Page 104 of Bombshells
But never mind. He coughs his way to the shallow end and puts that stupid weight onto the side of the pool.
“Good work,” Fineberger says. “I’ll go sign another certificate.” He puts the weights into his crate and wheels it out on a luggage cart.
“You don’t get a certificate, boss?” Cedric asks.
“Nah. But I haven’t earned it yet. Still got some skills I need to man up and handle today.”
“You gonna tell Sylvie how you feel? The class is over, boss. Better learn some new tricks if you want to see her in a bathing suit.”
“Get out of my head, Cedric.”
He cracks up.
Thirty-Four
Dude Should Get Hazard Pay
ANTON
“Why is she always skating backwards?” Cedric asks. “She gonna crash into something if she don’t look where she’s going.”
Who knew it would be this much fun to take a bunch of teenagers to their first hockey game?
“That’s Charli. It’s her one job,” Drake explains. “She’s a defenseman. I mean—a defenseperson. That’s Anton’s position, too. The D-man is supposed to get in the other guy’s face and make trouble for the forwards.”
“I could do that job. I’m a lotta trouble.” Cedric cackles. “Hey—how come the refs don’t have pads? They only got, like, that shitty little helmet. That better be a high-paying job. That dude should get hazard pay for skating around all these angry women.”
“They’re not angry,” Trina says. “The word you’re looking for is fierce.”
Cedric pulls a face. “Same difference when you got blades on your feet.”
“The kid makes a few good points,” Drake says, his hand dipping into my popcorn. “Bayer—did you notice? This is really good popcorn.”
“Yeah. Sure it is.” I’m not very focused on the popcorn, though. I’m watching Sylvie. She hasn’t let anything in at all yet.
“You think the popcorn is better at the women’s games?” Drake asks, dipping in for more.
I hand him the whole box. “How would you know? You’re never in the stands at your own games. You hearing this bullcrap, Campeau?” I call down to our teammate, who’s seated two rows beneath us.
He doesn’t even hear me. He’s spent the whole game so far bent forward in his chair, eyes glued to Sylvie even when the puck is at the other end of the rink. Beside him, Sylvie’s dad is watching with the same intensity.
Sylvie looks good tonight, too. Her skating is smooth and her stance is confident as she directs her players in the defensive zone.
“What is Sylvie yelling about, anyway?” Manny asks. “Is she the captain?”
“No, but the goalie has a lot of jobs besides stopping the puck. She issues defensive-zone guidance. She’s everybody’s eyes and ears, letting players know when the opponent is closing in, or when they have time to make a play.”
“Cool. Doesn’t look easy.”
It doesn’t. This game is hard fought. Boston is scrappy and unafraid to draw penalties. The score is zero-zero near the end of the first period. It’s still anyone’s game.
Boston hasn’t mounted many challenging offensives, but they’re frustrating our team. I can see it on Fiona’s face. She wishes Boston would stop tripping her every ten seconds and play the damn game.
Boston pulls another dick move, and now Charli looks ready to blow.
“Hey, are we gettin’ a fight now?” Manny asks. “I heard this was a bloody game. I want to see somebody drop the gloves.” He rubs his hands together.
“The women don’t fight as much,” Trina says. “They play a smarter, more cerebral game.”
