Page 2 of The Riley Effect

“Okay, look, I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been on my best behavior this last week, but I have one more year of freedom before I’m expected to be all stiff like you,” I joke.

Eyes eerily similar to my Dad’s stare back at me. A shiver runs down my spine because it’s the same look my Dad possesses when he is disappointed in me.

I start tapping my fingers on the arm of the chair I’m sitting in, a shot of anxiety making itself at home in my chest.

“You think you’ll be playing professional hockey next year if you lose that captain’s patch on your chest?”

In my defense, Coach Stevens knew exactly who I was when he named me captain at the end of last season. I’ve always lived by my parents’ cardinal rule–live as authentically as possible, it’s the only way to be happy.

Is the gamble of not apologizing worth losing the chance at redemption? Last season ended in a devastating loss in the semifinals of the Frozen Four Tournament, something we have a chance at winning this season.

“Okay, I’ll tone it down, but preseason practices haven’t started yet. Let me have some fun before they start, at least,” I plead, hoping to soften the harsh look in my uncle’s eyes.

“One more incident, and I’ll have to do something.” He says sternly.

Contrary to what some people on this campus believe, my uncle has never taken it easy on me. I’ve spent just as much time in his office being lectured as I have in lecture halls.

My mind instantly starts trying to work out how to continue with the plans I’ve already made for the semester without breaking the promise I made to my uncle less than twenty seconds ago. We have some dope parties planned.

“I’m serious, Jalen. I can’t turn a blind eye, and frankly, I don’t want to.”

He slams his hands on his desk, drawing my attention back to him. “It’s time you grow up and take yourself and hockey seriously. Next year, you’ll be playing against the best of the best. Your raw talent can only take you so far.”

I roll my eyes. It’s not like he hasn’t given me some iteration of this speech twice a semester for the last three years. I willadmit it coming a week into the start of the school year is a new record. One I’m honestly not too proud to have beaten.

“I know, Uncle Matt. I promise I’ll behave.”

“I hope so,” he looks at me suspiciously as I shut his office door.

After meeting my uncle, I walk across campus to the athlete-only weight room, ready to run our captain-led lift.

My uncle may think I have coasted to my role as team captain, but I have earned the trust of my teammates and coaches, and I don’t take that lightly. Over the last three years, I have helped the coaches develop workouts, ran player-led practices, mentored other forwards, and helped first-year students adapt to college. Not to mention, I have a 3.8 GPA and will graduate with a finance degree in the spring.

I’m not shocked that the first person I see when I get to the gym is Byron, who looks like he needs a spotter on the bench press.

“Hey, you ready By?” I ask, checking the plates he’s slid onto the barbell.

“Yeah, I have a meeting with my academic advisor in an hour, so I need to get this thing over with.”

I’ve known Byron Andrews since elementary school. We met when we were invited to a hockey camp for underprivileged kids in New York City. Even though he’s a year younger than me, we became instant friends.

I got a little excited at how quickly I picked up skating until I realized I didn’t know how to stop. Luckily, a kid with shaggy blonde hair sticking out of his helmet was there to break my fall, and we have been best friends ever since.

He was also the first teammate to say something to some asshole kid who made a comment about me being one of the few biracial hockey players they’ve ever played against. He still curses people out who make comments about it.

We’ve both come a long way since that camp, earning spots on travel teams and college scholarships. I’m pretty sure if you told those kids wearing hand-me-down skates that we would one day be potential lottery picks in the NHL draft, they wouldn’t believe you.

“Six, seven, eight, nine, ten,” I count out as Byron finishes his set. The bar settles in its rest, and as we swap positions, I notice a familiar look in his eyes. He’s devising some kind of plan, and those never end well.

“What?” I ask, hoping for once that Byron’s plan will be something wholesome, something that our moms would approve of.

“I invited the team over tonight and told them they were in charge of bringing new people. I need a change of scenery, you know what I mean. The old ones are becoming clingy.”

I take a measured breath, annoyed that Byron went and planned this party without asking me what I thought first. He knows I had a meeting with my uncle today, and I don’t think he thought about what it would look like for us to throw a party on the same day. I guess when you’re not the one getting into trouble, you think with the head below the belt.

“Byron, I just promised my uncle I would be a perfect saint until the season starts.”

“It’ll be tame. Come on, man, we have a reputation to uphold. You want these freshmen to think we are soft?”

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