Off the Ice (Juniper Falls)

by Julie Cross

  The most I’ve had in any single game period this season is nine.

  I lean back in my chair, mulling this over. I’m better than he was last season. But I’m not better than he would have been this season. I know there’s still next year, but I’m not looking forward to the possibility of screwing up Sections for the sake of a learning experience. I need to be Mike Steller right now. This year. Today.

  The bell rings, signaling the end of the school day, and I’m forced to abandon the tapes and head to the gym for a make-up health test—I’ve been out with a stomach virus for two days.

  “Take your exam over to the bleachers,” Mrs. Seville says after I’ve seated myself comfortably in the gym, leaning against a mat-covered wall. “We’ve got cheer practice starting in a minute.”

  Ten minutes into my exam, the cheerleaders have rolled out mats that cover more than half the gym floor, and Cole Clooney is now beside me with a test of his own.

  “Stomach flu?” I ask him, and he nods. “Are you doing health, too?”

  “No,” he says. “Badminton.”

  I go back to my sex-ed questions until the loud music distracts me. Cole looks up, too, his forehead wrinkling, then his gaze zooms in on Haley, who has just done a complicated series of flips and is now front-and-center, shaking her ass in a pair of those super-tiny shorts. Cole’s jaw goes slack, and I snort back a laugh.

  The laughing catches me off guard, and then I’m hit with that wave of regret all over again. Claire would get a kick out of this Cole story. Maybe being without her to prove a point isn’t worth it.

  “Uh-oh,” I hear from below us. Jamie has just walked into the gym and probably taken in Cole and his one-sided staring contest with Haley. “You should shift your attention up higher, little man.”

  Mrs. Seville cuts off the music just as Jamie is saying this, and all the girls stop and look this way, a few of them laughing.

  Cole turns bright red and ducks his head, the pencil in his hand moving at lightning speed. Jamie climbs up toward us but sits two rows down. “You guys ready to head over to the rink?”

  We’ve got an hour before practice, but usually I would be over there, grabbing a snack and hanging out. “Gotta finish this test first.”

  “Bummer,” he says, but he stays seated.

  “Girls, you are not listening to the counts!” Mrs. Seville yells. “Everyone except Haley and Leslie is off.”

  She makes Haley demonstrate the little dance sequence in front, and I catch Cole looking up at her again. Jamie tosses me a glance, his eyebrows lifted. “Little dude’s got a crush.”

  Cole shakes his head and looks down again. Then he glances at me and says, “I don’t. I swear.”

  I lift my hands. “Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

  The music blares again, and I whip through the rest of my test just to escape it as soon as possible. On my way out of the gym, I walk past the far side of the cheerleaders’ mats in time to see Haley land with her ankle turned. I’m right beside her, so I don’t miss the pain on her face. But she finishes the routine and zips in front of me, heading for the drinking fountain in the hallway. The second she’s away from everyone, her walk turns to a limp.

  I follow her over to the drinking fountain. “You okay?”

  “Go away, Tate.” She leans over and takes a long drink.

  “I saw you twist your ankle.” I lean against the wall beside her, waiting for her to straighten up and look at me. “You can’t hate me forever, you know.”

  Haley stands up, turning to face me. “I never said I hated you.”

  “You don’t?” I ask. “You look pissed. Like, even right now you look pissed while saying that you don’t hate me.”

  “I am pissed.” Haley drops her arms to her side, the movement contradicting her words. “You’re so different now, Tate. You’re so different with Claire. But I think maybe you’re not different, you just didn’t trust me enough to let me really know you.”

  “That’s not true—” I protest.

  But she lifts a hand to shut me up. “It is true. And it sucks because I didn’t hide any parts of me from you. I put everything out there.”

  She chokes up and then stops abruptly, probably not wanting to fall apart. I lean my head against the wall. She’s right. I know she’s right. I’ve known it all along. I never had to pretend with Claire. “You’re right. But I didn’t know I was doing that; I just knew I couldn’t do it anymore.” I close my eyes and take a breath. “Give me some time and…we’ll talk, okay?”

