Page 43 of Goalie Lessons

Grayson is freshly showered, his hair damp. Sloane and Callum came home only five minutes before I got the call, so he must have come home to this right after his game.

Even after all this time being Sloane’s friend, I don’t know that much about hockey, but I do know that Grayson being replaced on the ice before the end of the game is kind of a big deal.

Eyes still on mine, Grayson reaches up, wraps his hand over the top of mine, and squeezes.

“I’ll go,” he says, voice little more than a whisper, but loud enough that Callie can hear it through the door. “Just let me know if you need anything from me. I’ll be downstairs.”

Callie doesn’t say a thing, but there’s the creaking of Grayson’s weight against the floor as he stands and goes to the stairs. I can’t see Callie, but I know she’s listening to the sound of him going down the stairs, the gentlethump thump thumpof his retreat.

“He’s gone,” I say, trying to keep my voice as understanding as possible. My heart is doing somersaults in my chest, screaming that we should just break down the door, get it open, make sure she’s not hurting herself in there.

But logically, I know that this is a reach for privacy. That Callie is controlling what she can about her life right now. She can go in the bathroom and have that space to herself.

So, gently, I say, “Callie, I just have to make sure. Are you doing anything to hurt yourself in there?”

“No,” she sobs, the break in her voice immediate. “But…something iswrong.”

I nod—that much is clear. Something is very wrong. The world fucked over this poor girl massively.

“Can you tell me more about it? About what’s wrong? What you’re feeling in your body?”

I expect her to tell me about being sad, or maybe about the sharp pinch of anxiety in her chest, but instead, she surprises me with, “My stomach hurts. But not like normal.”

Sitting up, I palm my phone in my pocket. Could it be appendicitis? I had it in eighth grade and was lucky the school nurse caught onto what was happening in time to get me on the surgical table.

“Is anything else happening? Pain in your side?”

“Yeah, kind of,” she says, her voice soft and weepy. “And I…I’m bleeding.”

The realization hits me, actually drawing a quiet little, almost relieved, sob out of me. “Oh, Callie…is it—are you bleeding in your underwear?”

The word comes out like a hiccup, “Y-yeah.”

Sucking in a deep breath, most of the panic inside me settles right down. This sucks for her, but it’s manageable. I know exactly how to tackle this problem.

“Can I…Callie, would you feel comfortable if I come in there with you?”

There’s a pause, then the click of the door unlocking. “Just wait!” I wait, hear the clinking of the shower curtain, then the sound of her stepping inside. “Okay.”

I step into the bathroom, see first her undies on the floor, stained. A pang rocks through me, and I remember when I got my first period.

That was before. My mom was there with me, talking me through it, pushing the hair back from my face. I got to miss the entire week of school, and Mom acted like it was a national holiday, ordering a cake and any other snack I wanted.

I bite my tongue against the grief. The realization thatI’min my mother’s position now, having come full circle from the little girl I once was.

“Hey, Callie.” I take a seat on the toilet. “Do you know what’s going on right now?”

“…I think so.” Her voice floats over the shower curtain. “My period?”

“Yeah, that’s what I think. Would you be okay with me sending Grayson out for some supplies?” She’s quiet, and I add, “Just think—he’ll be completely out of the house.”

That makes her laugh, and she says, quietly, “Okay. Yeah.”

Typing as quickly as I can, I give him instructions—go to the health section of the store. Only organic cotton. Get chocolate. Get a heating pad. Just get one of each size and brand.

His response comes a second later, and though it’s only one word, I can sense the relief there.

Grayson:Okay.

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