Page 10 of The Poster Boy
“Just one more question?”
“Sorry, what was your name again?”
“Julie Urman, CKCY TV.”
“I’m late for practice, Julie. But if you catch me another time when I’m not late, I’ll answer more of your questions.” Before she could argue, I stepped around her and ducked into the arena.
Sometimes the team practiced at a smaller rink that was close by, but today’s practice was on home ice. Despite being late, my nerves had me take my sweet time getting to the locker room—where the entire team waited for me. Getting traded had been a shock to me, and I wondered if it had also been a shock to them. Sometimes, trading a player could shake up a team’s entire dynamic. I doubted my absence would make a difference to my old team, but my presence might affect this new one.
I heard the locker room before I saw it. Voices carried out into the hallway, and I tried not to latch on to anything that was being said, but it was hard once I heard my name.
“Wonder why he’s late?”
“Probably got lost on the way here.”
“You know they set him up in one of the units across the street.”
A room full of laughter, rolling from one end to the other as the punchline was delivered. If there was anythingI’d learned in the past six months of my media firestorm, it was how to play this particular game.
Pasting on a bright smile, I strode into the locker room with my head held high. It was laughter’s funeral. The good mood plummeted with my arrival, and silence stretched out as I walked through the sea of dumbstruck men.
“Sorry I’m late.” I smiled brighter. “I got lost on the way here.”
I didn’t know who’d said it, and it didn’t matter, because everyone roared with laughter. Everyone except Brookbank. Boone Weimer shot me a sympathetic look when he realized where my gaze fell, and he rolled his eyes at the sight of Brookbank being so clearly pissed off by my existence.
“We didn’t mean anything by it, you know.” A player I should recognize, but didn’t, sidled up next to me and stuck his hand out. “Andrew Rathel. Defenseman.”
The name rang a bell now. Andrew Rathel was on the same line as Brookbank.
“I know. You gotta give the new guy a little shit, or he’ll think you hate him. I get it.” I found my spot on the bench. A fresh piece of tape with my name on it marked my territory.
Between my old team and my new team, they’d dealt with getting new gear for me in the appropriate colors, but it still struck me like a boot in the chest when I saw my last name on the back of a Vikings jersey.
“So what’s your deal?” Andrew parked his ass on the empty space next to my spot on the bench and looked up at me.
“My deal?”
“You know how you goalies are. You all have these insane little rituals and shit.”
Ah yes, the infamous “goalies are weird” remark. But I’dbeen branded as weird long before I was a goalie. Ever since I was a kid, I’d stood out for some reason. Looking back, the ADHD probably had something to do with that. The inability to sit still. The lack of friends as a kid because I had two settings—annoying and super annoying. Until I found my footing in hockey, I’d felt isolated from my peers. Othered. But with hockey came acceptance. Even if they’d only put me in goal to begin with so they could shoot pucks at me.
That’s when they found out I didn’t suck.
I would never go so far as to say that my ADHD gave me actual superpowers, but if the skate fit…
My inability to focus on things that I found boring was replaced by a laser focus on that puck. My mind didn’t wander for a change. Hockey didn’t cure my ADHD. I still very much had it. Even on the ice, it was still there. But I’d learned to work with it and let it shape me. It helped me fit into the role they stuffed me in for a laugh.
But growing up being othered by kids and teachers never really went away. And so I was a goalie without weird rituals. Outwardly, anyway. Inwardly, I sang the same song in my head before every practice. Years ago, I’d stumbled on a version ofO Fortuna, but with the lyrics messed up. It had gotten stuck in my head and eventually it just became part of my pregame prep. I also took quiet stock of every muscle in my body, starting at my toes and working my way up. Any little ritual I had, I kept to myself. Guarded them like buried treasure.
“Well, see, I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” I winked at Andrew and sat down so I could pull my skates on.
Andrew’s quick acceptance of me seemed to reverberate through the team. The ice had been thoroughlybroken, and everyone went about their business. A couple people shot questions my way. Nice easy ones like did I know I was being traded, and did I like the city so far.
The rest of the team seemed to be okay with me there. Even Tony Church had swung by my corner of the locker room to shake my hand and say hello.
Brookbank remained on his side of the room, quietly seething every time he looked at me. I got the impression that he didn’t say much, and he had a reputation in the league for being ornery, but the chill that came off him rivaled the one that came off the ice.
Once we were out there to warm up, Boone skated over to me and fell into place beside me. As team captain, it was up to him to look after the players, but I got the feeling he was definitely on Brookbank’s side. Boone might not hate me, but he wasn’t about to stop Brookbank from hating me.
