Page 97 of Untouchable Player

“Your dad’s streaming it on ESPN.”

I look down at my plate.

“Nate, I don’t want you to stay mad at him forever. Come on, you can watch Jesse in his sexy hockey jersey.”

I snort, “there’s nothing sexy about hockey gear.”

I think about the Pilsbury dough man and laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ll watch it for you, okay?”

She claps, “I’ll get snacks, what do you want, hot dogs? Popcorn? Pretzels? I’ll just get everything.”

I stay out of the house until the game is about to start, and when I get home, Mom’s made enough food for a party of twelve.

“Is someone coming over?” I ask as she takes another batch of cookies from the oven.

“No, why? Have a cookie, not one of these, they’re still hot.”

“There’s more?”

She looks sheepish and I decide to let her have her moment.

Dad is messing around with the remote when I come into the den.

“Hey son, ready for the game?”

“Yep.”

“You’re mom’s made enough food to feed the five thousand.”

I grit my teeth. Remind myself that he’s trying.

“I know. The cookies are good.”

“Too good, I’ve had five already.” He pats his stomach.

Mom comes in with a plate of hot dogs and tells us to get stuck in while they’re still hot.

By the time the game actually starts, I’m stuffed, but Mom keeps bringing things in and filling the table.

They both clap when they see Harrison in his jersey and I blush when I feel mom’s eyes on me, knowing I’m looking for Jesse.

I try to keep up with the game, but when you’re actuallytryingto follow it, it isn’t easy. You can hardly see the puck and it’s hard to understand what constitutes as a penalty and what doesn’t when they seem to just keep beating each other up.

I can only follow Jesse by the name on the back of his jersey, and I’ve never called him Engels, so it makes him feel detached, like it’s not my Jesse out there. In his jersey, he’s just that guy who hangs out in my parents’ pool sometimes and chugs beers at parties. Especially when he bashes someone into the boards and they get into a fight. Mom grabs my arm as Jesse and his opponent pull their gloves off and start punching each other.

I hear Mom gasp, “oh my,”

Dad chuckles, “get him Engels.”

It’s so weird to see Jesse fighting. I hate it. It’s not who he is at all. And I know it’s part of the sport, but I hate it. I kind of wish he’d play soccer instead. Those guys fall over if someone breathes on them.

Jesse and the other guy are given a penalty and have to sit out the next few minutes in their team’s respective penalty boxes. I don’t understand how the penalty system works. Sometimes they beat each other up and it’s okay, and others it’s not. Sometimes they get five minutes, others it’s ten.

I ask my dad what it means and if they have a power play now.

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