Coach gets to us. Coach is pissed.
“Golding. What the fuck.”
“Clean hit, coach.”
“It’s a fucking practice.”
“Clean hit.”
He stares at me for a second. He knows it is a clean hit. He knows that’s not the problem.
“Take a fucking lap. Now.”
I take a lap. I skate the length of the rink slowly, stick on the ice. Behind me, Stanley is bouncing on his heels, and Benson is skating over to him, saying something I cannot hear. The rest of the boys are pretending they didn’t see any of it.
I get to the far end of the rink, touch the goal line with my stick, turn around, and skate back.
Coach blows the whistle to restart.
Stanley is at the face-off circle. Still grinning.
I take my position on the wing.
I play the rest of the scrimmage contained.
I don’t pick a fight. I don’t drift. I don’t show anything on my face. I play the way I’m supposed to play. I cycle clean. I get to the net. I take a shot from the dot that hits Percy in the chest. I make the next rush back-checking the way Benson taught me to back-check two years ago.
Stanley doesn’t chirp me again.
The truce holds. We’ve been doing this for two years. We speak this language fluently. He made his point. I made mine. He’s going to leave it alone for the rest of practice, and we’re going to walk into the locker room as linemates. That is how this works.
Coach blows the final whistle at eight fifteen.
The locker room is loud. Stanley is already yelling about something. Benson is asking Rowan about a defensive zone read. Percy is at his stall fully geared up.
I sit at my stall, lean down, and start undoing my skates.
My shoulder will not let me undo my skates the way I usually undo them. I have to twist my body funny to get the laces with my left hand. I’m sweating. The joint is fucking angry.
Stanley sits down next to me. “We’re cool.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m done.”
“Thank you.”
“But Goldie.”
“What?”
He drops his voice. He looks at his own skates. Not at me. “You should talk to her.”
I don’t answer.
“That’s all. That’s the last thing I’m gonna say.” He stands and walks across the room to his own stall. He starts undressing.
I sit at my stall with my left skate half-laced and my right shoulder pad still on, and my chest doing nothing I have a name for.
