“They’re the puck bunnies,” Izzie tells me without looking away from her brother.
“The what?”
“Puck bunnies. They want to get close to Noah because he plays hockey, but he wants friends who like him for him, so he stays away,” she adds, matter-of-factly.
“That’s good.” I consider telling her we call them jersey chasers in football, cleat chasers in baseball, and ball honeys when Clay was on the basketball team, but I don’t want it getting back to Noah that his sister and I spoke of them even if she’s the one who brought it up. With a much tamer version of what they’re after.
The girl with the ‘#30, you’re mine’ sign blows a kiss to the goalie, which he pretends to catch. Her jersey is long enough to be a dress, but she’s wearing jeans underneath.
“She’s a girlfriend though,” a little girl, probably a couple of years older than Izzie, turns around to tell us.
“How can you tell the difference?” I ask, looking to Izzie, then realizing I don’t want her to know. With my brothers, I could tell based on how much clothing they had on, sure, but the girlfriends often sat together, or with the families, and it was usually the players coming over to acknowledge them, not them screaming to try and get their attention.
“She’s Lacey,” Izzie tells me, like that explains it.
“She also sits in the family section every game, and Darren looks at her with heart eyes,” the girl explains. “I’m guessing you’re Isabelle, Noah’s sister?”
“Izzie,” she agrees, clearly eager to engage, but also holding back and looking to me like I can deem the stranger safe.
“I’m Olivia, but everyone calls me Liv. My grandfather is the Coach, so I come to a lot of games. You’re so lucky Noah is your brother.”
Liv. I can’t help but laugh inwardly at originally assuming Liv was Noah’s girlfriend.
“He’s pretty cool,” Izzie agrees.
“And you are?”
“Savannah. I’m just here to keep Izzie company.”
“Ma’s mostly here for that too,” Liv shares. “She’s been to more games than anyone else in this room. Except Pops.”
The older woman beside her turns to give me a smile, but she’s busy knitting something. Liv also has a bag with yarn and needles, but it’s completely abandoned beside her.
“What does your sign say?” Izzie asks, pointing to a folded-up Bristol board.
“You’ll see.” Liv smiles.
Once the game starts, there’s less talking, but a lot more screaming. The stands are full, and I don’t know if it’s because we’re in the ‘family’ section, but it feels louder here than anywhere else. Izzie screams every time Noah goes anywhere near the puck, as does Lacey, who seems to know a few of the players. Liv, however, never stops yelling for everyone, using first names for some, last names or nicknames for others.
Her poster turns out to be a five-foot rendition of the team’s logo, covered in glitter, surrounded by all they boys’ numbers. I am not the least bit surprised when she says she wants to be an artist when she grows up.
Liv and her grandmother tell us about the team during the first halftime, which they call intermission. Izzie and I plan to get food during the next one, but the bathroom line is so long we don’t have time.
Noah has an assist in the first half, then scores in the two others. Which I guess means they’re not halves, or quarters, but no one is calling them thirds. His team wins 5-0, so clearly, the goalie, has a good luck charm.
“Aren’t you coming?” The coach’s wife asks us when the crowd starts moving, but Izzie and I stay sitting.
“Don’t they have to shower before they come out?” Noah and I made plans for me to get Izzie, but not for how he’d get her back. I just assumed he would find us in the stands.
“They do, but then they all come out the same place. I’m sure Noah will find you if you stay here, but I think he would love it if you were waiting with everyone else.”
I doubt he wants me anywhere that suggests anything, but Izzie looks excited, and I don’t want him to think I kidnapped his sister, so we follow Liv and Mrs. Benson to a roped-off area with a lot of the people who sat near us. There are also a few of the puck bunnies Izzie mentioned.
“There’s a lot more of them at night games,” Liv shares. “And they drink more.” She gets a warning look from her grandmother, but just shrugs like you can’t argue with the truth.
“She’s spent too much time with hockey players,” the grandmother defends Liv, while she and Izzie discuss the game.
“It’s nice that they let her in,” I say, hoping that’s the case, rather than she just overhears their locker room talk. I haven’t had unfettered access to changing rooms, but it never took long for the entire team to treat me like a communal little sister. Most of my jersey chaser knowledge comes from them warning me not to become one, or ribbing each other when they either forgot I was there, determined I was trustworthy, or wanted to annoy one of my brothers.
