“You’re making a difference with them. And you are with this team as well - they just don’t all know it.” He sets down his papers. “Tell me about the practice. What you’re seeing.”
I open my notebook, more out of habit than necessity. I know what I want to say.
“The skating is inconsistent. Some of them are responding well, making real adjustments. But the improvement isn’t cohesive because it isn’t coming from the top.” I pause. “The captain sets the pace and his skating is flawed. Everyone in that rink watches him, consciously or not. He’s not the worst skater on that ice. But everyone watches him. If he changes, they change. If he doesn’t-”
I stop.
Calloway nods slowly, like I’ve confirmed what he already knew.
“He doesn’t want to be coached,” I conclude. “Not by me. He’s decided what I am and what I can offer and he’s not particularly interested in reconsidering that. Which-” I stop again, choosing carefully. “Which is his prerogative as a person. But as the captain of a team that needs to get better, it’s a problem. His attitude gives everyone else permission to have the same attitude.”
“He’s running out of time to get scouted,” Calloway says. “He knows that. It makes him-”
“Harder to reach.”
“Yes.”
We sit with that for a moment.
Then Calloway says, almost as an aside: “I saw you talking with Jake Skelly last night. After the game.”
I can’t quite read his expression. I wait for what comes next - the careful word about mixed loyalties or about the optics of the visiting team’s assistant coach and the home team’s new skating coach leaving a game together.
Instead, he says: “He’s a good guy.”
I blink. “He seems it.”
“Good coach, too.” Calloway picks up his papers again, signaling that the conversation is winding down. “You could doworse for a friend in this town. It’s a small place. People who understand the sport are rarer than you’d think.”
I stand, gathering my things. “Thank you. For - all of it.”
MATEO
I shower. I change. I sit in the empty locker room for twenty minutes and stare at my hands.
Chen comes back in at some point, retrieves something from his stall, and doesn’t say a word, which is the most eloquent thing anyone could have done.
By the time I walk the corridor toward Calloway’s office, I’ve decided two things: I’ll apologize for what I said to Elida because it was out of line and I know it, and then I’ll have a quiet word with Calloway about whether this arrangement is actually working, because this morning was not working, and someone needs to say it.
I’m rehearsing it as I round the corner.
The door is ajar. Voices inside.
I stop.
I should knock. I should announce myself or come back later. But I stand in the corridor and I don’t do either because I hear my name and I freeze.
Her voice. Calm and clear.
The captain sets the pace and his skating is flawed.
I stand very still.
Running out of time to get scouted.
My hand is flat against the wall.
I step back from the door.
