I cringe. Well, there’s the confirmation I need that the team manager sees me as unfit to play.
“The leg is fine.” It’s my head and my heart that’s messed up, not my body.
I uncap my water bottle and stare at the rink as I drink deeply. Thanks to Bobby and the Zamboni, the surface is smoothand flawless, like freshly blown glass. If only I could erase all my improper thoughts of Riley as easily as that Zamboni erased every nick and scratch from the ice.
“Need me to set up the cones?” Bobby offers.
“I can do it.”
Bobby nods. “What’s with the tennis balls?”
“I’m trying something,” I say vaguely. It’s possible that my plan crashes and burns and I waste a ton of time, but training for speed isn’t all that I’m working towards. I need to find a way to see more of the ice while the world is moving around me.
I want to improve my peripheral vision.
I lace up, skate onto the ice and set up the cones used for drills. After some stretching, I drop the puck and maneuver it around the cones with my stick. I start at a slow speed and then build up to move as fast as I can.
A whistle pierces the darkness around the rink and I peer to my right, realizing that Bobby is still there.
“That wasamazing!” Bobby cheers. “How come you don’t play that aggressive on Friday nights? You’re obviously holding back, Campbell.”
I skate closer to the boards, grinning.
Early on, Coach and the manager were cutting the showboats left and right. I didn’t want to be next so I tamped it down in the hopes that they’d consider me a team player. I didn’t want anyone accusing me of acting like I was ‘better than’ because I had league experience.
Bobby scrubs his chin. “And here we all thought you were holding back because your leg was still hurting.”
“Is that what everyone thinks?”
“I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know that was a thought in my mind.”
Dazed, I skate backward.
In one moment, my strategy for the training camp blows up in smoke. How could I have been so stupid? Easing up on the gas was the wrong call. The entire team thinks I’m as fragile as glass and I’m the one who started the misunderstanding.
Bobby sees my expression and assures me, “Don’t overthink it. Consider this your secret weapon. When they least expect it, you go all out. Really take ‘em by surprise.”
It’s too late for that.
To earn my spot in the Lucky Strikers, I need to do more than just go all out.
I need to prove that the accident that everyone thought would permanently break me actually made me stronger.
Chapter Seventeen
RILEY
I’m the first to arrive at the garage. Again.
But rather than feel annoyance that Jimmy, Carlos and Blade failed to get to work on time, I feel a hit of relief.
My steps echo as I turn on all the lights. As each corner of the workshop becomes illuminated, my mental to-do list grows as long as Pinocchio’s nose.
Two light bulbs still need to be replaced. The ceiling is missing some tiles. Pigeons keep pitching on beams outside and leaving their poop everywhere.
And don’t get mestartedon the bathrooms. It’s clear that this was an all-male mechanic bay because there’s only one bathroom and it’s filled to the brim with urinals along with a toilet that made me want to gag when I saw it yesterday.
This morning, I want to brainstorm a way to keep out the pigeons, replace the bulbs and tackle that toilet—while wearing a hazmat suit.
