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Verog rolls his eyes, then takes another sip of his beer. Over the last two weeks, he’s gotten pretty used to me summarizing Melody-supervised practices he’s also been to. But until he admits I’ve grown on the nurse, I’m not going to give it up.
“Did you hear her when she said she wasn’t going to ask again?” His voice is equal parts stern and pleased. I don’t know how Verog did it, but he’s managed to turn the impressive and vindictive Verog Hill I used to know into a wet blanket on ice.
“Ha! Wrong,” I snap, blinking back the surprise I feel at nearly shoving my finger in Verog’s face. “She said ‘tell,’ not ‘ask,’ so there.” It’s my turn to take a smug sip from my brew. I wink again, and this time, he scoffs and looks away, a curious look spreading across his face.
“I’ve made up my mind.” I don’t like the way he’s grinning at me. It’s the type of grin that says,you’re going to hate what I have to say next, and it’ll be oh so sweet for me.
“You’ve decided to hang up the whistle? I’ll take it off your hands.” I have no intention of staying on as a volunteer, even at Hallorann Elementary, but I do have every intention of letting Verog know what I think of his style. Again. I’ll do it a hundred times if I have to.
“Oh, no. It’s not the whistle you want, my friend. Not by a long shot.”
Verog starts looking around the room like he’s lost something. I frown at him rather than ask what he’s doing. I know this is all a part of the performance. Where’s this ball-buster when I need him on the ice?
“Ask me what I’m looking for.” He gets up to grab another beer.
“No.” I watch him twist the cap off his third beer and toss it into the garbage.
“Your sense of shame.” Verog’s crooked grin is almost to his ears.
“Never had it,” I lie. “Don’t you read the internet?”
“Read the internet?”
“You know what I mean.” And he does. It seems like that’s all any of us do now. Read whatever’s on the internet and believe it. No matter who’s writing it or why. I tell him this directly. And once again, Verog poo poo’s me.
“It’s hard to argue a picture, Jar.” I assume he’s talking about the myriad snaps of me flying through the air and onto one of the Wilkensens’ Persian ottomans. I flinch at the memory. Not of the actual collision but the visual evidence. So many angles. So many retweets.
“But is that going to stop me?” I point to myself and wonder if my next admission is smarter than it is foolish. “No. Final answer.” I tap two fingers on the table. “That’s what this is all about. Showing that I can be better. Showing that I can have nice things.”
“Do you ever wonder what nurse Melody’s seen of the whole thing? I know she knows.”
I glare at Verog and answer the question in my head. Of course, she knows. The woman wouldn’t be showing up to every practice if she didn’t, watching me the way she does. The kids seem to like her, that’s for sure. Even if most of the words that come out of her mouth are various forms of no. Or no, Jaromir. Or no, Jaromir, don’t. Or worst of all, no, Jaromir, you can’t.
“Please tell me you’re not in there scheming ways to make her yours.” Verog’s tone isn’t enough to pull me out of my daydream.
When she first started showing up to practices, I thought we had a good thing going on. I’d skate over, psych the kids up with something fun, and she’d swoop in to correct it. Sure, the school nurse had to repeat herself a couple of times, but what mom doesn’t? I changed when she insisted. I adjusted.
“Seriously, Jar. I told her you were a good guy.” Verog taps the side of his beer bottle with a few fingers as I chew my lower lip.
“I am a good guy. Who, even though his naughty bits are on the internet, feels bad about it and wants a better public image.”
Verog leans back in his own chair as I rub my chin. What is it about Melody Wentworth I can’t stop thinking about? Is it the fact she’s so easily riled when it comes to safety?
I have to admit the way her bright eyes bulge whenever she sees a new Jaromir original drill does something to my heart. I think I’ve heard people call it skipping a beat. But what’s been happening to me feels like three or four skipped beats at a time. It’s not normal.
“And do you know what she said to me about this same situation, Jaromir? Just guess.”
He gestures for me to do just that, but instead, I study Ma’s calendar hanging over the sink. It was her idea to buy the limited edition collectible straight from the team’s website. Every month has a different picture of me, and I would have been more than happy to snag one for her free of charge. But that’s Ma. Always doing the nice and thoughtful thing.
“Are you? Are you checking yourself out right now?” I catch my reflection in the window near the calendar and nod because I know it’ll piss off Verog. He’s not too off the mark, but I’m definitely not about to let him know. I wonder if Melody is a fan of calendars. I can see her being someone who uses them even with the convenience of a phone.
“What’s the last thing you heard me say?” he orders.
“That Melody thinks I’m a good guy.” The idea warms me. And why shouldn’t it? Everyone likes Jaromir Fletcher. Even the Wilkensens. And I owe them a new deck.
“Melody thinks you’re an entitled guy, who skates through life because people let him,” he replies.
I frown, realizing she did say that, but she also said I have the best posture of anyone she’s ever met. A woman like that doesn’t just throw out those kinds of compliments. “Or because they’re the greatest skater alive,” I say this like I really mean it. Of course, I’m not the best that’s ever been. By myself. There are loads of us who are legends on the ice.
