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The puck rams into Manuel, making him stumble, but he manages to miraculously catch the puck behind his back, saving it from the goal line. Everyone in the stands goes crazy. Looking back up to the student section, I can see Taylor sitting beside Olive and Stephanie. And if I’m not mistaken, she’s wearing my jersey. A wide smile moves across my face at the realization that she showed up for me, and that she’s sitting with her friends again.
After another near miss, the first line is sent back, and I’m now racing out with my new wingers. They follow my every movement, watching as I glide across the ice, swiftly taking the puck in ways that Logan couldn’t dream of. I skate towards the goalie, passing it to my right winger, praying he’l see the angle, see the shot, and take it.
The puck flings towards him and by a sheer miracle, it skates between the legs of their defense into his grasp.
“Swing!” I scream. He pulls his stick back, slamming it back down into the puck, spewing up chunks of ice as he goes. The puck spirals and spins right through the arms of their goaltender, giving us our first goal of the evening.
The buzzer goes off, and the crowd stands, their claps echoing through the rink.
35
TAYLOR CROMWELL
After a long talk with both Stephanie and Olive, we’ve agreed to mend our friendship. It seemed that Olive never cared much, but Stephanie sure did. I suppose she sees something in Elijah, a goodness I haven’t considered. Despite her flashy aesthetic and attitude, she’s a sweet and forgiving person. Although, I won’t soon forget her act of destruction towards my old phone. The last thing I want is to be on the other end of her brutality, even if I deserve it.
After meeting them at their dorm, we walked to the rink and watched Elijah play as second-best. But there was no denying he was truly the best on the rink, his actions, his swiftness, it was amazing. Before him, I never knew there could be beauty to such a brutal sport.
I wave bye to Stephanie and Olive as they run off towards their dorms with freshly showered Levi following them. As fans leave the stadium, reporters crowd Elijah as he takes a stand outside the rink to express his dilemma. They ask him intense questions about what he’s going to do to overtake Logan, their new first center, and if he plans on taking Xanax again. They ask him why he takes the drug, and if it has ever affected his game play before. I’m infuriated for him as I sit back behind the swarm of cameras and microphones.
After a grueling hour, he finally leaves with me following him to the locker rooms. I wait outside until he’s done, playing on my phone and watching as the time hits midnight.
I startle him as he leaves the locker room, entering the now-dark hallway.
“Hi,” I say.
His tired face lights up. “What’re you doing here, Taylor? It’s so late.”
“Just wanted to say that you did amazing today.”
He leans down, tugging at my jersey with a grin on his face. “Oh yeah?” he teases. “Do I have the rare pleasure of meeting my number one fan?”
I fan my face sarcastically and pretend to faint. He places his hand on my back, catching me before I fall back. I think my act may be too convincing. That, or I’m really tired. “But really, you’re amazing, Elijah. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before, but I see it now.”
He leaves his hand on my back and drags me close to him into a tight hug I was not ready for. I wrap my arms around him, squeezing him. He lets out a fake cough like I’m squeezing too hard.
“Want to grab some food?”
“It’s midnight,” I laugh.
He shrugs, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. “I know a place, come on.”
I follow him out into the lot, and we go in our separate cars. I wait for his Jeep lights to hit reverse, following him off campus and into a gas station half a mile down. Is he serious?
He waves for me to join him as he gets out. The place looks run down and tired. The only light outside of the small building is flickering and swarming with flies.
Hesitantly, I get out of my car, making sure to walk close behind him as he opens the door and the bell above dings. Instantly, I’m welcomed by the somewhat pleasant smell of smoking meat.
He guides me to the back of the store and grabs a pair of tongs and buns. “They have killer hot dogs here. And taquitos. They’re like, fifty cents each. Get as many as you want.”
“Aren’t you worried it’ll like… you know…” I say, eyeing the food spinning on hot rollers.
“What? Give me diarrhea? I fucking count on it. Now, go get yourself something to drink. I’ll get the food.”
I shake my head, hiding my laugh as I go back and fill two cups of soda. I fill him up a lemon lime, his favorite from high school, and me a cola.
“Now what?” I say, standing outside the dingy store with two large cups of soda in my hands.
“Now, we race home before the food gets cold. Come on. I’ll beat you.”
