Then she has everyone pull out their phones and reveals the new app they’ve created, where people can vote for all of this shit right from their seats. No applause necessary.
Oh, and they can definitely buy tickets, gift tickets, and put together packages that include tickets, merch, concession vouchers, and local hotel stays.
They can also share photos and videos they take during the games, message the team, check out behind-the-scenes content, and order merchandise for both the Revelers and the Rascals from the app.
Nora and Astrid have clearly been working on all of this for a long time. They’ve thought of everything. It’s impressive. If you want intense fan engagement and in-the-minute audience participationduringthe games.
But who the hell wants that?
The “there’s no such thing as too much” owner of the team and the “everything has to be a good time” PR director—which is, let’s face it, what Nora is for the team—that’s who.
And judging by the cheering and excitement buzzing in the air, the few hundred people in here tonight.
A few minutes later, we skate out onto the ice, prepared for which song we’ll be performing after we score two goals. We also know that if we get a penalty we’ll have to answer three trivia questions at center ice—but not if the trivia is about hockey, or otters, or something completely unrelated to anything going on here (and that would be my bet)—and that the last minute of play will involve us trying to hit colored wiffle balls into the nets with our hockey sticks. Of course, there will be forty wiffle balls bouncing around on the ice, and the Revelers can only score with the purple ones while the Rascals’ balls are green.
Because why not?
My headache is worse, I’m wound tight and completely distracted, even during the first six minutes of play that are completely normal.
Then Beckett scores our second goal, and I actually groan in disappointment. Because now I have to dance to “I Gotta Feelin’”. Of course,afterthey play a few seconds of “Simply the Best”, by Tina Turner—the part about being simply the best, better than all the rest—Beckett’s choice for what’s to be played every time he scores.
It’s not even the most fitting one.
Zeke Landry’s “Ice, Ice Baby” is maybe obvious, but it made me, and everyone else, laugh.
But Ingrid’s might be the best. “Immortals” by Fall Out Boy really fits our left winger.
I told Sutton to pick one for me. I heard it for the first time tonight in the first period when I scored. “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen. I gave her my stamp of approval, and she said thatgrowing up with Beckett means she knows all about how to pump up cocky men.
But I thank God, literally, that Beckett loves being out front and actually has a good singing voice.Thank you, lord, for this funny, outgoing goofball.Beckett is already happily taking the mic from Nora and skates to mid-ice.
As we start, looking like lumbering jackasses going through dance steps on skates, I look at Nora. She’s front row, right by the glass, of course, across the ice from the benches. Ruth is beside her, phone up, recording every second, I’m sure.
But I can’t look away from Nora.
She has that same look on her face she did at movie night. A mix of delight and affection. The look that I wanted to keep there. The look that made something shift in my chest that had nothing to do with how attracted I am to her physically. Or maybe it made my physical attraction to her even stronger. I just know that seeing her watching this now, looking like that, I suddenly don’t hate this as much.
And then I don’t pull my gaze from her fast enough to execute the twirl—I’m supposed to fucking twirl—and my skates tangle, I lurch into Ingrid, who weighs half what I do, and send her sprawling to the ice. Lawson trips over her skate and starts to fall, grabs our goalie, Wes’s, arm, and, surprised, and with only one skate on the ground because he’s doing some kick-thing, Wes goes down with Lawson instead of holding him up.
It all happens in the matter of a second.
I just stand there, stupidly staring.
The music stops.
The place is totally quiet.
I look at Nora. She’s staring at me with her mouth open.
So I say the first thing to come to mind.
“Oops.”
There’s another beat of silence.
Then Nora bursts out laughing.
So does the rest of the crowd.
