Page 65 of Untouchable Player

Sam rolls her eyes, “don’t be ridiculous.”

We’re silent for a minute, watching the pigeons peck away at the ketchup-smeared wrapper, eating our ice creams.

“It’s probably your butt-ugly face,” she says.

“What?”

“The reason you don’t have a girlfriend.”

Or maybe it’s because I prefer boys.The thought pops in and it’s like a slap. I tell myself it’s not true. I like sleeping with boys, but I would never want a boyfriend.

“What’s your excuse?” I ask her.

“My butt-ugly face,” she shrugs.

My heart sinks, even if she’s kidding. “You don’t have a butt-ugly face. And you definitely won’t now you don’t play hockey.”

I show my teeth, but she doesn’t smile.

“I wish I was a boy.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.”

I feel Sam’s eyes on the side of my face, but I pretend I don’t know she’s looking at me.

“What do you mean? You get to play hockey, you don’t have to wear dresses, you don’t get a period, you get babies without any pain, you get to be an asshole and people just sayboys will be boys…”

“Okay, stop, you’re breaking my heart.”

Sam picks at a scab on her knee and I swear to god if she cries I will kill anyone who made her sad.

“Was a boy mean to you?” I ask, putting my arm around her shoulders.

She scoffs, “what are you gonna do John Wick? Go burn down the world? Stop being so emo.”

“Okay fine, you can take care of yourself.”

She squares her shoulders, “of course I can.”

When we get back to the house, Dad asks us where we’ve been. We’ve got gym bags full of hockey gear, so there’s no lying and saying we just went to the arcade.

He sends Sam upstairs and asks me to stay so we can have a talk.

Sam mouths ‘sorry’ as she heads up the stairs and I shake my head to tell her not to worry about it.

“What do you think you were doing?” he asks. His voice almost deceivingly calm.

I can hear Mom moving around in the kitchen, pretending not to listen.

“What do you mean?”

“You know we said she can’t play hockey next year.”

“I know, but that shouldn’t mean she can’t play for fun.”

“You’re just torturing her.”

“She knows she can’t play, how is it torturing her?”

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