Ryan had smuggled a speaker on board.The rookies were singing.Even Coach Harper was smiling in the front row.
I sat in my seat, icing my shoulder with a bag Dalton had given me.I was exhausted.Every muscle felt like it had been pulled apart and put back together wrong.
But I felt light.
I pulled out my phone.One a.m.
Me:Geometry held up.
Me:Nice call on the green line.Win is on you.
Austen:Glad I could assist.
Austen:Rest required.Room is quiet.Valve is silent.
Me:See you in the morning.
Austen:I’ll be here.
I smiled at the screen, letting the blue light wash over me in the dark bus.
I looked out the window.The highway was empty, a ribbon of road leading back to Cold Harbor.I closed my eyes and let the bus carry me home.
Chapter 16
Ice and Elevation
Austen
The email notification pinged at 7:04 p.m., cutting through the silence of the dorm room like a gavel strike.
SUBJECT: Submission Update – Northeast Regional Mathematics Symposium
My heart did a traitorous double-time rhythm against my ribs.I hovered the cursor over the subject line.This was it.The verdict on three months of sleepless nights, pirated game footage, and Dr.Thorne’s red-pen massacres.
I clicked.
Dear Mr.Lovell, We are pleased to inform you that your abstract, “Quantifying the Crease: A Geometric Analysis of Goaltender Efficiency,” has been accepted for presentation…
I let out a breath I’d been holding since October.
“Bad news?”Luke asked from his bed.He was nursing his shoulder again, ice pack strapped tight.
“The preliminary work for my thesis,” I said, turning my chair.“The paper was accepted for presentation at a pretty prestigious math conference.”
Luke sat up, the ice pack sliding a fraction.A slow, genuine grin spread across his face.“You’re presenting?On the main stage?”
“Breakout session B,” I corrected.“But yes.I have to build a slide deck.I have to defend the methodology in front of a room full of people who think sports analytics is a pseudoscience.”
“You’re going to crush them,” Luke said.“You’ve got the best dataset in the league.”
“I have you,” I said, realizing too late how soft that sounded.
“Exactly.”He leaned back.“So, does this mean you’re famous?”
“It means I’m presenting,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.“Fame—or at least tenure-track viability—comes later.If the presentation goes well, Thorne thinks we can submit for publication in theJournal of Quantitative Analysis in Sports.That’s the real goal.That’s the Stanley Cup.”
“I’m sure you’ll get that, too,” Luke said, with the easy confidence of a man who stopped pucks for a living.“But for now, we iterate, right?”
