Page 8 of On His Team

Benson glances at me. “For what?”

I answer, “Retrievals.”

“You’re doing it today?”

I nod. “After practice if Fuller lets us stay.”

“He’ll let us,” Reeve replies with complete confidence.

I say, “I need pressure too.”

Benson says, “I’ll pressure.”

I nod. “That’s what I was going to ask.”

Stanley turns around. “Look at you two. Communicating. Growth already.”

I look past Blue toward Percy. “Pers.”

One eye opens.

I tell him, “You need to talk.”

His other eye opens. “I talk.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“You don’t tell me what’s behind me.”

“I tell you when necessary.”

I shrug. “That’s the problem.”

Percy stares at me. He is the only guy on the ice who has a clean look at what I’m skating backward toward when a puck gets dumped behind our net.

My back is to the play. His isn’t. Aspen put that in his report too.

Minimal verbal support on retrievals.

I point at him. “Talk.”

Percy looks out the window again. Then he starts saying something in French.

Stanley twists completely around in his seat. “Was that swearing?”

Percy shuts his eyes.

Stanley grins. “Do it again.”

The parking lot at Camden has more cars in it than I expected. Coach Fuller moved practice from nine to seven, added an hour, and sent the email on December twenty-eighth without explanation. I thought at least four guys would be late. Nobody is.

The locker room looks like a hospital waiting room. Beaumont is sitting in front of his stall wearing sunglasses indoors. Walker has a gas-station cup between his knees that looks large enough to hold a gallon of whatever he put in it. I drop my bag beside Mackey. He has one skate on and stares at the other, zoning out.

“You’re staying after with me,” I say to him.

He looks up. “Happy New Year to you too.”