Page 54 of Line Change

His voice stays flat. He could have noticed me opening a piece beside him on the bench. Pope pays attention even when he acts like he doesn’t. He remembers small shit, and I like that more than I should.

My head gives me his tongue in my mouth anyway, and the bright ring light suddenly feels much hotter.

I cross one ankle over the other so my leg stops pressing against his.

“I also have a backup mouthguard,” I tell Bobby.

“But you didn’t put it on the card.”

“Tragic.”

He circles Pope’s tally as if he’s collecting evidence.

The producer checks the camera operator’s screen, then pulls the last card from her stack. “What’s the most-used non-hockey app on Ben’s phone?”

“Weather,” Caleb says.

“Banking,” Anton counters.

Sindre lifts his phone. “Flashlight.”

“Why would flashlight be his most-used app?” I ask.

Sindre shrugs. “He seems prepared.”

Bobby blocks his board with both arms. Pope sits beside me in silence, giving away nothing.

His restaurant recommendations always arrive as map pins. One was a coffee shop near the practice rink. Another made what he called acceptable breakfast sandwiches. Pope has lived in Seattle for less time than I have and treats finding decent food like a scouting assignment.

He also texts me from across the locker room about hockey or whatever stupid thing Bobby is doing. I answer every time. Lately, when my phone goes off, I hope it’s him.

I write MAPS.

Bobby writes CALENDAR.

The producer turns Pope’s questionnaire toward the camera.

MAPS.

Half the room cheers. The other half boos because they backed Bobby, and I stand long enough to add my point to the board. Pope and I have three each. Bobby has one.

“Hold that up,” the camera operator says.

Pope takes one side of the board. I take the other. Our shoulders touch as we angle it toward the lens.

Bobby stares at the scores.

“Good,” the producer says. “Now, Bobby, tell us how you feel about the result.”

He ignores her. “Pope knows your coffee order.”

“So do you,” I say.

“He knows what’s in your stall.”

“We play on the same line.”

Bobby points at me. “You know what he eats at ten o’clock at night.”