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“That was amazing.” Brooklyn has both hands over his chest. “This was way more exciting than watching a pro game.”
“Why are you trying to suck up to Luz so hard?” Olivia asks, deadpan. “Do you have a crush on her or something?”
The way Brooklyn’s face lights up like a streetlight might imply so. It almost makes me laugh.
“Sorry, kid. You should like someone your own age.”
“No, I?—”
“That was pretty bad.” Aran stands up and jams his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket.
Brooklyn’s attention snaps to him. “What? Did you not see that incredible goal?”
“Sure.” My brother shrugs. “But everything before that was embarrassing.”
“Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you.” I glare at him for a moment, smacking the ice with my stick. “But you’re right. Damn it.”
“Just do better next time.”
I feel the urge to tell him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine, which is a syndrome most people develop when dealing with Aran. The thing about him, though, is that he’s incapable of telling a white lie, even if it means soothing someone else’s feelings. And I knew this was precisely what I would get when I stopped by. I needed confirmation from someone else that I did actually suck before that goal got to my head.
“Get home safe, pequeños,” I tell them.
Brooklyn glances from me to my brother. “But?—”
“Yeah, see you next time.” Aran nods and turns to scoot away between the rows of seats.
While Olivia pulls at her friend, she says, “Go shower, Luz. I can smell you from here.”
How is it possible to love my siblings and hate them at the same time?
I roll my eyes and skate away. Brooklyn’s voice fades in the background as I trod through the corridor and away from the arena.
Coach Young’s voice echoes through the locker room as I walk in. “—good effort, but we’re going to need more consistency. Today we just caught the opponent off guard, and we can’t rely on beginner’s luck if we want to make it through the season. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we all respond.
“And you,” she says the moment she spots me. “We’ll have a word later.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I have to swallow a self-pitying sigh. No doubt she’ll say the same thing Aran did, but probably in harsher terms.
“Why’s Coach not jumping for joy?” JT pulls her jersey off and tosses it onto the floor. “We won. Shouldn’t we be celebrating?”
“Correction,” I say as I drop onto my bench. “We barely won.”
“Still a W, bruh.”
I take off my helmet and slam it into the bottom of my stall. Then I stay still for a moment, stewing. Our next game’s in a week. I can’t continue to living like I did this week without it affecting my performance again.
The only way to pluck this out of my mind is to pay my debt, because it’s the anticipation that’s killing me. Knowing I agreed to kiss Max Cassiano. Wondering if he’s going to pop out of nowhere and demand I make out with him in front of everyone. I have to get past this right away.
And he’s training right next door.
Energy rushes back into my limbs. I lift up the jersey so I can unbuckle the top pads and drop them on the floor like they burn me. I work through the buckle of my pants like it’s the enemy, leaving the leggings on underneath. My hands fumble with the skate laces until I’m able to chuck them off. Standing, I roll down the wool socks and drop the shin guards to the floor.
I put on the sweaty jersey again. It hangs to my upper thighs. That’s fine. I won’t be flashing anyone.
“Uh, where are you going like that, Luz?” someone asks me.
