“What sports do you play?”
“I used to do ballet.”
“Why did you stop?” There’s a hint of fear, like she’s afraid to give it up, but worries she might have to.
“I just got busy.” I smile, but the truth is I wasn’t good enough. Not that I was terrible, but I was never going to be a ballerina, and while no one ever pointed it out to me, I knew that every Saturday Mom brought me to ballet meant Dad had to miss work to take my brothers to their sports things, or they had to go with a friend’s parents, which meant they had no one for them in the stands, and that’s not how the James family rolls. I also felt silly having athletes who win championships and MVP awards cheering me on at a silly recital when I was never going to get a solo. I’ve always enjoyed being active, like swimming or barre workouts, but if given the choice, I will always choose a book, so I can read about ballerinas at the top of their game. Or a pen and a blank sheet of paper, so I can write those same stories.
“We’re too busy too sometimes,” Izzie admits, bringing me back to our conversation. She shouts, “Let’s go Noah!” before I can ask more.
“Did he score?” I try to read the play.
“No.” She looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “He’s number 19, with Callahan on his back.”
Their practice seems to have gone from drills to a practice game, so Izzie watches instead of talking, and while I was oddly enjoying the conversation, I am immediately enthralled by the skaters below us. The drills were impressive, but now they’re tearing across the ice faster than any of my brothers’ teammates could ever run. And the puck is a lot smaller than a football, so it’s hard to keep track if you’re not paying attention. Which I am, mostly. But I think I follow number 19 more than I follow the puck. Every time someone scores, they all come together and congratulate the scorer, as well as anyone who helped. I don’t know why I thought skates would change that, but watching them interact, it's very clear I’ve found a band of brothers. And the best part? When I imagine my novel’s hero as a hockey player, I don’t have a single relation, or brother’s best friend, pop into my head. I slightly picture Noah, but that’s to be expected, because he’s the only hockey player I can name. With a little research, maybe a few games, I’m sure I can come up with a hero who won’t make me blush too hard if I ever run into Noah on campus.
I look around and find so many settings and ideas…the inspiration I’d been lacking hits me like a freight train.
He’ll play hockey.
Chapter Six
Noah
What is Icing?
“Dude, you, okay?” Tanner asks as soon as I get to my cubby and start changing into my gear.
“Sorry I’m late,” I apologize, though the clock in the corner says 5:50. I’ll be on the ice by six, which isn’t technically late, but I like to be warmed up and to have checked in with everyone before we start.
“You’re good, bro,” Owen assures me. “We were just worried when no one could reach you.”
“Won’t happen again,” I promise, then hustle to get on the ice and skate a few laps before Coach joins us.
I look up to catch Izzie’s eyes, and as stressful as the past hour has been, her smile, both this afternoon and now, watching me skate like she hasn’t since I graduated high school, makes it worth it. Mostly.
I’m distracted during Coach’s speech, and during the first few drills, questioning my decision to leave my sister with a woman I’ve never met before, even if she looked incapable of hurting a fly, let alone kidnapping an eight-year-old. But Izzie is tougher than she looks, and usually a good judge of character. She can be quiet when you first meet her, but she’s engrossed in an animated conversation with Savannah, looking so happy.
“Nice move, Callahan,” Coach Benson shouts after I score on Steele, who glares at me.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” he asks when I skate back to him.
“It’s the Corey feint. Think I should try it on RPI this week?”
“I think I’d be a lot more impressed if it wasn’t used against me,” he agrees. “Who the fuck is Corey?”
“One of the kids in Izzie’s class this afternoon.”
“An eight-year-old taught you that?”
“He might have accidentally discovered it, but he’s going places.” I grin, because Corey finished the move by sliding his entire body into the net when he couldn’t figure out how to stop, but he gave it his all, and I admire that.
“How come you don’t ask me to help with that anymore?” Tanner asks. A few of the guys came once or twice, mostly to fulfill our community service requirement.
“I haven’t been doing it lately.” I shrug, but I haven’t included Tanner in the group text when I need volunteers in years. Which he knows, as he eyes me expectantly. “I’d rather not have to explain to parents why their kids keep dropping F bombs,” I point out.
“That was one time.”
“It was a five-minute string of expletives.”
