Off the Ice (Juniper Falls) Page 8

  The idea of ambitions beyond high school hockey freaks me out enough to shut those thoughts down. The last thing I need right now is to let my head float away. I’ve seen it happen enough times. Guys win a few games, get famous in town, and then assume the rest of the world is waiting for them. And then it turns out that they aren’t good enough. I’d rather get through tonight’s game before I start letting myself dream too big.

  All the guys leap to their feet, yelling and cheering. The floor is practically vibrating in the locker room. I grab my stick and helmet and follow behind Hammond and Leo, but Dad catches my jersey before I can escape.

  “Listen, Tate,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Coach Redeck is pressuring me to recruit. If I can provide him a couple of good players for next season, I might get bumped up a rank. I could really use the promotion.”

  “Good players?” I keep my eyes trained on the door. “Like who?”

  “Leo and Jamie.”

  My head snaps around to face Dad. “They’ve already given verbal at St. Cloud and Michigan.”

  “They’ve given word,” he repeats, an eyebrow lifting like I’m supposed to follow his thought process. “Nobody signed any contracts. Didn’t even involve their parents.”

  That’s because Jamie and Leo are the rare players on the team whose parents have little to do with hockey. Lucky them. “They’re not just gonna change their plans because you wow them with SMU facts.”

  “If both of us wow them…” he hints.

  “Tanley! Move your ass,” Bakowski shouts from the hallway.

  I shake my head and back away from Dad. I can’t process this right now. “I have a game.”

  A game that could be the best moment of my life. God, I hope not. And is this what it’s gonna be like for me soon? Our town, especially our coach, is known for holding back players from varsity, from the spotlight, for as long as possible to keep all this recruitment stuff from going to our heads. The hunt can be toxic, or so I’ve heard.

  But with Mike Steller out, they’re all going to see me now. Now until I graduate.

  When I skate out onto the ice for warm-ups, I can’t shake the feeling that everyone is watching me, wishing I were someone else, writing me off before the game even starts.

  Don’t think about it right now. Think about the game. Or something else. Anything.

  Claire’s long red hair flashes in my head, the look she gave me when I wrote her that note the other night. I’d take five hundred etiquette classes just to be there again, in that moment.

  I’m deep in thought when Jake and Leo both take warm-up shots on goal. Two pucks soar through the net before I can react. My heart speeds up, panic rushing through me.

  “Goddammit, Tanley!” Bakowski shouts. “Get your head out of your ass!”

  Yeah, that’s probably good advice.

  Chapter 13

  –Claire–

  "I can’t believe Tanley missed that save! He wasn’t even looking in the right direction! Bakowski better get these boys straightened up before we end up with a tie on our hands.”

  Man, these radio broadcasts of the game can be more intense than watching it live. I hold my gloved hands over the portable heater at our booth. Instead of being stuck inside, washing down empty tables tonight, O’Connor’s has gone mobile for the winter carnival, which will be a pretty grim event if this game doesn’t turn around.

  After the game is over, the mayor will introduce this year’s Juniper Falls Royal Court, light the bonfire around the statue of James Juniper, then he’ll gather all the children around the fire and proceed to tell them the story of how our town was founded.

  Behind me, Uncle Ned turns the knob on the radio, raising the volume.

  “And we do not want to give a win to Longmeadow. I’m sure all of you remember the last time that happened…five years ago. And then we ended up losing to them in the first playoff round of the state tourney. We lose tonight and the season is cursed.”

  My phone rings, and when I answer it, Ned turns the radio volume back down. My stomach churns, having seen the hospital business office number before answering. I try not to panic when the woman on the other end spends ninety full seconds listing, without empathy, the various expenses we owe for Dad’s treatments.

  I walk a short distance from the booth, trying to get away from the noise. She probably thinks I’m out partying while my dad’s sick and racking up medical expenses.

  “Is there some kind of payment plan you could put us on?” I ask, desperate for good news and smaller numbers on the bills.