  “Okay.” Her voice breaks again, and I open my eyes just in time to catch Haley swiping away a few tears. Both of us glance around, making sure we’re still alone in the hall. “I don’t know how to be me. Like me without you. I get that it’s over, I just don’t know how to…”

  I reach for her and let her rest her head against me. Haley is so tiny, her forehead is level with my heart. “You’ll figure it out. Think about it. Do you really want to be one of those forty-year-old women who wakes up suddenly and realizes she doesn’t have an identity of her own?” I press my face against her hair and whisper something I should have told her so many times. “You are so much more than that, Haley.”

  And so is Claire. This is why I’m suffering without her.

  Haley pulls away and gives the hallway another check. I take the hint and turn to walk in the other direction.

  I head over to the ice rink, my laptop in tow so I can watch more game tapes before practice starts. When I pass by Coach’s office, Leo walks out. The door is still cracked open, and I can clearly see my dad seated in one of the chairs across from Bakowski’s desk. Leo grabs me by the arm and steers me toward an empty corner of the lobby.

  “Look, I didn’t tell Bakowski anything,” he says right away.

  “About what?” My gaze flits to the now-closed office door, then back to Leo’s face. “You mean my visit in December?”

  Already my heart is racing.

  Leo’s forehead wrinkles. “No, of course I didn’t say anything about that. I mean about what Claire—”

  He stops abruptly, probably realizing I have no idea what he’s talking about. Then after another glance back at the still-closed office door, he lowers his voice and tells me about a conversation Claire overheard two weeks ago.

  My entire body tenses, the anger building inside me to a point so high that when Dad emerges from Bakowski’s office—despite Leo’s protesting—I take off after him. He glances over his shoulder, sees me, and then stops. I nod for him to follow and head all the way to the far side of the rink. The place where he most likely made that phone call Claire overheard during the game.

  Once we’re alone, I spin to face him. “I know you tried to blackmail Leo and Jamie.”

  “Whoa.” He holds up his hands, the charming Keith Tanley smile on his face. “What are you talking about, buddy?”

  I can’t remember the last time my dad called me “buddy.” That one word hits me hard. It’s so phony. He doesn’t care about me. And that means he definitely doesn’t care about my teammates. “I’m talking about you trying to ruin their eligibility.”

  I’m on fire now. Too much is pent up inside me to keep things in control. If I could go one-on-one with him on the ice right now, his ass would be dead.

  The careful front drops from Dad’s face. And he’s the drunk man in the parking lot again, dragging me toward his truck. Instinctively, I take a step back.

  “Don’t meddle in the grown-up stuff, Tate,” Dad says in his most condescending voice. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

  “I know you’re cheating.” I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him. “What more do I need to know than that? I could tell—”

  “Go ahead.” Dad steps closer to me, lowers his voice. “But don’t forget you’ve been doing a little cheating yourself. Coach Redeck has been training you, hasn’t he? He’s got you playing with the boys on his team. And I think someone spotted you having dinner with that coa
ch from Southeastern Minneapolis University. Did he pay for the meal?”

  My jaw drops, the anger falls from me in one second flat, and it’s replaced by panic and…well, hurt. “Why would you…?”

  He looks me over, a hint of regret in his eyes. “I’m not gonna do anything like that. Just keep your mouth shut and plan on signing with Southeastern Minneapolis College next November.”

  I’m so fucking tired of not saying anything, not doing anything. I shake my head. “No… No way.”

  “SMC is a great school,” Dad argues. “You’re getting a full ride with my being on staff and your playing hockey. Coach Redeck is practically foaming at the mouth to get you and Hammond signed. Especially with Jamie and Leo turning us down.”

