I tear my eyes off him and look back at the ceiling. “I don’t.”
Even in my periphery, I see his face change. Soften into something almost like understanding. Like for a second he realizes I’m not just some asshole taking his glory from him without earning it.
“Media’s gonna get a riot out of us on a line together,” he says, standing up straight to spot my next lift. He waits till I’m too busy with the weights to respond to add, “First time someone tries to give you credit for my success, I’m putting you on blast.”
* * *
I CAN’T FOCUS at study hall that afternoon. I sit at my carrel scribbling lazy circles in the margins of my Italian homework. I took it for an easy A while brushing up on my mother’s first language, but it’s bad for my attention span.
Especially with the exhibition in a couple days. The moment of truth. A sneak peek at the season that will make or break me when it comes time for the draft.
I hold my head up with an elbow on the desk and start scribbling furiously on my homework. It doesn’t matter how ruined the paper is. I’m never gonna be able to focus enough to finish it.
One of the boys snickers, most definitely not at his homework, and Zero yells at him, “Working hard or hardly working?”
I sigh and open my laptop to pull up the NHL’s prospect rankings. I’m still at the top of North American Skaters, with Cauler right under me. Number three is a guy named Alex Nakamoto. His position is pretty much secure, but below that, guys are always shifting. I click on height to sort the list tallest to shortest, and now I’m dead last. The next shortest guy is five foot eight, and he’s ranked in the two hundreds. The shortest European skater is five foot nine.
I don’t know why I do this to myself.
My phone lights up on my desk, silenced to avoid Zero’s wrath. I squint at the notification that pops up, because there’s no way I’m seeing that right. A message. From Jaysen Caulfield.
Jaysen: Lets try to find some common ground Terzo
I swallow hard, resting my head on my arm on the desk and holding my phone in my free hand. I could ignore it. Should ignore it. I’m supposed to be doing my homework, keeping myself eligible to play.
But apparently I’m a masochist.
Mickey: Why
Jaysen: So we don’t kill each other before draft day Mickey: Pretty sure competing for top pick is common ground enough Jaysen: Outside of hockey
Mickey: Zero and Kovy put you up to this?
Jaysen:… maybe
Zero said coach threatened his captaincy if he couldn’t get us to get along Mickey: Dramatic
Jaysen: His job to bond the team Mickey: I didnt think there was still a problem after that party Jaysen: He wants to be sure i guess
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. At least talking to someone will pass the time until study hall ends. Even if that someone is Cauler.
Mickey: Ugh.
Fine.
Jaysen: K so
Favorite band?
Mickey: Tragically hip
Jaysen: Are you kidding me?
You hate hockey
But your fav band
Is the hip
My eyes narrow. Just because they’re Canadian and have some songs about hockey and they’re a staple in arenas and just about every NHL team honored Gord Downie when he died does not mean I wouldn’t be able to like them and hate hockey at the same time. Why is he so convinced I hate it anyway?
That would take too long to type out.
So I just say:
Mickey: I told you
I don’t hate hockey
Whats yours i guess
Jaysen: The amity affliction Mickey: Never heard of em Jaysen: Bc your uncultured obvs Your turn
Mickey: Color?
Jaysen: Black.
Duh
Mickey: Blue
Jaysen: Movie?
Don’t say miracle or i will end you Mickey: Idk
Spiderman with tom holland
Jaysen: Now we’re talking Thor ragnarok
Mickey: Tv show
Jaysen: I don’t watch much tv But
FMA:brotherhood
Dammit. That’s my favorite, too. But I don’t wanna admit that to him. I kind of want to stop liking it altogether. First he takes my hockey position, and now my favorite show, too? I’ll never watch it again if it means separating myself from him.
Mickey: idk I mostly just watch hgtv Jaysen: what’s your middle name?
Mickey: You really think we’re gonna have the same middle name Jaysen: No
Just curious
Mine’s daniel
Mickey: Liam
Jaysen: That the same as the mickeys before you?
Mickey: Ya
Jaysen: Damn.
Individuality is really frowned upon for you james men huh Mickey: You think
I stare at my phone until it relocks itself. Then I stare at my reflection in the black screen. He doesn’t respond. I guess it’s technically my turn to ask a question, but I don’t know how to … get to know people, I guess? How to make friends or what to do with them after. I have Nova, yeah, but that’s because we were forced into each other’s lives as infants and I lived down the hall from her throughout puberty. We couldn’t get rid of each other if we tried at this point.
But I mean, it’s not like Cauler’s trying to be my friend here. And I’m not trying to be his. We just have to get along for Zero’s sake.
SEVEN
My entire world narrows down to hockey on the day of our exhibition.
My body carries me to classes and gets me to the rink and puts me on the bus to Ontario for my first college hockey game, but my head plays no part in any of it, only coming alive when I step onto the ice in my black-and-purple uniform. Hartland across my chest above a crown. James III across my shoulders over the number 17.
It’s just another hockey game.
It doesn’t even count toward stats.
I just have to play my game and everything will be fine.
It’s a mantra I repeat to myself through the warm-ups, all the way to puck drop to keep myself calm. Every time I catch a glimpse of Cauler, sharing my ice and uniform, I have to start over.
The real hockey media isn’t going to bother with an exhibition, but some student-looking reporter with a Mustangs mic pulls me aside in the hall outside the visitors’ locker room after a scoreless first period. My hair is slicked with water, and sweat that drips from my chin and stings my lips and burns my eyes, but they stick a camera in my face and start rattling off questions like they expect it to be second nature to me.
Most of the Royals keep walking by like this is normal, but Cauler and Zero both pause behind the camera guy. Cauler looks about as irritated as he always does when I get special attention, but Zero crosses his arms and watches me closely as I assure the kid with the mic that twenty minutes of hockey isn’t going to determine the entire outcome of our season.
The rest of the questions are easy to answer with minimal brain power, and after a while, I realize I’ve been staring over the camera guy’s shoulder as I speak. Right at Cauler. I blink back into focus, and he smirks at me. Raises one eyebrow. I clear my throat and look back at the interviewer right as he tilts the mic back in my direction.
“Sorry,” I say. “What was that?”
He fumbles for a second before taking a breath and starting over. “Analysts have been saying recently that Jaysen Caulfield’s stock has been rising. Does that make you feel threatened at all?”
My face twitches. I see Cauler shift out of the corner of my eye, but I refuse to look at him. I don’t wanna see how smug that made him.
“Of course not,” I say slowly, shrugging a shoulder. “He’s a great hockey player and whatever team gets him, first or second’ll be super lucky. It doesn’t matter what order we’re drafted in. He’s my teammate; all that matters is how we work together on the ice.”
Cauler’s laugh draws my attention back to him just as he and Zero step around the camera guy. Zero grabs my jersey and starts pulling me away. “What does matter is that you’re missing Coach’s intermission speech,” he says. The student reporter is too caught off guard to say anything.