  “Yes,” she says. “We could agree to nine hundred a month for twelve months, but the hospital needs a five-thousand-dollar payment now to keep your account from going to collections. I can extend that deadline a couple of weeks if it helps?”

  Jesus Christ. No wonder my mom had stopped opening those bills. This is hopeless. How the hell are we supposed to come up with five thousand dollars in the next two weeks, let alone the “generous” deal of nine hundred a month?

  Today, my dad had a major breakdown during physical therapy. I think he’d expected things to return to normal even more than Mom and I had. And when his assessment revealed no improvement on his weaker side…well, let’s just say it didn’t go over well. I’m still partly stuck in that room at the doctor’s office, listening to numbers that brought only bad news. I don’t think things could possibly get any worse.

  I finally tell the woman we’ll take her offer—what else am I supposed to do?

  When I return to our booth, Kay and Ned are watching me, waiting for bad news. We’re all used to it now. But I shake my head and they have enough sense to go back to yelling about the game.

  “They’re winning!” Aunt Kay shouts at the radio. “He’s acting like it’s all over. Idiot.”

  People around here don’t like change. God, I hope they win. Celebration equals more food and drink purchases later into the night.

  My phone is now vibrating with a new email and a text—most likely more bad news. I check the email first. It’s from the Northwestern bursar’s office. I skim over my schedule—classes I’d registered to take this fall, long before my dad got sick—but stop when I reach the bottom:

  Total Tuition & Fees for Winter Quarter: $16,208

  Amount you are responsible for: $2,652

  I used to think I was lucky, being gifted enough scholarship and grant money to cover nearly $14,000 of tuition every quarter. But now, the remaining unpaid balance blinks at me over and over until I have to close the email. My parents will need to take out one of those parent loans to cover things. And probably another loan to cover hiring someone to do the work I’m covering for free at O’Connor’s. I move on to the text and quickly realize that today is not a day for good news.

  CELLULAR FREE MSG: We’ve been trying to reach you. Your account is past due. Make payment to avoid service interruption.

  Shit. The cell phone bill. It must have slipped through the cracks. And I barely made all the basic payments for November. Oh God, am I about to be one of those “temporarily disconnected” numbers?

  I tuck the phone away before Kay or Ned can read the message. I need to do something big to dig us out of this hole.

  An idea occurs to me seconds later, as a group of high school kids is walking past our booth toward the rink. “Hey!” I shout.

  They stop and look over at me. A few exchange looks.

  “You guys should stop by after the carnival.” I plaster on a giant I’m cool grin. “We’re staying open until five on game nights now.”

  “We are?” Aunt Kay and Ned say at the same time.

  I turn and shoot both of them a look to shut up. Benny’s stays open twenty-four hours. We can run with them. After the kids have walked away, I turn to Kay and Ned. “I’ll stay late. I’ll close up.”

  Kay lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t object. “Guess you won’t need a bartender if that’s your late-night crowd. Or should I say early morning?”

  “Do
you have any idea what our profit margin is for soda and cheese fries?” I point out.

  Kay covers her ears. “I can’t do numbers, you know that, Claire! Headache already coming on…”

  I’d tried to teach her Excel the other day…big mistake. She kept asking, why were letting these damn sheet spreads add everything up.

  I laugh. “I won’t bring up the sheet spreads anymore.”

  Instead, I pull out my phone and send a text to a bunch of high school kids in my contacts, like Haley, Leo, Jamie, and a lot more.

  ME: O’Connor’s is staying open ’til 5 a.m. tonight/tomr morn just for you guys! The kitchen, too! Come load up on greasy food after getting loaded :)

  The scent of Betty’s freshly brewed Spark Plug coffee drifts in my direction from the booth across from ours. I elbow Kay in the side. “Do I have time for coffee?”

  She shrugs, and I glance at my cell to check the time. All thoughts of coffee immediately leave my brain when I catch the mayor heading toward the stage with a big sign that has the name Keith Tanley printed on it in bold block letters.

  My heart jolts. Of course he’s here tonight. It’s the winter carnival. He’s probably part of the ceremony. But God, I haven’t seen him since last fall and…Jesus, if I feel this way, what’s Tate feeling?

