Page 13 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“Skydiving,” she laughs, tossing her braid over her shoulder and looking me up and down. I see recognition flash in her eyes, and hope she’s not going to ask me for an autograph. My hands are starting to shake a bit too much.

“I’m Leila,” she says instead. “Now, come on, adventure is this way!”

Finn

There’s something exhilarating about knowing you’re taking your life in your hands.

Of course, this skydiving company is the highest-rated one in the Burlington area. Penny thoroughly scoured the pilot’s credentials and looked for any sign that the operation might not be legitimate. I’ve spoken to several people in the area who used this company and found it pleasant and secure.

But just because they have all the qualifications and safety certificates doesn’t mean that this isn’t a risk. Anything could happen, I think, staring out the window on the side of the plane, eyes roaming over the landscape. Something could combust in the engine, a propeller could go out. Rather than scaring methough—like they probably should—those thoughts fill me with a buoyant sort of joy, like I’m alight with the knowledge of being alive and enjoying this moment.

Sammy is not faring as well.

“But what happens if the back-up doesn’t work?” I can hear him shouting, his voice coming out loud and staticky through my headphones. I’m strapped into the seat, but I swivel it around to look at him.

Sammy is strapped to the instructor, Leila, who has the parachutes on her back. Air rockets through the cabin, ruffling my ponytail. Leila has the right idea with her hair in a braid.

Sammy’s hands are tight on the harness, and he has his eyes carefully turned away from the sight below. I’ve used skydiving before as an exercise for athletes who needed to work on this type of attitude change, and while they’ve all been afraid, nobody has looked quite as green as Sammy Braun.

From our vantage point, we can see the wide, flat landing area below us, but also the rest of Burlington. Burlington City Hall, Church Street Marketplace and St. Francis. Xavier Cathedral. Burlington Bay pushing up against the city, the water brilliantly reflecting the sky back at us. From this height, we can’t see the people who are surely walking along the streets, heading for the farmers market or work.

And Sammy can’t even glance out of the plane.

“The likelihood of that is so small, we won’t even worry ourselves with it,” Leila says, her voice calm and endlessly professional. I’m the one who set this whole thing up, but my eyes can’t stop tracking to the many points at which Sammy and Leila’s bodies are pressed together, her chest against his back, her arms behind him, touching his harness.

I watch her lean close and whisper low, something I assume is calming, into Sammy’s ear.

“You can do this, Sammy,” I say, raising my voice to be heard through the wind and static. He looks over, his eyes meeting mine, and I notice his jaw ticking, his face tight. It surprises me.

I haven’t known him for very long, but I’ve never seen Sammy Braun look like this. The easy-going demeanor is gone.

“Approaching the drop zone!” Gerald says, his voice incredibly chipper from beside me.

“Alright, let’s ready ourselves for the jump,” Leila says, but Sammy is already shaking his head.

“I can’t,” he says, voice tight. His eyes skip away from mine, briefly land somewhere in the distance, then return to the floor of the plane. “Ican’t.”

“Be bold, Sammy!” I shout, heart picking up pace. This is the precipice, and I love watching athletes cross over it. He’ll push back against the tension, do the jump, and arrive on the other side with a new mental state. With a new approach.

A smug smile is stretching over my face—this might very well be the fastest I’ve ever turned someone over. I could be heading home within the span of a few weeks, adding Sammy Braun to my list of success stories and tucking back into the comfortable little bubble I’ve carved out for myself in California.

“Bend your knees,” Leila says. “Relax.”

“No,” Sammy says, shaking his head, his body rocking away from the opening. Leila allows him to take a step away, and I want to scream at her to stand firm, not to let him move backwards.

“That’s okay,” Gerald says, “we can re-approach!”

“No,” Sammy says, voice loud and firm, final. “I’m not jumping.”

“Sammy—”

“We can’t make him jump,” Leila says, her gaze on me, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I know we can’tmakehim jump, but it’s my job to encourage him. To convince him that jumping is the right choice. To get him to the point that he faces his fears, rather than running from them.

“I’ll go in for the landing,” Gerald says, nodding once then reaching for a few dozen switches. The plane responds, and I can already feel it starting to descend. Internally, I’m cursing, but I try to stay as professional as possible on the outside.

“Another time,” I say. When Sammy doesn’t meet my eyes, I get the feeling that he’s not interested in trying again, ever.

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