“Never,” Maya replies.
They walk into the school side by side. The stares cut into their skin, the silence threatens to burst their temples, but they walk with their heads held high. The two of them against the world. The walk to Maya’s locker is less than a hundred feet, but nothing in life will ever frighten them so much. Two young women striding straight through a school full of whispers, without lowering their eyes once. You can’t show these women a damn thing after what they’ve already seen.
* * *
William Lyt is marching along the corridor surrounded by four of his teammates. Maybe they’re not actively seeking out foes, maybe they just swing around the corner and bump into Bobo by accident. But the fight is instantaneous, almost instinctive in its clumsiness, and in the narrow corridor the young men flail around as if they’d stumbled into a swarm of bees. In the spring, when Amat stood up at that meeting in the rink and said he’d seen Kevin rape Maya, some of these guys set off toward the Hollow one night to punish him. Bobo was with them but changed sides at the last minute. If he hadn’t taken such a severe beating for his new friend, they might well have killed Amat. That fight isn’t over yet.
Someone pushes Bobo, and he falls backward along the corridor. Everyone is shouting, but Lyt and his allies quickly fall silent. Bobo is lying on the floor, and a couple of feet behind him stands Benji. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there with his eyes half open and his hair a mess, as if they’d started the fight next to the bench he’d spent the night sleeping under. Hands in pockets, an arrogant look in his eye, so certain of his own effect that it isn’t even meant to be threatening.
“Are we going to do this now, Lyt, or do you want to fetch more friends first?” Benji asks, as if he was wondering if Lyt wanted a medium or large drink with his burger.
Lyt’s friends glance at him for guidance. Lyt meets Benji’s gaze, but not for long. He manages to utter an insult, but it doesn’t sound particularly convincing as he mumbles, “Who cares, we’ll do this on the ice instead. Good luck with your goddamn lesbian coach! She suits you! You’ve always played like pussies!”
Benji is standing on his toes, Lyt on his heels. When the teachers come hurrying through the corridor, Lyt raises his hands a little too quickly and pretends it’s their fault, and he sets off in the other direction. But Benji doesn’t move, doesn’t look down, and everyone who sees that knows what it means for the balance of power in the school.
* * *
One of the pupils who pays extra attention is Leo Andersson.
* * *
Maya and Ana are standing at Maya’s locker when they hear the commotion and shouting. It’s as if school buildings are intentionally built with acoustics so that sounds will always reach you no matter where you are, so that the pupils will never be able to escape one another. Maya sees the staff hurry toward the disturbance, sees some final-year students swinging wildly at each other farther along one of the corridors. She realizes it’s ridiculous the moment the words leave her mouth, but she asks out loud, “What are they fighting about now?”
A girl the same age as her spins around a couple of feet away, her voice dripping with derision when she replies, “Don’t act stupid, you lying piece of—”
One of the girl’s friends stops her before she says the last word. As if that makes any difference. Maya stares at her slightly too long. The girl’s eyes are wide open, her fingernails digging into her palms as she shouts, “Like you don’t know what they’re fighting about! You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? The fact that all the trouble in this whole damn town is about you! Maya Andersson, Beartown’s very own little princess!”
She says Maya’s name as if she were spitting on her grave. The girl’s friends pull her away. She’s got a red Hed Hockey badge on her backpack—her boyfriend and brother both play there. They used to be friends with Kevin Erdahl.
Maya and Ana stay where they are, leaning against the lockers so hard they can feel the metal doors shake in time with their heartbeats. This will never end. Never. Maya groans in resignation, “How many things can they actually hate me for? I’m either a rape victim or a lying bitch or a . . . a princess?”
Ana stands beside her, staring at the floor, then clears her throat noisily and suggests, “Look . . . if it’s any consolation, I still think you’re just a perfectly ordinary idiot!”
Maya’s mouth struggles to remain solemn but can’t resist breaking into a broad grin. “You’re so stu—”
“Says the idiot!” Ana snorts.
Maya bursts out laughing.
* * *
You must never let the bastards see you do the opposite.
* * *
Bobo is crawling about on the floor like an overweight deer. Amat runs over and holds out his hand and together with Benji pulls him to his feet, groaning.
Amat grins. “How can you possibly be so heavy but so easy to knock over?”
Bobo, who isn’t exactly known for his sharp wits, unexpectedly manages to fire back, “My cock affects my center of gravity.”
Amat and Benji’s laughter echoes along the corridor. They’re the only three members of last season’s junior team who are still with Beartown Ice Hockey, and right now that feels as though it might just be enough.
“Have you heard I’m practicing with the A-team today?” Amat asks excitedly.
Bobo nods, then looks suddenly perplexed. “What did Lyt mean, ‘lesbian coach’?”
Amat and Benji stare at him in surprise. “You haven’t heard that Beartown’s A-team has got a new coach?”
Bobo’s face radiates incomprehension. Rumors may spread quickly in Beartown, but not quickly enough to reach Bobo.
“Yeah, but a lesbian? We’re going to have a lesbian coach?”
Benji says nothing. But Amat clears his throat. “Bobo . . . we said the A-team.”
“Are you saying I don’t belong on the A-team?” Bobo snaps.
Amat shrugs. “If we need an extra obstacle in training, maybe. Your skates are actually faster when you’re not wearing them . . .”
Benji bursts out laughing and Bobo tries to grab Amat, but Amat is far, far too quick for him.
* * *
They’re joking, all three of them, but deep down none of them knows if he’s really good enough. If there’s any chance of their making the A-team. And where would that leave them? If they’re no longer hockey players?
* * *
The school slowly fills with staff and students. A new term, equal measures of expectation and anxiety, bittersweet reunions with everyone you love and everyone you hate, and the knowledge that there’s no way to avoid breathing the same air as both groups.
In the headmaster’s office sits a young teacher, Jeanette, making a last attempt to persuade the man in the smart jacket who’s massaging his temples in front of her.
“Just give me a chance! Let me turn it into part of PE!”
The headmaster sighs. “Please, Jeanette. After everything that happened this spring, I just want to get this school through one term without any scandals and attention from the media—and you want to teach the students how to fight?”
“It’s not . . . for heaven’s sake . . . it’s martial arts!” Jeanette snaps.
“What did you say it was called again?”
“MMA, mixed martial arts,” Jeanette repeats patiently.
The headmaster rolls his eyes. “?‘Arts’? It always seems a bit odd to call it an ‘art,’ don’t you think? It’s not like you can put on an exhibition of broken noses, is it?”