I look at her.
She meets my gaze steadily.
“You need an ally. Let me help you.”
“How?”
“Well,” she says, thinking aloud now, “the first problem is obvious.”
She gestures vaguely toward me. “Facilities.”
It takes me a second to realize what she means.
Locker rooms. Changing into and out of the kit, showers after games.
From the look on my face, she clearly realizes something.
“You hadn’t even thought about that yet, had you?”
I open my mouth. Close it again.
“No.”
She laughs again, softer this time.
“Trust me. You wouldn’t last a day without solving that problem.”
She taps the clipboard thoughtfully.
“I can arrange a separate space. Locker, shower, changing area.”
“You can?”
“I’m the physio,” she says with a shrug. “I deal with medical accommodations all the time.”
She pauses, thinking.
“I could list it as a special condition.”
“Like what?”
“Privacy requirements during rehabilitation,” she says immediately. “Something along those lines. Not uncommon.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “No one will question it.”
“Why would you do that?”
Tara looks at me for a long moment - then she smiles slightly.
“Because you skated well enough today to earn a place on that ice. And frankly, you deserve a women’s team of your own. If this college refuses to fund female players, that’s their choice. But I won’t stand in the way of female talent.”
Then she adds quietly, “and Leonora… your dad was a fantastic colleague. You remind me of him a lot.”
ZANE
The locker room is louder than usual. Not chaotic, exactly, butrestless. Everyone’s half-changed out of their gear, conversations bouncing around the room as people speculate about the tryout.
Russo is leaning back against his locker beside me.
