Sophomore Surge

by K R Collins

  She leads her line onto the ice for the opening faceoff.

  She takes her place at center ice across from Carruthers. He has dark circles under his eyes even though the season has barely begun. The puck is dropped, and she springs into action, knocking the puck to Zinger before Carruthers has a chance at it. She trails Zinger into the offensive zone so they stay onside and picks up his pass before she skates the puck around the back of the net.

  Carruthers skates in after her. He stays with her as she rounds the net. She stops sharply and changes direction, and he falls on his ass. It gives her the space to make a clean pass up to J-Rod at the point.

  J-Rod rifles a shot on net. It deflects off one of Seattle’s defenseman and slips past the goalie.

  First shift, first goal.

  The crowd leaps to their feet again.

  Sophie glances at Carruthers. All night long, she thinks as he slowly pulls himself off the ice. She blows past him to join J-Rod’s celly.

  Midway through the first period, she steals the puck off Carruthers’s stick and goes the length of the ice for a goal of her own.

  Later in the period, she crushes Carruthers into the boards and pins him there as Zinger nets the third goal of the game.

  Merlin makes space for her next to him on the bench and holds his water bottle out to her. “The kid has it bad enough in Seattle without you trying to break him in the first preseason game.”

  “I thought a first overall pick would be tougher.” She snatches the water bottle from Merlin and takes a drink. “If Seattle crumbles, they crumble. We won’t play down to their level. We play our game, even if it means running up the score.”

  “Aye, aye.” Merlin tosses her a lazy salute.

  They win 7-2 with two goals and three assists on the night for Sophie. Matty’s there in the tunnel to offer fist bumps and back slaps as they head down to the locker room. She’s the last one on the ice, and Coach Butler puts a heavy hand on her shoulder as she tucks her helmet under her arm.

  “It’s a start, but it’s only one game,” he tells her.

  Settling means stagnating. Another one of her dad’s catchphrases, second only to If you’re not the best then you don’t get to play. She wouldn’t be where she is without people to challenge her, and she’s glad to have Coach Butler here, pushing her to be her best.

  “My defense can use work,” she agrees. She was on the ice for Carruthers’s even strength goal. It was late in the third period and the game was basically over by then but there’s no excuse for the turnover which led to Carruthers’s opportunity.

  Coach Butler ushers her down the tunnel. Matty’s still there, and he slings an arm over Sophie’s shoulders even though she’s sweaty and gross and he’s wearing a nice suit.

  “Not bad out there, rookie.”

  “I’m not a rookie anymore.”

  He shrugs. “You’ll always be my rookie. Nice goal you scored on the power play.”

  It had been but, “I followed it up by letting Carruthers score on my next shift.”

  “It’s important for players to be well-rounded,” Coach Butler says, trailing behind them.

  Matty’s arm tightens around her shoulders for a moment before he drops it back to his side. “Of course. My trainer introduced me to some new backchecking drills this summer. I can come in before practice tomorrow and show them to you.”

  They make plans, and Sophie slips into the locker room so she can shed some of her gear before the media pours in.

  She plays in all three home games, and she stamps her impact on every shift. She battles in the corners, she threads passes through sticks and skates, and she pays special attention to her backcheck.

  It doesn’t stop her from having Decision Day jitters. Last season, when Coach Butler thought she was too complacent, he scratched her to teach her a lesson. He has no qualms about benching her or even scratching her if she doesn’t live up to his expectations.

  She wouldn’t put it past him to start her in Manchester if he wanted. I wore an A during the preseason. I led the team in points. But was she good enough? Sophie corrals a loose puck and passes to Zinger. He has to settle it before he passes it back. After the second shaky pass she sends him, he holds onto the puck. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

  She scoffs, aiming for unbothered and missing by about a kilometer. Zinger raises his eyebrows as he flips her the puck. “Why are you nervous? You and Matty are the two guarantees.”

  “There are no guarantees in hockey,” she says in her best Lenny Dernier voice. She juggles the puck a few times before she flips it back to him.