  “Hammond?” Shit. It’s not going to end. I exhale, feeling like I’m backed into the smallest corner possible. I look up at my dad. Maybe he’s right, SMC is probably a good school, and I won’t have to worry about paying for it. Jody had to jump through dozens of hoops to get enough scholarships to cover her tuition. The essays alone were weeks of work. And she’s already taken out student loans, too. Based on what my dad is telling me, I won’t have to do any of this. But I don’t want it like this. I want it to be my own. Hockey. College, if I decide to go. I can’t keep playing if it’s not my own.

  I can’t keep playing.

  What if I don’t play? If he knows I’m not bluffing about him backing off… I’m stuck with his reputation in town; I’ve been stuck with it my whole life. The son of the Great Keith Tanley. All those words. All those false words. And I just sat there and let them happen. My win is always his win, too. That needs to end.

  “You know what?” I tell him. “No one can sign me if I’m not playing.”

  He opens his mouth to protest, but I step around him and head straight for the locker. And yes, I realize I’m taking a note from Steller, but this will be different. Game one of Sections isn’t until tomorrow night. We’re the number-one seed, which means we play the worst team.

  It’ll be fine.

  But I have to wait. Hold off until the last minute to tell Coach I’m not playing. Otherwise Jamie and Leo will talk me out of it.

  I’m positive that this is the only way to stop my dad and his manipulation. It’s the only way to make hockey mine again. Maybe the only way to protect my teammates.

  Chapter 45

  –Claire–

  I wipe down yet another empty table. It’s like the first home game all over again. I’m dreading the aftermath, dreading the celebration. Dreading the Late Night at O’Connor’s I’ve already agreed to host. Not that the money won’t be great for us—it will. I hate the wall between Tate and me. It seems to have created this barrier between the hockey team and me. Guess I can’t have one without the other.

  I sigh to myself and drop the wet rag into a bucket of soapy water. Soon my family and Tate will both realize that I’m here to stay. And maybe we can go back to being us. Forgiving Tate, loving him, is not the problem. The problem is getting him to let go of this responsibility he seems to have put on himself.

  But then again, maybe it won’t be the same. If we were together again. Maybe there’s too much between us now.

  I can’t begin to worry about this, because the door to the bar opens and my dad walks through it.

  For the first time in months. For a moment, every worry, every doubt, and bit of tension between us falls away. And I just stand there, stunned to see him in this place again. In his place.

  The wet rag dangling in my hand drips water onto the floor, but I don’t move. Dad heads in my direction, his weak side lagging behind the other. He grabs a dry towel from the bar and drops it onto the floor where water now forms a puddle. He uses his shoe to push the towel along the floor, drying it. I get a flash of Dad doing this the night before I left for college when a glass of water tipped over while he was busing a table. He takes the wet rag from me and motions for us to sit down at a table.

  I can’t believe he’s here. He’s refused to come in for so long, part of me believed it would be forever.

  A tiny notepad emerges from his back pocket along with a pen. He flips to a page, revealing words he’s already written: Not angry.

  I glance up at him, my throat already tight from the sight of him seated at a table. This is where he used to do the financials, during the down times. He preferred it to the office because it made him available in case anyone needed anything.

  “You’re not?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, flips a page over, and reveals a new word: Proud.

  My eyes fill with tears. He turns another page, revealing an entire sentence, lots of scratching out and fixing words. It must have taken him a long time to write.

  We can pay for school. Got it worked out. Done.

  I shake my head, wiping away a few tears. “It’s okay, Dad. I don’t need it. I’m okay, I promise.”

  He doesn’t get angry this time when I refuse. I watch as he turns another page.

  I learned from this.

  He tilts his head and runs a finger over the scar from his brain surgery. Then he turns another page.

  Must. Live. Now. Always.

  I force a grin. Force myself to brush off the deeper meaning. “Are you a poet now?”

  He nods and underlines Now. Okay, that’s not what I meant.

  Not just for you, his next message says. For me.

  I lift my head, my gaze meeting his. For him.

  For him.

