“I trust Mims.” Maude wraps an arm around my shoulder. “And I trust you. You wouldn’t be the first skater who chose memorability over scores at the Olympics, and you won’t be the last.”
I can hear it already. Roderick Steele the first man to wear a skirt at the Olympics. Better yet—Roderick Steele the first man to wear a skirt to the Olympics andwin.
Chapter
Ten
“Your famous friend still coming?”
Marucs and I stand outside the rink on the edge of the gathered crowd. There are a lot of purple and grey jerseys with numbers I recognize from the little hall of fame corner of the rink. I should have worn the school colors or something. Marcus isn’t much better in his flannel and graphic tee displaying some comic panels.
“Don’t call her my famous friend in front of her, okay? And yeah.” I pull out my phone. “She should be here in a few minutes.”
Marcus looks back at the crowd. “Want me to save us some seats rinkside?”
“Sounds likeyouwant to sit rinkside. Want to watch the sweat hit the ice?”
“More like I want to make eye contact with my future husband right before he gets slammed into the wall.”
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?”
Marucs raises a scaly finger like the know-it-all he is. “We agreed, if I have an opportunity to play a round of tonsil hockey with a player, I should take it.”
I deadpan, “Wow.”
“I know.” He sighs dreamily. “He’s the love of my life.”
“Alright, Romeo, go get us some good seats. Try to get something by the tunnel.”
“Copy that.” He gives me a thumbs up before approaching the crowd. Like most Dragonfolk, Marucs is pretty tall. It’s easy to spot the back of his crested head as he makes his way to the front before disappearing into the building.
Now, with a bit of privacy, I send Christos a quick ‘good luck’ text. I consider following it up—to let him know he won’t need it since I’m here, but I think better of it. No need to fluster the man when he’s at work.
Alex runs up to me. “Sorry I’m late! Parking was impossible—there’s so many people here.”
There are fewer stragglers now, most of the crowd having moved inside the venue. “My friend Marcus went and got us seats,” I tell her as we follow the herd and move inside.
“I thought you said this team sucked?”
Some old-timer wearing a Dingbats beanie makes a face.
“I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for…”
She clarifies, “Why are there so many people here?”
“First home game of the season. And we don’t always suck.” We pass a trophy case, not stopping to admire, but I point Alex in the direction of the old cups.
“Okay full disclosure, I don’t know anything about hockey.”
I shrug. “Our team is purple and we want them to score. Can you keep up with that?” Alex continues to follow the crowd, so I take her hand and lead her the long way round, entering the rink at the ground level. Once again, Marcus’s big, scaly head is easy to spot, sitting right up in front of the plexiglass.
“Aren’t there fistfights? Do you get points for that?”
“Unfortunately, no.” We’d be champions if they scored the fights.
Marcus stands when he spots us and we settle right next to the tunnel leading to the locker room. “Marcus, is is this Alexsandra. Alex, Marcus.” I take my seat between them.
With Marcus’ height, he has no trouble looking over me to speak to Alex. “Roderick said I shouldn’t call you his famous friend.”
