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If you ask my father, it’s better to bench yourself than embarrass yourself.
“I’m not afraid to fail,” I tell him.
Maybe myself too.
“Good,” Coach replies. “Because you’re starting tonight.”
My stomach flips. “Wh-what? Why?”
“Because you earned it, Phillips.”
“But Conor—”
“It was Hart’s suggestion, Phillips. He’s seen the same thing I have—you deserve it. He’s looking out for the whole team, which is what a good captain does.”
“But Hartisthe captain. He should start.”
If we lose, this could be Conor’s last game too. I can’t take that moment from him.
“Any team would be drooling over the number of goals one of my centers has scored this season. Let alone two. Barnett is expecting Hart to start. You’ll be a surprise, Phillips.”
I relax some. “It’s a diversion tactic, then?”
I can handle being part of a ploy if he thinks it’ll help us win.
Coach appraises me. Shakes his head. “It’s me having you take that first face-off because that’s most likely to win us the game. Statistically speaking.” One side of his mouth lifts. “Need me to call your tutor over here so she can explain those odds to you?”
“No.” My response is fast, maybe too quick. But an awkward interaction with Rylan is the last thing I need right now.
“You’re ready,” he tells me.
“I hope so.”
“I know so.” Coach Keller jerks his chin toward the waiting bus. “Grab a seat, Phillips.”
I nod, then turn and head back that way. The rest of the team is already on board.
Before climbing the stairs, I glance back once.
Coach isn’t looking this way, but she is.
Our eyes meet. Instead of looking away like I’m expecting, Rylan holds my gaze.
Kick ass, she mouths.
I nod.
Then climb onto the bus, determined to do exactly that.
Conor’s seated about halfway back. I drop down across the aisle from him, spreading my legs out as far as the seats will allow.
“What did Coach want?”
“To tell me I’mstarting.” I raise one eyebrow at him. “Which you apparently recommended me for.”
Conor nods. “I wanna win.”
I snort. “You’re ten times the player I am. We both know that.”