  A new kind of guilt sweeps over me. For him. I take a deep breath. “But why do I have to go back so soon? What’s another year?”

  He flips back a few pages and underlines the word Now again.

  Just think about it. Please.

  Because he’s my dad. Because he’s given me everything, I nod. With hand gestures and Aunt Kay’s help interpreting, he ushers me out of the bar, telling me to take a break before the crowds come. I don’t know how I decided what to do or where to go, but minutes later, I’m upstairs, opening the storage part of the apartment, crawling inside and hiding among boxes of my childhood.

  My dad is proud of me. He’s proud of me and I’m holed away in an attic, sorting through the remains of my dreams. I used to think all of this wasn’t real and Juniper Falls was just my life before it got real. Now everything I wanted before, it’s all just unicorns. Shiny, gratuitous unicorns.

  I stumble on my old keyboard and a box of songbooks from every musical a preteen and teenager could possibly be interested in. I stare at the music and the keys long and hard before I give myself this one bit of enjoyment. Just a few minutes alone with the unicorns and then I’ll go back to my real life. I plug in the keyboard and grab the Wicked songbook. This is one of my most worn books, and two pages are stuck together from a jelly doughnut incident while I was learning how to play “Defying Gravity.” Years ago, I’d wanted to sing that one almost as much as Éponine’s famous solo, “On My Own,” from Les Mis.

  ...

  “Your dad told me you were up here.”

  My hands freeze over the keys, my heart jumping up to my throat. Haley’s blond hair swings into view from the tiny half door of the storage area. She’s dressed in her cheer uniform, which means it must be close to game time. How long have I been up here?

  I look at her, my eyes probably wide with surprise. “Hey…”

  And oh my God, Haley is here. And she doesn’t look pissed off. A little uncomfortable but not angry, at least. She ducks through the half door, coming inside to sit in the only empty place available.

  “I love Wicked. It’s my favorite musical,” she says.

  Okay. So far this is friendly. What’s going on? Oh Jesus, surely she isn’t here to confess that she and Tate—

  “So…I have a proposal for you,” she says. “I’m in charge of party prep and The Pizza House canceled last minute for the post-game celebration party—”

  “The game is over already?” I move to get out of this little cave, but Haley holds up a
hand to stop me.

  “Still two hours from starting. We’re playing the worst team in our Section. We’ll be celebrating later.” She releases a breath. “I know you’ve mostly handled pregame dinners and this is a little different, since we’ve got families plus the team, but I think O’Connor’s can handle it. The boosters donated way too much money for this…” Haley rolls her eyes. “It’s only game one of Sections. But if we have to hand it over to anyone, I want it to be O’Connor’s.”

  “Haley, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  She stops me again and shakes her head. “This year has been really hard for me so far and honestly, when we were working on the music committee together…” She takes a breath and closes her eyes for a second. “I really needed that. I liked it. Can we just go back to that?”

  I release a short laugh, relieved. “Yeah. We can.”

  “I know you didn’t plan on stuff happening with Tate,” she admits, forcing his name out with great effort. “I know you wouldn’t have done it if you thought things might not be over. That’s kind of how I figured it out. That things were over. That’s why it was so hard for me.”

  “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

  “It’s okay.” She shakes her head. “Well, it will be. Eventually. I’m working on it. I think I have a lot of things to work on.”

  Silence falls between us, and then I remember what she came up here for. “Oh, the party. Yes, that would be awesome to host it. Just tell me what to prepare. Lots of chicken wings, I’m assuming?”

  “I’ve got a list right here.” Haley pulls a folded piece of paper from her purse and holds it out for me. “I guess there is a tiny possibility of us losing this game with Tate not playing.”

  I turn around so fast I knock over the keyboard. “Wait…what? Why isn’t Tate playing?”

  “You didn’t hear?” I shake my head. Haley mimics the motion like she’s trying to believe it herself. “He quit the team. Just, like, an hour ago. For personal reasons, apparently.”