  Zinger drops his voice an octave and adopts a horrific Canadian accent. “Hockey is about tough work and tough players.” The way he says player sounds more like “pl’r,” as if he swallowed a handful of marbles.

  Her shoulders shake as she laughs. “That’s not what Dernier sounds like.”

  “He sounds more like this—foreigners? In my league?” Zinger slaps a hand to his chest as if he’s some offended ’50s housewife.

  She laughs even harder. By the time X taps her on her shoulder, she’s almost lost her nerves. Of course, as soon as he says, “You’re up,” they return full force. His expression softens and he squeezes her shoulder.

  She skates off the ice and heads up to Coach Butler’s office. Their whole coaching staff is there, along with Mr. Pauling and Mr. Wilcox. She sits in the empty chair in front of Coach’s desk.

  “Congratulations,” Mr. Wilcox says.

  She breathes easier.

  “A double congratulations is in order.” Mr. Pauling smiles as if he’s amused himself. “The A is yours.”

  Coach Butler slides a piece of paper across his desk to her. It lists the numbers 1 to 99, save for those retired by the League. There are only three names on the list so far; Matty, Lindy, and X. She adds her own name, next to the number 93.

  “You’ll have to come over for dinner,” Mr. Wilcox tells her. “Kaylee and Jessi miss having you around.”

  Coach Butler clears his throat. “Send Nelson up.”

  “We’ll talk later,” Mr. Wilcox tells her.

  She nods and troops back down to the ice. Nelson’s by the bench with Garfield, and she taps his shoulder. “Your turn.”

  Last year, Nelson wore the second A after Thurman was traded at the deadline. Since no one starts the season with a letter she didn’t take it from him, but it still feels like she did. There’s always been an undercurrent of tension in their relationship. If he thinks she’s taken his letter, things could get rocky again.

  “What’s the verdict?” Garfield asks.

  “Still with you.”

  “And the letter?”

  “Coach Butler says I’ve earned it.”

  Garfield rubs his smelly glove in her face. Nelson pats the top of her head and heads up for his own meeting. A bunch of the other guys skate over.

  “Are we celebrating?” Kevlar asks.

  Theo wraps her up in a bear hug and lifts her off the ice.

  Once all the meetings have happened, the remaining players have a short practice. Afterward, they all pile into the locker room. Matty stands up, stripped down to his spandex. “This is our team. I know you’ve fallen into the familiar during preseason; the Americans or the Canadians, the vets and the new guys—”

  “Cliques,” Lindy volunteers.

  “We’re not girls,” Wilchinski mutters.

  Everyone’s gaze swings toward Sophie. There are always moments when she can’t escape the feeling of being the only woman. She was acutely aware of it when her tampon fell out of her bag on the hike. She’s acutely aware of it now too.

  “I’m not a girl, I’m a woman,” Sophie says.

  Merlin sniffles and wipes away a fake tear. “They grow up so fast.”

  There’s scattered laughter and the tension in the room breaks. Everyone turns their attention back to Matty. “We’re a team now. Get to know each other.”

  “Do you know what would bring
the team together?” Lindy asks.

  “A party at Matty’s?” X grabs a marker and flips their whiteboard over to the blank side. “Time to draw up a game plan.” He writes dessert, appetizers, and healthy shit across the top and the locker room dissolves into its usual shouting as everyone tries to claim the category they want.

  Sophie stops by the grocery store on her way home from practice. Last year, she resorted to online grocery orders after too many people offered her advice on how to play better. The guy ringing her up recommended she get into more fights and the well-meaning father of two who cornered her by the eggs wanted to go over zone entries as if she didn’t already have three coaches, a captain, and a dad of her own telling her what to do.

  She suspended the online orders for the start of this season, because she actually enjoys going to the store. Wandering through the aisles with a neatly bulleted list makes her feel normal. It reminds her of trailing after her mom when she was a kid. Her mom would send her down the rice aisle to pick up a box of brown rice or a box of couscous or ask Sophie to pick out the granola bars she wanted for the week.

