Page 53 of Arctic Titans of Northwood U: Volume 3

A few people murmured their approval, but I wasn’t quite yet sold.

Jen Harding continued in a more inspiring tone. “This show, which we are calling Blades of Northwood, will depict more than the games you play. It will follow your highs and lows, your friendships, your rivalries, your struggles, and your victories.” Then, as a few more heads nodded, she continued. “Participation is voluntary, of course, but we highly encourage as many of you as possible to take part in the project for various purposes, chiefly to further your profiles and the appeal among the scouts.” Jen looked around, then folded her hands. Her smile returned upon crossing Griffin’s beaming face. “While our technical teams prepare their crews and equipment and determine the main locations for the first season, my team will observe your drills and conduct interviews for all willing participants. The idea is that everyone remains authentic to their true self, while leaning into their strengths.”

Ah, I thought. There we go.

I’d seen a couple of docuseries about college football players. Some guys knew how to cut through the noise and cultivate a following. I wasn’t one of those guys. My focus was on my skills and on my relationships within the team. I couldn’t “lean into” my signature traits when I had none. I wasn’t a showman, an actor, or a dancing monkey. I was just some guy with a stick and a quiet passion for teamwork.

The first practice of the season kicked off ten minutes later with three producers sitting behind the boards and taking notes, photos, and videos with their phones. Coach Neilsen put us to work on the ice, warming us up with light skating and tossing before pushing us hard in small, dedicated teams.

I played side by side with Griffin. Coach Neilsen had seen us play last year and knew without a doubt that we belonged shoulder to shoulder. Sometimes, you could talk to a person without ever speaking a word. Sometimes, you knew what the other person was thinking with little more than a glance in their direction.

Griff’s face was never a mystery to me. With his high cheekbones and quick smiles and deep dimples, I knew his face better than I knew the contents of my left pocket.

I ignored the producers the same way I ignored any audience. Letting the fact that I was being watched by strangers sink in was the quickest way to lose my focus. So I didn’t.

After practice, we showered and dressed, while Coach Neilsen beamed with pride. He probably thought we were all given a massive opportunity. Or, which was worse, he played along because he couldn’t stand up against the Athletic Department’s wacky ideas.

As fate would have it, I was in the first batch of interviewees that afternoon. Toby went first, Mason second. Each strolled out with inflated chests and broad shoulders swinging. I didn’t think the same tricks would work for me. In fact, I was forming polite ways to say I had no interest in taking part in this experiment.

I settled into the plastic chair across from Coach Neilsen’s desk, which Jen Harding had commandeered for the afternoon. She’d moved his usual clutter to one side and set up a small recording device between us. The office smelled like old coffee and the pine air freshener Coach kept plugged into the wall outlet.

“Thanks for doing this, Andrei,” she said, consulting a tablet. “I know this is all pretty sudden.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine.”

She looked up from her notes, those big eyes studying me like I was a puzzle she wanted to solve. I hated how disarming her curiosity was. “Tell me about yourself. What drives you? What makes you tick?”

The questions felt like trapdoors. Each one led somewhere I didn’t want to go. “I play hockey. I’m good at it. That’s about it.”

“Come on, there’s got to be more than that.” She leaned forward. “What’s your story? Where are you from?”

“Chicago. Moved here two years ago on a hockey scholarship.” I kept my hands flat on my thighs, resisting the urge to bite the inside of my cheek.

“Did you try for a Chicago-based team?” she asked.

I held back a snort. I hadn’t, although it had been on my mind. After Griffin had decided to try for Detroit’s Arctic Titans, I went with it and never looked back. Now, I was glad I wasn’t playing for Chicago’s Steel Saints. Those guys got on my nerves. “No,” I said.

“And before coming here?”

“Before coming here, I played hockey somewhere else.”

Jen’s smile didn’t waver, but I caught the flicker of something sharper behind it. Interest, maybe. Or recognition that I wasn’t going to make this easy.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

“Not really.” Not the type who’d make it in reality TV.

She made a note on her tablet. “That’s actually perfect. You know what reality TV needs? The strong, silent type. The guy who keeps his cards close to his chest. Viewers love trying to figure out what’s going on behind the mask.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “I’m not wearing a mask.”

“No?” She tilted her head. “Everyone wears masks, Andrei. The question is what happens when they come off.”

The recording device sat between us like a tiny black judge, capturing every word. I wondered what Griffin would say when he sat in this same chair. He’d probably charm her within thirty seconds, make her laugh, give her exactly what she wanted without even realizing he was doing it.

“Let’s talk about your teammates,” Jen continued. “Who are you closest to on the team?”

The question hit like a slap shot to the chest. “We’re all close.”