Page 15 of Fake-Off with Fate
“It’s nice to see you again.” He says this like he’s putting a curse on me and every generation to follow.
I’m not about to fake my feelings and share his sentiment, so I simply nod my head.
“I never thought we’d play on the same team again.”
“And yet here we are.”
“How do you like Maple Falls?”Why does he care?
“It’s fine,” I tell him while running my fingers through my hair like I’m primping for a date.
Harry finally realizes I’m not interested in small talk because he says, “I’ll catch you out on the ice.” Then he walks away.
I know I’m being petty. Not only is the past long gone, but so is the girl we both liked. She and I broke up during our sophomore year when she dropped out of school and moved home to Kansas. As such, I should be able to let this grudge go. The problem is that I just don’t like Harry. Not only is he cocky, but he doesn’t stay in his lane. I don’t respect either of those things, and the combination of the two is downright intolerable.
After leaving the locker room, I walk out to the arena. After taking off my blade covers, I glide out onto the ice toward Dale. He shouts to get everyone’s attention, causing them to skate forward and form a semi-circle around him. He announces, “I’d like you all to meet your captain, Jamie Hayes.”
Greetings fill the air, along with a heckle or two.
Raising my hand, I wave and tell them, “I’m really happy to be here. I know we’ve all come from other teams, so we’re all in the same boat. But if we work together and keep our eyes on the puck, there’s no reason we can’t end our first season holding a Stanley Cup.”
“Sounds like you’ve got some big plans for us.” It’s Harry.
“I do, Harry.” Unlike him, I’ve been on teams that have won the most coveted prize in hockey, and it’s a huge rush.
One of our defensemen, Weston Smith, cheers, “I’m all for it, man! I have actual dreams about holding the Holy Grail!”
Several other players confirm their desire to go for the gold,so I tell them, “Let’s get out there and prove we can work like a well-oiled machine. I don’t like show boaters, so if you don’t have a guaranteed goal, pass that disc to someone with a clear line.” Several heads nod in unison.
Dale interjects, “No muffins!” He references soft shots that have no power to make it to the net.
“Unless they’re blueberry!” Asher Tremblay calls out.
“Chocolate chip!” Lucian Lowe votes.
In my best New York accent, I tell them, “It’s bagels or nothing!”
We wind up practicing for a total of two hours, which is long enough to start building a camaraderie and see which players work best together. So far, I can’t tell if there are any puck hogs, but we do have a couple of showoffs, which, of course, is par for the course in this game.
Dale calls practice, but before anyone leaves the rink, he tells them, “If any of you have concerns, please bring them to me or Jamie right away. I’ve never coached a brand-new team before, and I see this as a real opportunity to start the way we plan on proceeding. I want a formidable crew who know the value of communication and are willing to support one another.”
He looks directly at me, before adding, “And if you have any bad blood with another player, you’d better work it out ASAP. We’re grown men, not a bunch of toddlers.”
Ouch.My face heats with embarrassment at that zinger. I’m not going to let Harry get to me, but even so, I realize I’m going to have to be the bigger man and make an effort to set things right between us.
Just not today.
The biscuitsand sausage gravy from breakfast kept me full for hours, but my stomach starts to growl as I get ready for my supper with the mayor. I’m looking forward to going back toShirley May’s, even if it means having to listen to Bill Thompkins prattle on about his town.
After putting on my standard night-on-the-town clothes—fitted jeans, a black t-shirt, and my leather bomber jacket—I head out to my car. I don’t quite make it though.
I stop short when I come face to face with a bear cub. I don’t know much about bears, but I do know one thing. When you see a baby, there’s a mother nearby. I consider my options as I stand on my porch. I can either put my hands up over my head and try to scare the little guy, or I can chat with him, ala Shirley May’s advice.Or—and this route currently seems like the most appealing—I can go back inside and order a pizza. But if I do that, I’m afraid I’ll never leave my cabin again.
Standing tall, I square my shoulders and start to make noise which gets the cub’s attention. He stops eating the tall grass near him, then tilts his head while staring at me. I lower my voice to try to sound more authoritative, before telling him, “There’s nothing to see here, little fella. I don’t mean you any harm.” Then I take one tentative step toward my car. When he doesn’t move, I take another.
I’m halfway to my destination when I spot the cub’s mother. Hand to God, my first instinct is to run for my life. But according to Dale, that’s sure suicide. I inhale deeply in hopes it will bring some oxygen to my brain so I can think clearly. As I do this, the mother bear holds eye contact with me, and she moves into a standing position. Great, now she’s taking Dale’s advice and standing tall in hopes of scaring me. And guess what? It’s working.
I’d say she’s about a hundred and eighty pounds, and if she were a human, I could probably take her. But those claws of hers are giving me real cause for concern. I force myself to channel Shirley May as I tell her, “I’m going out to supper with the mayor. I don’t want to be late.” I take a slow step toward my car and add, “That’s quite a cute baby you have there. Good job.”
