Page 26 of Puck Shots
“Well, rest assured, I’ll protect you from any would-be kidnappers.”
“You would?” I ask, turning my head to face him. Dumb idea because now my eyes are locked on his bright blue-gray stare, and I spot several tiny golden flecks that seem to glisten in the moonlight like glitter.
“Of course. We’re friends,” he says, and the cold hits hard and fast, and I turn my gaze back to the path ahead.
“Sure, friends. I’d totally protect you, too,” I say, picking up my pace a little and he has to quicken his step to keep up. “I think you could do a lot more damage to a would-be kidnapper with your hockey skates than I could with a book and video camera, so maybe you should walk on the inside?”
He nudges me gently with his elbow.
“Books are heavy.”
“True, the physics one for this semester is as thick as my arm.”
“You’ve read it already, though, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.”
In truth, I read it before I even arrived, and it was one of the heavy bricks of a book I brought with me, too.
My personal version has all my notes scribed in the margins, along with tiny diagrams and ideas for folded fidgets. That’s what I call the little things I fold out of drink bottle labels I pull off. I started tearing them off as a way to channel my nervous energy, and one day, I was just folding the label over and over again, and then when I looked down, it sort of looked like a penguin. After that, I actually tried to make something with it. I’m not as nervous as I used to be but there are more than a few of my little fidgets hiding around the house. I added one to the lacrosse net after Cosmo filled it with butterflies. A butterfly was actually one of the first things I taught myself to fold, so it was quick, and I don’t think anyone noticed. So I guess I wasn’t really just taking the heat for him with Sam, seeing as I technically participated, too. The memory brings a smile to my lips.
“Do you think your physics project can help me be faster?” he asks, voice softer, unsure maybe. Is he worried?
“Maybe. I mean, you’re already pretty fast. Much faster and you’ll break the sound barrier.”
He won’t, like it would be impossible to skate that fast, unless you were like tied to a nuclear-powered rocket maybe, but then you would be all dead from the pressure of it and, well, you see how my brain works when it gets going. Super fun science geek, right?
“I guess, but I need to be more than fast out there if I’m going to get drafted.”
“And that’s what you want?”
“That’s what every hockey player wants. Fuck, to play in the NHL is my dream, but it’s also…” he trails off, and I don’t speak, allowing him the silence to find his own words. “It’s a lot of pressure, too, you know?”
“I bet it is.”
“It’s like that’s all I am to them sometimes. Here comes The Flash, fastest guy on the ice. Like that’s all I can be. Maybe they’re right. I mean, why would they be impressed by anything else? You know what? Just once, I’d like to be the smart one.”
The shield of his bravado has slipped, and he’s more real in this moment than in any other I’ve spent with him. He’s put so much pressure on himself.
“You don’t have to be impressive to be worth knowing, Cos,” I say, and the second the shortened name is out of my mouth, I regret it. Who am I to give him a nickname? He has a nickname.
“You sure about that, E?” His lips are quirked up on one side in that cheeky fucking grin again, and it’s nice to see the joy returning to his eyes.
“Positive. You haven’t impressed me once and I like you.” I laugh.
He stops, and I’m pulled back a little by the jacket. He turns to me deadpan.
“Jerk.”
I shrug. “I’m just keeping it realistic.”
“Real.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, the saying is keeping it real.”
“Oops, I guess there goes my last hope of impressing you then?” I reply with my cheeks burning under his stare.