  Every time her mom put something in the cart, Sophie would peer at it and ask what it was for. She listened as her mom explained what she intended to do with the chicken or how she was going to prepare the fish or which vegetables paired well with each meat. Sophie was never around for the actual cooking part. She was always at school or practice or stuck at the table doing homework.

  Today, though, Sophie’s here on a simple mission. She’s doing dessert for the party, and she stands in the baking aisle, staring at the wall of boxed and packaged mixes. There are too many options. Brownies? Cookies? Cake? There are regular brownies, fudge brownies, triple chocolate brownies, and more.

  “Cupcakes are the best dessert.” Next to Sophie, a young girl in jeans and a Condors jersey joins her in staring at the wall. “The serving size says I’m allowed to eat two, but my mom never lets me.”

  Sophie obediently shuffles toward the cake side of the wall. “If a serving size is two, how many cupcakes will I need for a team of hockey players?”

  “A lot. Theodore Smith is huge.” The girl grins and pulls three boxes of Funfetti off the shelf. She drops them in Sophie’s basket. Then she takes three tubs of pink frosting and adds them too. “You shouldn’t let anyone forget you’re a girl.”

  “Uh, thank you.” Sophie looks at her basket, amused. “Does your mom know where you are?”

  The girl huffs. “I’m getting cake mix and meeting her by the deli. My brother’s getting a slice of cheese, but only babies get snacks at the grocery store.” She grabs a box of Funfetti for herself and holds it out. “Will you sign this for me?”

  Every coat, windbreaker, and purse she owns has at least two Sharpies stashed in it. This coat has a black one and a red one. She lets the girl pick the red one before she writes Thank you for the cake advice. Sophie Fournier 93.

  “Thanks!” the girl says before she sprints off, hopefully to find her mother.

  Merlin makes a face at the pink frosted cupcakes when Sophie shows up to the party. She sets them down between a plate of brownies and a plate of chocolate chip-walnut cookies. “I was told not to let anyone forget I’m a woman.”

  “I don’t think it’ll happen any time soon.”

  Sophie shrugs and looks out at the backyard. A bunch of the guys are kicking a soccer ball around, and she grins as Theo throws a second ball into the mix to confuse everyone. To the left, there’s a badminton net set up, and Peets and Spitzweg look as though they’re trying to play volleyball with a rubber kickball.

  “There’s no way this ends well,” Sophie says.

  “Already being responsible?” Merlin herds her over to the coolers. There’s three of them, all different colors and all with a different label. Beer in the red cooler, soda in the blue one, and “other stuff” in the green one.

  “Other stuff?” Sophie laughs as she opens the lid. It turns out to be water and Gatorade. She plucks a purple Gatorade out of the ice.

  “First pink, now purple? We all know you’re a woman.”

  “I like purple Gatorade. Don’t make it weird.”

  She twists the lid open and takes a long drink. Merlin is looking past her at the grill so she leaves him to play assistant to Matty and wanders over to where Theo and Kevlar are huddled around Kevlar’s phone. Hanging out with them doesn’t follow Matty’s suggestion to branch out, but she’ll sit with some of the new guys while she eats.

  “Who’re we pranking?” She has to go up on her tiptoes to see over Kevlar’s shoulder. He jumps at the sound of her voice and tucks his phone into his pocket.

  “Pranking? Us? Never.”

  She laughs and takes another drink. It’s still hot and humid, her thin tank top sticking to her skin with sweat. She’s waiting for the first crisp, fall day, the one which means hockey is right around the corner. “You want a cupcake?”

  “You made cupcakes?”

  “They’re only for my friends.” She pretends to think. “I guess you can’t have one then.”

  Kevlar gasps and claps a hand to his chest as if she’s mortally wounded him. “I need to fix this.”

  He lunges at her, and she jumps out of the way, avoiding what she thinks is an attempt to hug her. Then she has to run, because Kevlar chases her all over the yard. She loses her Gatorade somewhere between dodging a kickball and almost being tripped by the guys playing soccer. She weaves in and out of teammates until she can hide behind Lindy.

  “You’re a goalie,” she says as she keeps Lindy between her and Kevlar. “Protect me.”

  “I only protect my net.”

