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“No.”

The official pointed once more to the jail. As I returned to the box, the chant started: “BWAT! BWAT! BWAT!”

I looked around the arena to see that thousands of people were shouting my name and pounding on the seat arms and railings. The spectators clearly approved of my actions. And that was a good thing. Abby wanted engagement. I had generated engagement, even if I had knocked down two human players and found myself in the jail box twice so far this game.

I sat down, breathing hard, and looked behind me. Abby stood behind the glass with her arms folded, watching the game. I could see the crease between her brows.

Then she noticed me looking, raised one hand and made a downward gesture that might have meant “calm down”. Or “stop flattening the enemy”. Possibly both. Didn’t she like the spectators shouting my name? Didn’t she want me to do all I could to help our team win, even if it landed me repeatedly in jail? Hopefully I would have the chance to ask her these questions later tonight.

But even with the concern and the gesture, she was so beautiful that my breath caught in my chest. I smiled at her, happy that she was here, happy that I’d met her, happy that we were friends.

She put her hands over her face, which was not the reaction I had hoped for.

On the ice, the enemy power play resumed. They moved the puck quickly, forcing our defenders to rotate. Ozar blocked one shot with his thigh. Ugwyll blocked another with his chest and laughed when it struck him. A third shot slipped between the two and past Pug.

Morag saw it too late. The puck hit his glove, popped into the air, landed behind him, and began sliding toward the goal line.

The spectators held their breath. Then Pug dove. He did not slide gracefully. He launched himself horizontally and struck the puck as it crossed the line, sending it further into the goal. His body collided with the net which came loose and collapsed on top of him with Morag equally tangled in the ropes.

The crowd roared, rising to its feet. The whistle blew.

Pug lifted one fist from the pile of net and orcs. “No goal!” he shouted. “I touched it before it went into the net. That means it is not a score.”

The referee pinched the bridge of his nose. I did the same, wishing that Pug had watched the same YouTube videos I had, then he would have realized the error of his judgment.

The enemy captain skated over. “What are these orcs doing? Is this even hockey?”

The strip-shirted human looked at Pug and Morag tangled in the net, Ugwyll laughing beside them, Eng still propping up the boards, and me serving my second penalty for an accidental collision.

“I’m beginning to have my doubts,” the referee said.

I looked backward at Abby again. She was no longer covering her face. Instead, she was laughing.

My chest warmed. This game was not proceeding according to established hockey rules. Most of the Tusks were not competent players. We were being outskated, and outmaneuvered. But Abby was laughing. And we were improving. Maybe someday we would win a game. Maybe someday I would help score a goal, or even score one myself.

Maybe someday Abby would fall in love with me and feel the way about me that I did about her.

16

ABBY

Ticket sales had continued to hold steady from last week. That was good, given that I’d feared a slight decline from the Tusks’ first home game after two weeks away, but I had wanted to see an increase. Still, the seats were reasonably full, and merch sales were up. I’d reluctantly encouraged fans to wear the upside-down, plastic vampire teeth that were supposed to look like the orcs’ tusks, even though the whole thing made me a bit uneasy. I’d talked to every single orc on the team to gauge their reaction and ask their thoughts about the fake teeth, ready to pull the plug on the campaign if there was the slightest bit of pushback or discomfort from the team members. They all had thought humans wearing the teeth was hilarious, and flattering. It seems they felt a bit sorry for us with our short, flat teeth, and didn’t find the fans wearing plastic fangs at all offensive.

I drew the line at the green paint some fans were wearing though. It reminded me too much of the blackface minstrel tradition that was insulting to African Americans. Even though the orcs didn’t seem concerned, I was. Daniella and Malik agreed with me. It was different for super fans of other sports teams to paint their faces in the team colors. Their players didn’t have orange or purple skin. Green wasn’t just our team color since our players actually had green skin.

It was a careful tightrope to walk. Some of the fans in the stands did have green-painted faces, and I didn’t want to alienate them. Plus the orcs hadn’t cared, and honestly it was up to them whether we should ban the practice or not. I wasn’t an orc. All I could do was be supportive.

I mentally tried to clock out of work as I met my friends and gave them each a team jersey to wear, even though the players themselves wouldn’t be wearing jerseys. We got beers, and walked to our seats in the VIP section. Jordan passed me my beer and I accepted it because I was not working tonight.

“How are things going at the gym?” I asked Willa as I sipped my pint.

She grimaced. “Crazy. I’m trying to maintain a few of my clients who can do evening or weekend sessions while finding new trainers for the other clients as well as anyone who can cover the classes I’m on the schedule to teach.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Did you get a new job?” I wasn’t that much of a gym regular, but I knew Willa had been toying with the idea of a career move for the last few years.

Stephanie elbowed Willa. “Tell her!”

Jordan grinned. “Yes, tell her! We’re celebrating tonight girls.”