  And suddenly I have to see him. Playing. I need him to look at me, because I think I’ll know exactly what he’s feeling. Heat rushes to my face. Feelings, as in about his dad. The game. Not anything else. Definitely not me.

  Chapter 14

  –Tate–

  Leo’s playing the game of his life. We were up by five goals, and now Longmeadow is only trailing us by two. So basically, I’m ruining Leo’s best game. Among many other things. I’m sure I’ll get to have a nice father/son chat about it at the carnival later. Can’t wait for that.

  “Goddammit, Tanley!” Bakowski’s voice booms over all the other sounds inside the Longmeadow arena. “Open your eyes!”

  I close my eyes briefly, waiting for the clank of his clipboard hitting the bench. I knew that last guy would shoot high glove side. I watched him warm up. I studied his shots. It wasn’t rocket science. And then right as he approached, some buried voice in the back of my head called, Low glove side, low glove side. At the last second, I dropped my glove.

  And the puck soared over my shoulder into the net.

  Leo skates past me and smacks the side of my helmet. “Quit thinking so hard. You got this!”

  Yeah. I got this. Obviously.

  I don’t know what makes me glance into the stands after that screwup; it’s the last place I should be looking, considering all the glares probably thrown in my direction, but it’s like I can feel her there. Claire. She’s standing in the aisle, green apron dangling from under her coat, hands stuffed in her pockets.

  Her gaze locks with mine, and I just stay there for several seconds, momentarily free of every burden. I rewind back a year and replay the way she looked at me before I got out of her car, my arm in a splint. It’s different now. It’s not just me now.

  Leo skates up behind me and nudges my shoulder. I tear my gaze from Claire, and all the worry and panic hits me again. Leo gives me this look, like, See what I mean? Don’t go there, dude.

  But what if I already have?

  ...

  Forty-five minutes after the game, I’m still in the locker room. I mean, we lost. Because of me. So yeah, not in a hurry to get to my own execution. I do the slowest job ever buttoning my green dress shirt before reaching for the silver tie hanging in my locker. The only one left in here is Leo. He’s leaning against the wall, his own tie already perfectly in place.

  “About to collapse from starvation here,” Leo says. “I get why you’re stalling and all, but you gotta head out there eventually.”

  With a sigh, I pull myself together, gather up the dress coat, gloves, and hat my mom forced me to bring, and then head outside with Leo. A large black tent, white lights draped around it, sits at the end of the square on James Street. This is my first winter carnival being allowed inside that heated tent with its tables of delicious homemade food and envious onlookers. If it weren’t for my dad’s presence, I’d be pretty damn excited. Well, more excited if we’d won.

  I stop at the entrance, already hearing Dad’s voice, while he has an animated chat with his club of Otters Hall of Famers.

  “Dude, I was totally feeling that pregame speech.” Leo points in my dad’s direction.

  “Yeah?” I glance at Leo, hoping to see sarcasm on his face, but he’s serious. Of course he’s serious. I grab the sleeve of his shirt, holding him back. “So, you’re gonna sign that commitment letter soon, right?”

  Leo shrugs. “My parents want me to wait until April.”

  My stomach drops. “Why?”

  “Don’t look so freaked.” He grins and shoves me toward the buffet. “Lots of players wait. It’s a thing.”

  “But if you know you want to play for U Mich, why wait?” From the corner of my eye, I see Dad grab two beers from a cooler and hand them to Jamie’s parents. “Or are you considering other teams? Maybe play juniors?”

  “My dad made me apply to the dental program he graduated from and…” Leo sighs. “They just want me to have all my responses before I make anything final.”

  Leo’s dad is a dentist in town and his mom is a dental hygienist at his office. They aren’t sports enthusiasts and are all about education and job security. And an NCAA commitment letter is a binding contract.

  “Between you and me,” Leo adds, “I gave my verbal intent to U Mich, and that’s where I want to be.”