  “This is why you aren’t my favorite.”

  “I’m not protecting you either,” Teddy tells her as he picks his way through the snack table. “What’d you do to him, anyway?”

  “She said we weren’t friends.” Kevlar pouts, a terrifying expression on six feet of grown hockey player.

  When Lindy moves, the traitor, Kevlar pounces, and wraps Sophie up in a tight hug. He rubs his face in her hair and asks, “Are we friends yet?” over and over and until she’s laughing so hard she can’t even answer. She’s still laughing when he sets her back on her feet. She fixes her ponytail as he snatches a cupcake off the table. He peels the wrapper off and shoves the whole thing into his mouth in two bites.

  “Gross,” she says.

  He grins at her with pink frosting smeared across his cheek.

  Later, when Sophie has a plate with two burgers and four different kinds of vegetables on it, she realizes she lost her Gatorade. She detours away from the table, food still in hand, so she can poke through the coolers.

  “Looking for this?” Merlin asks. He dangles a half-empty bottle of purple Gatorade in front of her. Did she drink that much? Did someone else drink out of it? How long was it out of her sight for? She glances at her teammates, almost everyone sitting and eating, and grabs a water out of the blue cooler.

  She returns to the table she picked out, and Merlin trails after her. “I thought you were showing off your feminine side.”

  “Are we even allowed to talk about Sofe’s feminine side?” Zinger asks as Sophie sits down.

  Zinger, Kevlar, and Theo are already at the table. When Merlin sits next to her, it means the table has a lot of returning players at it, but Jordan Clifford and Spitzweg are here too so she counts it as mingling.

  Merlin sets Sophie’s Gatorade next to her plate. She ignores it as she untwists the cap on her water. Unfortunately, Merlin doesn’t lose interest. “You’re being weird.”

  Teddy drops down next to Clifford. “What’s Sofe being weird about?”

  “Nothing,” Sophie answers. The back of her neck prickles and she draws her shoulders up.

  “Her Gatorade,” Merlin says. “She dropped it when Kevlar chased her around the backyard and even though I rescued it from being thrown out, she won’t drink it.”

  “Let it go.” An edge hardens her words, but Me
rlin misses it, oblivious.

  He opens his mouth, but Clifford beats him to it. “She said, let it go.”

  Merlin isn’t the only one too surprised to talk. Sophie looks over at the new kid, a winger from St. Cloud State. He catches her looking and shrugs his narrow shoulders. He’s too skinny. Whatever they feed their athletes in college, it isn’t enough. He’ll have to bulk up if he doesn’t want to be knocked around the ice all season.

  “You don’t drink anything if it’s been out of your sight,” Clifford says as if it’s normal.

  See, she thinks at Merlin, I’m not weird.

  Clifford keeps talking. “It’s what all the girls at school do. I think they had a meeting about it freshman year or something.”

  Shit.

  “Isn’t it to make sure you don’t end up roofied?” Merlin asks. He looks at Sophie, hurt.

  “Sofe?” Matty asks from the other table. His tone is gentle, concerned, and Sophie’s shoulders draw up even more when she realizes the entire team is now staring at her.

  Whatever worst-case scenarios they’re thinking, they aren’t true. But if she doesn’t tell them what actually happened, they’re going to spend months looking at her like this and treating her as if she’s fragile. She picks at the label of her water bottle. “When I was at Chilton someone put Ex-Lax in my water bottle. I missed an entire practice shitting my intestines out. When I told my coach, he told me I was lucky it wasn’t something worse.”

  He’d been pissed. Sophie learned early on no matter how many coaches or well-meaning parent assistants said, “Come to me if you have problems,” none of them actually wanted to listen to her. If she told them something was wrong, they felt like they had to do something. She kept the harmless pranks to herself and didn’t breathe a word of the teasing or bullying to anyone.

  This had crossed a line. It kept her from practice and, more importantly, it left her scared. She told Coach what happened and he made the whole team bag skate while she watched, too weak to join them. Things were bad after the incident for a while. Travis was the only one who didn’t hate her, but she kept her distance from him so the guys would leave him alone.