We’re eight minutes into the second half when the Asheville defense breaks down and a Trenton middie fires a shot, bringing the score to 5–4. Stranko immediately shouts for a time-out. Adleta’s the last to join the huddle because he was on the opposite side of the field, twenty yards from the play. His dad grabs him by the arm and shoves him into the circle of players. Stranko’s yelling so loud, people in Alaska can hear him.
“You guys think you can take it easy and still win this game? Because you won’t. You want to be champions, you have to play like champions. What you’re doing out there is a disgrace. You should be up ten goals at this point, but no. Your sorry asses are up one. It’s pathetic. If you don’t put it into high gear, you’re going to find your season over.” Then Stranko points at Adleta. “You especially. You’re playing like a loser right now.”
Adleta visibly stiffens.
“Oh, do you have something to say?” Stranko asks. “I’d love to hear your thoughts.”
“I think we’re playing hard out there,” Adleta says. “Trenton’s better than you think.”
Stranko is actually too stunned to talk, so Mr. Adleta does it for him.
“You keep quiet,” he growls.
“Why? I just said—”
“Shut your mouth.”
Adleta cocks his head.
“Or what?”
Both Adletas are locked in on one another. Everyone in the stands is quiet and staring at the showdown. Stranko actually puts a hand between them.
He says, “Okay now—”
“You don’t deserve to be out there,” Mr. Adleta tells Tim. “Champions play for blood. You’re playing like you’re stupid. Is that it? Are you stupid? Because you sure as hell—”
And then it happens—Tim drops his stick and starts across the field.
Mr. Adleta pushes past players to chase after Tim, but Stranko grabs his arm. At midfield, one of the refs holds up a hand to say something to Tim, but he keeps walking, crossing the entire field, passing in front of Trenton’s bench, then out the gate and into the parking lot. There’s not a closed mouth in the entire stadium.
“Holy shit,” Wheeler says.
Holy shit is right.
When the game resumes, the team’s play is chaotic. Asheville gives up two quick goals and loses the lead. Stranko calls another time-out. This time though, he doesn’t raise his voice. He keeps looking toward the parking lot with a dazed, humble look, like he’s expecting Adleta to return. In fact, Stranko doesn’t shout once the rest of the game, not even with one minute remaining when it’s clear Asheville’s going to lose. It’s like Adleta’s exit has lobotomized him. When the clock runs out, Asheville’s lost by only one, but somehow it feels like they’ve lost by a lot more.
Later that night, a single cryptic text arrives from Adleta.
Thx.
I don’t understand Tim’s message until later in the week when the Malone-Libby powder keg finally detonates in Watson’s room.
? ? ?
Thursday’s Big Question of Existence is “Does everything happen for a reason?” The class is evenly split on the question, but I’m firmly entrenched on the no side. As much as I’d like to believe there’s some master plan, I can’t buy into the idea that some set of galactic directions manipulates my life. And if the universe is really letting, say, little kids get sick and die “for a reason,” then I say screw you, universe.
The only drawback to having this stance today is that Libby Heckman agrees and is at the desk next to me. You’d think the goldfish incident would’ve deflated her some, maybe even scared her off of Malone, but no, especially not today, with Malone on the other side of the argument.
“I don’t fully buy into determinism,” Malone says, “but I can’t just accept free will either. There’s a side of me that wants to believe I’m a part of something bigger. I guess it makes me feel less alone.”
Lots of people on both sides agree with this.
Libby, not so much.
She raises her hand and says, “I think people like to believe everything happens for a reason so they don’t have to take responsibility for themselves.”
“Care to elaborate?” Mr. Watson says.
“Well, if you believe everything happens for a reason, then you’re admitting you don’t have any control over what you do. And that means you never have to regret anything.”
Fair point.
Unfortunately, Libby doesn’t stop there.
“And if you don’t have to regret anything, then it’s not your fault if you ruin your life. Is that why you like to believe it all happens for a reason, Kate? So you don’t have to regret a decision that ruins your life?”
All eyes turn to Malone. She’s never taken Libby’s bait, no matter how bad it’s gotten. Today’s different though.
“If you have something to say, Libby, go ahead and say it. I won’t stop you.”
Libby has daggers in her smile. She leans forward on her desk and says, “There’s nothing to say that everyone doesn’t already know about you being a slut, Kate. I’m just telling it like it is.”