Page 15 of Staying Selfless

“We can tell the people at the registration desk that they have to switch us. I can’t room with you, Maddison. No fucking way.”

“And draw negative attention to us? I don’t think so, Zanders.” I give in, tossing my bag on the empty bed. “There are too many eyes on us. So just stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

“I guarantee they did this on purpose. They’re trying to see if we kill each other by the end of the weekend. I swear to god if you fuck with my chances—”

“Oh, I fully plan to,” I cut him off. “About time for some payback for that illegal hit that almost ended my career.”

“Jesus, Maddison. Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Are you kidding me? I would’ve been in the draft at nineteen if it wasn’t for you. Now I’m twenty-two and just hoping I get called up before my college career is over.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t pull your invitation to this, seeing as you’ve been playing like absolute horse shit this last month.”

“Fuck you,” I spit.

“Fuck you,” he repeats with a dramatic sigh as he falls back on his bed. “This is going to be a long weekend.”

Looking into the bathroom, I find a plethora of skin and hair care products littering the sink, and when I turn to the closet, I spot multiple tailored three-piece suits hanging on the rod.

I place my toothbrush in a cup by the sink, adding my deodorant next to it, not having anything else to contribute to the shit show of a mess he made.

“That it is,” I say in agreement.

I take a seat in the audience in the hotel’s main ballroom that’s been transformed into a meeting space. It’s quarter to noon, and although I’m usually late to class, I’m always early when it comes to hockey.

Right at noon, a spokesperson for the Senior Showcase takes the stage to greet us. The room is packed with hopeful prospects, not to mention the thirty-two recruits from the NHL and the thirty-two scouts from their minor league counterparts.

About two minutes into the host’s opening speech, someone slips into the seat next to me. Without looking in their direction, I can see their deep skin tone and freshly faded cut out of the corner of my eye.

“No. Fuck no. Sit somewhere else,” I whisper-yell to Zanders.

“I can’t. There aren’t any open seats.” He attempts to keep his voice down while the spokesperson continues their greeting.

“Not my problem. Go sit next to Peterson from Northwestern.” I nod a few rows ahead of us where there happens to be the only other open seat in the room.

“Fuck no,” Zanders says. “Shockingly enough, I actually dislike Peterson more than I dislike you.”

Ignoring my roommate, I lean back in my chair while crossing my arms in front of my chest. I’m just going to try to pretend this prick isn’t sitting next to me, even though his ego is currently suffocating the oxygen out of this room.

“Just because I think you’re a little bitch, doesn’t mean I don’t respect your game, Maddison.” Zanders keeps his eyes ahead on the stage. “Your usual game, when you’re not playing like shit.”

“Well, that makes one of us. I don’t respect anything about the way you play.”

He lets out an arrogant little laugh. “Look around, Maddison. You and I are the real deal. Most of these guys aren’t going anywhere after college, and even if they do, they’ll be lucky to play in the minors or overseas. We’re the only two in this room that’ll probably be playing in the big leagues by the end of the year. You’ve got to respect that.”

He’s not wrong. Zanders and I have gotten the most attention from scouts this season. As much as I don’t want to admit it, playing against him does something to me. He’s good, and he makes me better. Mostly because I can’t stand him, and I refuse to let him beat me. Our lifelong feud fuels me every time we play, and if there’s ever a time I need that extra push, it’s this weekend.

I continue to ignore Zanders and listen to the rest of the speech, informing us of how the weekend will go and what we can expect regarding meeting with different teams from across the league.

“Today will be agility drills, timed sprints, and basic body assessments. Five-on-five play will begin tomorrow,” the announcer says. “Final meetings will be on Sunday. If a team wants to meet with you, you’ll be scheduled that morning. If you don’t get any meeting requests, you’re free to head out at that point.”

“I can’t wait to lay your ass out tomorrow,” Zanders chimes in, but I can hear the smile through his words.

“Yeah, good luck catching me, asshole.” Both of us attempt to hold back our amusement.

I might be a slow runner, but I’m fast as fuck when I’m on my skates, and Zanders, along with everyone else in this room, knows it.

Looking over to the scouts’ section, I recognize a fair number of them, but they’re all wearing their team logos regardless. I’m surprised to see a few of them here. There’s no way that Boston, Edmonton, or Minnesota are bringing any guys up this year, seeing as their teams are stacked, but I guess they have to keep an eye out just in case.

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