because your brother said it. Your brother has been using his Monarch email address and connections to the college to fool gullible athletes into buying performance-enhancing drugs.
But where would he even… I begin, then it hits me. I bet he’s partnered up with Nick Johnson, right? His family owns our town's pharmacy. And Nick took that stupid selfie with me. All the times I thought that Jordan was genuinely proud of me, posting my photo on his socials, he was just using me. Once again.
She waves this away. I don’t know who else is involved, only what pertains to you.
I shake my head. Fucking Jordan. You know, I feel like everything bad in my life happens because of him.
Burty nods sympathetically and pats my hand. She’s not the touchy-feely type, so that’s a big deal for her.
I exhale loudly. Okay, well, bring on the test. I’m clean, so I’ve got nothing to worry about.
Great. The sooner we get the results back, the sooner you can be back on the ice, Coach says.
What? I can’t play hockey? I stare at her with zero comprehension.
She yanks her short hair like she’s ready to tear it out. Sorry, I should have mentioned that straight off. You’re suspended until we can prove you’re not on anything. That’s the college policy.
But why? Because a couple of bullshitters said I was on drugs? That’s not proof of any kind.
She nods. Oh, I agree. But if we let you play, that means our opponents could challenge the results of any game for use of a suspended player.
How long will it take to clear this up? I ask.
Burty grimaces. Test results will take fifteen to twenty days.
Fuck me. I say what she’s thinking. The Minks finished first, so we get next weekend off. But the following weekend we have our first playoff game, and it’s single-elimination. If we lose that game, we’re out. Even if I’m back by the second playoff game, it could already be over.
Believe me, I’m not happy about this. It’s our best shot in years; you’re playing so well, and now Smitty’s back in form. At least we have the by-week to rest up and practise. Then she scowls. But you can’t practise with the team, either.
I clutch a hand over my guts where there’s a churning mix of fury and despair. Yes, I’ve been miserable over missing Mats, but at least I had hockey. Hockey is the one constant in my life. I love my teammates. I love practices, scrimmages, and even team meetings. And I love games most of all. But that’s all gone right now. And by the time we get my test results back, my season could be over.
And all because my brother fucked up once again.
I stumble out of the coach’s office, and Lundy is waiting for me. I’m going to escort you to the clinic, where we have an appointment with a school technician who is going to take blood and urine samples from you. And you can’t leave my sight until it’s done.
God, you sound like you just stepped off the set of Law and Order, I say, my voice dull.
She giggles nervously. I just looked up the whole procedure in a handbook for drug testing after a championship. I’ve never done this before. Lundy is only a few years older than me, so it’s easy to relate to her. She’s a former player who is doing Burty’s internship program for coaching prospects.
And then, in the stupid way my brain works, I realize that hers is the job I want when I graduate: finding out if coaching is something I could do. But what a fucking time to realize this. It’s like asking a police officer if you could ever be a cop—while you’re being arrested.
I can’t help but laugh, because if I don’t, I’ll cry. Fuck.
Let’s get this over with, Nellie. Lundy’s voice is gentle.
I feel like a criminal as I’m escorted through the student medical clinic into a private room. There’s a technician there, who explains that I’ll be giving urine and blood samples. There are multiple consent forms to fill out.
