Game over.
For a moment I just sit there.
I imagine Coach finding out. Being thrown off the ice before I even get one proper shift. I couldn’t face disciplinary action for this, could I? Is my place in college at risk?
This was stupid and dishonest. The risk was always too big.
Slowly, I reach up and lift the helmet.
My hair is still tucked under the skullcap but it’s blatantly obvious.
Tara stares at me. Then, inexplicably, she laughs. Her laugh is warm, not cruel.
“Leonora Shaw,” she says. “I thought so.”
I’m speechless.
“You skate like your dad,” she continues, shaking her head slightly in amusement. “And your brother, for that matter. I’ve seen enough of your family in my work to know it instantly.”
She studies me with her arms folded.
“Another way to phrase it is this: natural talent.”
“So, you knew?”
“I strongly suspected it by the second drill,” she says cheerfully.
“I’m-”
“What are you doing applying for this team?” she interrupts, though there’s curiosity in her tone rather than accusation.
I hesitate.
“Well… I go to college here now and there’s no women’s team,” I say finally.
“Ah.”
She nods slowly.
“Yes,” she says, “I was there when they cut the funding. I argued against it. Loudly.”
She shrugs. “My voice got drowned out pretty quickly.”
That doesn’t surprise me.
“So,” she says, looking at me thoughtfully, “I understand why you’re doing this.”
“You… do?”
“Of course I do.”
She gestures toward the door that leads back toward the rink.
“You want to play.”
It sounds so simple when she says it.
“But,” she adds gently, “you can’t do this alone.”