  Internally I sigh with relief. I just don’t trust my dad and therefore don’t want my friends on his team. Hopefully Leo’s confidence in his choice will stay this strong. But Jamie…his situation is different. His parents love that he plays hockey, but his dad didn’t play; they don’t have experience working the system. They also didn’t go to college. And Jamie’s not exactly the best student—he’s barely passing anything—and NCAA teams can only let so much slide. If Dad makes an offer to overlook his academic record more than other schools have…

  From across the tent, Haley spots Leo and me. She grabs a sash and the famous antler crown from a table near her and walks toward us.

  “Your crown, Mr. Prince.” She places the tree antlers on Leo’s head despite his protests. He is the current Prince, after all—it’s his job. At least until New Year’s Eve, when his reign ends and the new guy—hopefully not me—takes over. As a nominee, I get a white satin sash tossed over my head. Better than antlers, I guess. Haley nods in my dad’s direction. “Pretty cool, huh? Otter Lifetime Achievement Award…”

  “Yep.” I stand there looking straight ahead, wishing I could bolt. Maybe go back to the rink and practice. And then I glance at Haley.

  It occurs to me now that she has her own version of an Otters jersey that she’s growing into. Princess of Juniper Falls. Town socialite. The kind of girl who dreams of going away to college just so she can return back to Juniper Falls, get married, raise her kids here, be a hockey mom or an officer for the Women’s League. I’m not sure that plan is for me.

  I think all the faking I’ve had to do with Dad made it impossible to do the same with Haley, going to all those Juniper Women’s League events and pretending like I can’t wait for my picture to be up in town hall. And her breaking things off with me made me realize that you can love someone and be happier without them. Haley used to be my escape, the fun part of my life, and as soon as that changed, everything changed.

  “Tate…” Haley starts, but before I can panic about another discussion (aka, fight) over the ball, Leo grabs Haley and steers her toward Jamie, telling her something about his needing help with his buffet etiquette.

  “Good call,” I mumble to Leo when he returns, with a nod that’s meant to reassure me as well as him.

  “I got your back.” He hands me a plate and takes one for himself.

  By the time my plate
is loaded, Dad has spotted me. He yells for me to come over, but I’m rooted to the ground. Leo gives me a nudge in that direction and I have no choice but to go over there. Now I really miss playing JV. I loved that world—all game, no drama.

  “Tough game tonight, Tate?” Larry Jones says, the positive exuberance from last Friday night vanished from his voice. “I’m sure you remember what happened five years ago…?”

  “The last time we tied with Longmeadow,” another alum about Larry’s age adds. They’re all using this careful warning-type tone like this is a lecture on why drugs or cutting class are bad.

  “If our defenders worked a little harder, maybe the goalie wouldn’t play such an important role,” I hear Dad say. He goes for another beer and my jaw tightens. I can’t do this. “Tate, what if scouts or recruiters had been here tonight?”

  Besides him?

  Not too far behind me, my mom is listening to Kyle Stewart’s mom go on about Dad’s important job. She’s nodding and smiling like they’re the type of divorcées who remain friends forever. Honestly, I don’t know what they are, but I know that Mom has to have seen Dad’s ugly side at some point. Did he treat her like he treated me? I’ve always been too afraid to ask. I’d have to tell her things I’ve decided never to tell anyone. Jody worships our dad. It’s different for her. He’s different.

  “Excuse us for a minute,” Dad says.

  At first I’m thrilled that I might be kicked out of the game recap conversation, but then he’s steering me away from the other guys to a vacant part of the tent.

  “Listen,” he whispers. “I need you to plan a little overnight trip to Minneapolis and bring Jake Hammond along. The sooner we get our hooks in, the better our chance of scoring him.”

  I stare at him, shocked. “Jake’s a junior, Dad.”

  Recruitment trips aren’t allowed until the first day of senior year.

  “Unofficial visit, that’s all.” But he glances around as he says this, making sure no one is listening.

  “You want a top pick for next year?” I ask. “We’ve got one right here in this town, completely unsigned, uncommitted anywhere.”