Page 132 of Overtime
Plus, the way he drops the puck back onto the ice like this isn’t a biggie is going to get him more than just food as a reward tonight.
The first period ends up scoreless. During the intermission, my whole body itches with the desire to run and find him outside the locker room, or to at least text him. But he doesn’t like getting out of the zone during important games like this. He doesn’t even accept intermission interviews from the team’s marketing people. All I can do is wait. Wait to see how the game goes, and wait until after the game to drop the mother of all news.
But the second period ends in the same way. Both teams are exhausted after the long season, but they’re battling for the puck with their reserves. They’re truly a marvel of what the human body is capable of. Aran’s drinking more water than he normally does. I can only imagine how heavy his pads must be with sweat.
By the time the third period’s reaching its last minutes and the scoreboard is still a grand total of zero for both teams, I’m the one sweating buckets.
“Come!” Luz sucks in air. “On!”
My sister is paralyzed in her seat, eyes wide and trying to catch the action without daring to utter a word. Aran’s parents grab each other in a vise grip, but their status is otherwise the same as Meg’s.
Olivia and I are stuck to the glass. She bangs it with enough strength to make it rattle. “Aren’t you all tired? Just finish the damn game! I wanna go home!”
I shout something very different. “You got this, Aran! Don’t let them shake you!” I doubt he can even pick my voice apart from the deafening noise around the arena, but this is all I can do for him, so I keep screaming encouragements. I keep crossing my fingers that our forwards score, that our defense stays strong. That we don’t have to take this to overtime, or worse, to shootouts.
My eyes keep shifting from him to the clock ticking away on the Jumbotron. The popcorn and soda in my belly war with one another over who can rise up my esophagus faster. I swallow hard and keep it all down somehow. The numbers on the screen seem to accelerate unnaturally, propelling all of us closer to zero. Closer to an overtime.
A buzzing goes off, and I jump. Did someone score? But there are no lights going off, and now the screens above announce that we’re going into overtime.
“No.” I melt into my seat. “I can’t do this.”
“You have to, Strawberry.” Luz grabs my hand, using the nickname Aran gave me that has now spread to his entire family. “You got this.”
“I don’t got this. This is too painful.” I squeeze my eyes shut tight.
“Be brave, Maddie.” I feel my sister’s slimmer hand hold my other one. “Take deep breaths.”
There’s a snort, followed by Olivia’s voice. “You guys, she’s not about to give birth, you know.”
Aran glances our way. I straighten up and pump my fists in the air at him. He gives a minuscule nod and turns back to the front, ready for overtime to begin.
“Water,” I demand. “Someone give me water or I’m going to barf all over the glass and the cameras will catch it all and I’ll go viral online because of this instead of my books. Water!”
“Geez, calm down, woman.” Meg twists to dig in her purse under the chair and produces a water bottle. “Here.”
I uncap it and down the whole thing in one go as the game resumes. I should’ve taken some medication for the nerves, but I don’t know how that works now.
I forget all about my stomach as the other team attacks. We all lean forward. Our defense intercepts their top forward, stealing the puck for a second, only to get it stolen right back. And through the legs too. I grip the armrests hard enough that my muscles tremble. A melee’s forming right in front of Aran. Luz’s voice screaming interference sounds garbled, like I’m underwater. Aran’s being jostled, but he stays put. The puck moves faster than I can track it, between skates, bouncing off sticks. Suddenly people are screaming, and players in the wrong color jerseys are pumping their fists in the air.
I don’t breathe.
There’s no way he lost.
No way. Impossible. All his hard work doesn’t end here. My heart wants to tumble out of my mouth.
And then the refs whistle and gesticulate.
The arena grows deathly quiet as one of the refs skates to center ice, fiddling with his microphone equipment at his waist, and says, “It was deemed goalie interference. No goal.”
I break my personal speed record by becoming the first person in my entire section to jump to their feet, screeching. The four of us at the front row become a tangle of limbs as we hug and jump.
It’s not lost! He hasn’t lost!
Play resumes amid cheering and booing. We glue ourselves to the glass, watching with growing excitement how our team rallies under the power play. Aran watches just as intently from his crease as his teammates eat up the ice.
And he’s the first one to celebrate when his team scores the winning goal.
I’m screaming and crying, and I literally have my hands against my mouth so I don’t throw the hell up.
