Page 33 of Grumpy Puck

“Sure.Go for it.”He uses his whistle, and everyone looks our way.

Coach gestures for me to speak.

“I need a few volunteers,” I announce.

The bearded faces look at me like I might bite.

“It’s for my shtick,” I explain.“I’d like to do a bit where I stretch an imaginary rope across the ice, and then some of you will trip over it, as if it were real.”

A lot of the dudes nod approvingly—until they hear a low growl, that is.

“I volunteer,” Michael states.“And no one else.”

I stare at him in disbelief.“Do you not get how volunteering works?”

He skates over.“Do you want me to withdraw my candidacy?”

“No.I’ll meet you back here.”With an eyeroll, I turn around and head to my dressing room to gear up.

Once the costume is on, I place Wolfgang on my shoulder and examine myself in the mirror to get into character.

“Bearman horny like deer.Roar.Bearman want to come on big boobs of his Pookie-poo for the cameras.”

Wolfgang washes his face with his paws.

Meine Liebe, this Bearman person sounds like he just needs regular rations of cheese.

Feeling ready for anything, I return to the rink, where Michael is waiting for me along with Coach.

As I explain what I want to do, Coach grins, but Michael’s face is completely impassive, like I’m talking about my income taxes and not a fun prank.

Then, after I make a big deal about setting up the invisible rope across the ice, Michael skates through and very deliberately falls.

“That was terrible,” I say.“It needs to look natural.That was just you falling on purpose.”

His nostrils flare.“How the fuck do I fall naturally?”

“Like it’s an accident.”I look at Coach for help.

“Hey, Michael,” Coach says, his eyes crinkling.“If this is too childish for you, I’m sure Dante would be happy to help Calliope.”

“Over his dead body,” Michael growls and turns to me.“Just show me how you want me to fall, and I’ll do it that way.”

Huh.“Like this.”I skate toward the invisible rope, then act as if it were a laser that has chopped off the bottom of my feet.I wail in pain, wave my arms around like I’ve been attacked by a swarm of bees, then clutch my chest and fall on the ice, twitching as I pretend to expire.

“That was natural?”Michael looks from me to Coach.

“It was inspired,” Coach says.“Kids will love it.”

“And since when is hockey a sport for kids?”Michael grumbles.

“Didn’t you start at four?”Coach counters.

Michael’s face turns exceptionally gloomy, even for him.“Let me try the fucking fall.”Gritting his teeth in determination, he skates over to the “rope” and then repeats the ridiculous challenge I’ve set out for him—except he manages to do it with a predatory grace more typical of a feline.

“How?”I ask no one in particular.

“His kinesthetic intelligence is off the charts,” Coach says.

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