Page 19 of On His Team

Gianna tries one more time. “Nobody gets boring.”

Benson looks at her. “That isn’t hockey.”

“It’s your last semester,” she says. “That is absolutely relevant to me.”

Something in the room shifts.

Small.

There and gone.

Stanley stops listening. He turns toward the board. Four rules. He stands there long enough that even Gianna stops arguing. Then he puts the marker down against the bottom of the board and writes. Slow. Larger than the others.

The marker squeaks.

5. WIN THE FUCKING THING.

Nobody says anything. Not immediately.

This morning, Aspen said we were good enough.

Coach said pick one thing.

We spent three hours on the ice finding out how much work there is between knowing what is wrong and being able to fix it.

Now it’s January. We have six weeks until postseason hockey starts deciding things for us. A semester until me, Benson, and Stanley graduate. A semester until rooms in this house belong to somebody else.

Maybe mine too.

Maybe not.

That’s the part I haven’t figured out.

But this part is simple.

I look at the board.

Win the fucking thing.

Benson is staring at it.

So is Blue.

Percy has put his fork down.

Stanley steps back like he has completed something important.

Gianna reaches over and steals the last piece of bacon from my plate.

I look at her.

She chews it, completely unbothered.

Then she nods toward Stanley. “Wow.”

He looks over.

“You’re so inspirational,” she says sarcastically.