“Good luck, honey. We love you so much, no matter what happens—”
“But we know you’re going to kick ass!” My father laughs again.
“Love you both. Tell Taco I love her.”
“We will. Bye, honey!”
I end the call as I walk over to the rest of the guys.
“Ready to get back?” I ask.
“Yep,” Cottrell says.
We walk over to the bus stop that’s already full of people waiting to head over. I’m not sure we will all fit on the bus to get there, but we need to get on first—we’re playing.
Thankfully everyone fits, and it’s been at least five minutes before I spot Nico’s blond hair at the front, sitting with his friend. The one who was with him at the dining hall yesterday.
I watch him, noting the way he interacts with others. Friendly. Bubbly. Happy. I can’t even picture a frown on his face if I wanted to. So unlike me and my perpetual frown. I’m not angry often, but I’ve been told I look it. I don’t really know how tofix my face, it’s just the way it is, and I stopped worrying about it a long time ago because you can’t please everyone. Now, I embrace it because it goes along with the hockey thing. It didn’t deter Nico from talking to me, either. He wasn’t intimidated or put off. He was just his happy-go-lucky self, trying to pull me out of my shell.
We all file off the bus, and because I’m taller than a lot of people, I can see over other’s heads. I watch Nico walk with his friend, arm in arm, toward the arena public entrance.
So he really will be watching my game tonight.
Why do I love that so much?
Chapter Six
Nico
The game is almost done, and I don’t understand any more than I did at the beginning of the game. Étienne explains as things happen, but it just doesn’t stick with me. I’m not meant to get hockey.
Besides, the only thing I’m interested in is number 88. The huge defenseman that’s instigated one almost-fight and got sent to the penalty box for holding, which didn’t really look like holding to me, but what do I know?
I kept my eyes on him for the whole two minutes he was in that box. He obviously has no idea I’m staring at him. He was totally in his element, focusing on the game and catching his breath while he was in there. When his time was up, he got right back on the ice and played for another minute before he got off.I didn’t realize that some of these players are only out on the ice for forty-five seconds before they’re changing out. I can imagine why. I skate, so I know how tiring it is, and it’s why we fit our routines the way we do. We do what takes the most energy in the beginning and spread out other jumps and spins so we have a chance of landing them without being too tired.
Skating back and forth the way they do, putting all their energy to get to the other end of the ice as fast as they can, all while dodging hits, taking hits, and giving them? I’d be tired too.
I’ve gained a different type of appreciation for these hockey players, now that I’ve seen what goes on in the game and all they put into it. I still don’t understand the rules but that’s not really important. It’s not like I plan to play. I’d be laughed off the ice because of my size alone.
I laugh to myself, pulling Étienne’s attention.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Imagine me playing hockey?” I huff another laugh.
“One body check and you’d be in a full-body cast.”
“I don’t know how they don’t break their bones getting crushed against the glass like that.”
“It’s not like they never get hurt.”
“But it looks like they should get hurt more,” I say.
The buzzer goes off. The game is done. USA wins—5-0.
“That is impressive,” I say as Étienne and I get up from our seats and make our way out.
“They’re a good team. I told you. Are we going to get food?”
