I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at, Cleo, my mom says.
I look between their puzzled faces. Does nobody here see what the fuck is wrong with this picture?
How about an apology? I finally say.
My mom nods. Yes, Jordan. That’s the least you should do.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Fine. I’m sorry for fucking up your perfect life. He spits out each word, like it’s costing him to say it.
Perfect. My whole family does what they always do: negating what’s important to me and how I feel, ignoring my needs for Jordan’s. But I’m officially giving up hope that anything will ever change.
If anything in my life is good, it’s because I’ve made it good. Everyone in this room knows exactly how hard I work to be good at hockey; how much I train and drill and practise. But in this family, we don’t respect hard work. Instead, all of you take me for granted. Cleo does a good job? No big deal. We don’t bother to go to her games. We don’t celebrate when she becomes captain. I built up a good reputation at school, but you guys made me ruin it for my brother. I had to bullshit the men’s hockey coach and say that Jordan wasn’t a racist asshole—just so he could make the Monarch team. And he promptly blew that opportunity by getting kicked out for being a total cancer in the room.
My dad keeps trying to interrupt, but I roll right over him. I’m never the one who gets mad, so they’re all shocked by my angry rant.
I don’t know how or when my brother became a prejudiced, selfish asshole, but I do know that neither of you has ever corrected his beliefs. And here we are once again, rallying around Jordan after yet another fuck-up. News flash: It’s not working.
I stand up and lean my hands on the table. Everyone in this room owes me an apology. Mom and Dad, after you split, you made me look after my brother when I was barely older than he was. And you’ve given him way more money and attention than I’ve ever gotten. Jordan, I don’t even know where to begin, but I’ll tell you the thing that hurts most: When you posted photos of me playing hockey, I thought it was because you were proud of me and you loved me. And all the time, you were just trying to make me the poster girl for your drug empire.
Don’t be such a little bitch, he mutters. The insult is not a surprise; the real shocker is how long it took me to see through him.
I’m out. Out of all this fucking bullshit. And the best part is that all I feel is relief, because all you guys do is take: my attention, my energy, my love. I’m better off without you.
As I leave the room, I can hear my dad sputtering and my brother calling me a drama queen. My mother follows me to the door and tries to placate me, but I’m flying high. My insides are churning, but I feel like I’ve done the right thing. Maybe for the first time in my whole life.
25
TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK
MATS
WE’RE SITTING AROUND THE DRESSING ROOM AFTER PRACTICE, READING THE BREAKING NEWS STORY in the Messenger. No names, but it says that drugs were being sold by a former player from the men’s team, and that a player from the women’s team has been suspended for suspected drug use in relation to the case.
Who are the players involved? Did Andy write this? Bergy asks Sinc.
He shakes his head. They have a news department for stuff like this. She didn’t even tell me it was coming.
There’s a story in the Minneapolis Star Tribune too, says Zee, as he hands me his phone.
This story is equally vague, but it names the suspected drug dealers as two men from the Hillsboro area. Cleo’s hometown is small enough that it won’t take long before everyone knows it’s her and her brother. Or they’ll realize that she’s the suspended player the next time the Minks skate onto the ice without her.
Hillsboro? Who on this team was from Hillsboro? asks Coty.
Jordan Nelson, answers Swanny, the first person able to search last year’s roster.
That piece of shit, says Schmidty. Well, it’s kind of a relief that it’s him and not someone we liked.
But does that mean the suspended player on the women’s team is Cleo Nelson? asks Bergy.
Everyone looks at me. Most of my teammates aren’t even aware that we’ve broken up. It guts me that she’s going through all these problems by herself. Sure, she has lots of good friends, but it’s not quite the same.
There’s no way that Cleo has ever taken drugs, I state firmly. To offer an alternate explanation, I add, But I’m sure her brother would throw her under the bus if it meant saving his own skin.
Most people nod at this. I’m still piecing together everything that happened, since I can’t ask Zee, but it seems pretty clear that Cleo is the collateral damage. Everyone continues to talk about the story in low voices as we dress and head out.
Sinc and I walk home together.
I wonder if I can do anything to help Cleo. Do you think Andy has more information? I ask.
