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“What was that shit about, Lenny?” Alex asks when I huff back in my seat. “You can talk to me, I’m not going to report back to mom or anything.”
He places his hand on my leg with concern written all over his face.
“It’s nothing. He writes for the Drexton Hall Newsletter like I do. Dustin Vieux. He thinks he’s so good, but he’s a piece of shit.” I shake out the scum and dirt that Dustin has left behind. “It doesn’t matter, he’ll be graduating this year.”
“Yeah, I’ve read his stuff. Is any of it accurate?” Alex asks, still glaring in Dustin’s direction. “I mean he says some shitty things about the team.”
I gape at him, not knowing what to say.
How does he read it?
“What? It’s open to the public when you know how to look for it. I really enjoyed the one you wrote about the Ice Dancers’ asses.” He lets out a chuckle. “That was good.”
Fuck.
Who else knows?
Did he tell mom? Dad? Everyone in our neighborhood?
As if Alex can read my mind, he gives me a small shoulder bump.
“Relax, I didn’t tell anyone. Mom still thinks you’re living your dream.” He assures me. “But seriously, why do you let that asshole push you around? You have the hockey team eating out of your palm. I’ve read the stuff you wrote for fun back in the day, and it’s much better than his.”
Alex sneers in Dustin’s direction.
“I’m working on it,” I grumble, looking at my notes on the game.
A thought comes to me, but I don’t know if it will help or hinder my situation.
I hope it helps because I know I’m going for it either way.
Third period, with five minutes left and still no score.
Every play is more intense than the last, and you can see the frustration in both teams.
Number 7 on the opposing team takes his helmet off and starts cursing at the ref for a penalty not called on Luca.
I didn’t see what it was, but I think it’s just the frustration and heat of the moment.
Luca yells something back, but Greg is pulling him away.
The puck is dropped, won by Boston. Luca and Greg step back on the defense and number 7 goes right for Luca looking for the pass.
It’s in slow motion when I replay it in my head. Number 7 turns and takes a dive right as he comes next to Luca. Luca backs away, but his stick gets caught.
The whistle is blown and the ref signals for a penalty. Tripping on Luca.
My blood boils with the rest of the fans. Alex and I are standing yelling bullshit.
It’s a bad call.
Luca was set up. He’s arguing, but any arguing is only going to make it worse. He gives up and heads for the penalty box, given two minutes.
That’ll leave him to come back with less than a minute left in the game.
Nick picks his helmet up to wipe the sweat off his face. I can see the panic there. It’s brief, but I know his face well.
Boston will be on a power play, without The Huskies’ best defenseman. If he lets in a goal, there will be no time to recover.
