Page 19 of Unlovable Player

“Yep, you watching?”

“Try and stop me, I love watching you kick those Ivy League guys’ asses.”

I laugh. “Yeah well, we have an Ivy League guy on our side now, and he’s gonna be my linemate.”

“No shit, so Coach promoted him already? How did everyone take that?”

“Not good.”

“They’ll have to get used to it,” she says. “That’s hockey. It’s cut-throat.”

“You’d be a natural.”

“Hey, fuck you.” She laughs. The sound like a million good memories.

“You seen my ma?”

“Yeah, went by the diner yesterday after class, she slipped me a free milkshake.”

“She’s good like that.”

“Tell that to my orthodontist.”

I run a hand over my face.

“Everything okay?”

“What? Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

There’s a short silence, then she says, “you still worried you won’t get signed before the deadline?”

My heart flutters at the verbalization of the thing that sits on my chest 24-hours a day. I don’t even have to answer.

“Don’t be.” She says. “Worst case scenario, you’re a free agent. Maybe you’ll sign for the Devils and your uncles won’t have to disown you after all.”

“Ha! I know, I’m being stupid.”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Thanks.”

“Is there something else?”

“No.” I think about pinning Huntington against the wall outside class. It was like I was having an out-of-body experience. I don’t think I’ve been in a fight off the ice since second grade when Ross Chbowsky tried to steal my PB&J sandwich. I think about Huntington’s face as I stepped back. The faltered grin. If I can ignore that, then I can’t ignore the obvious hurt when I rushed him in practise, even though he told me to. I heard everyone laughing too and it didn’t feel good to be that person.

“Listen, I don’t wanna talk about me, tell me what’s been goin’ on back home, I need a distraction.”

I listen to her talk about our old friends. Those familiar spots we used to hang out at. My ma and the diner. Alyssa’s college courses. Her finals and how much she’s stressing about them, though we both know she’ll ace them like she always does. I think about lying next to her in bed, watching movies on her laptop. Falling asleep and waking up in a familiar place. The twinkle lights strung around her bookcase.

I almost tell her I miss her. But then I remember how shit it felt sometimes when we were together. Having to prioritize everything over her. Missing her. Then feeling like I was disappointing her when I was there.

Then the confusion. That niggling doubt in the back of my mind. Telling me there was something I needed to know before I could fully commit.

“You should go,” she says. “And I’ve got finals to study for.”

“Yeah, okay, you’ll do great.”

“So will you, good luck okay?”

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