by K R Collins
“How come they’re California condors if you can find them other places?” Sophie asks.
“It’s also called the New World condor. Did you know they can travel up to a hundred and fifty miles in only one day to find food? Sometimes, they eat so much at once they don’t need to eat for days after.”
“They must not be hockey players then. I have to eat multiple times a day to have the energy I need.”
“And you don’t eat carcasses. Carcass is one of our vocabulary words. It means dead animal.”
“Charming.”
Across the room, a boy stands on the bench so he can touch the top of X’s head where he’s going bald. “Condors are bald too. It’s so their faces stay clean while they dig their beaks into all the blood and guts.”
Lee-Ann tugs on Sophie’s jersey sleeve to claim her attention again. “Do you want to hear about mating rituals?”
Merlin appears at her side as if he’s been summoned. He slings an arm around her shoulders before she can even consider escaping. “Mating rituals? Maybe Sophie can pick up a few tips.”
Sophie pinches him, hard, and he yelps. Fortunately, Lee-Ann continues as if they aren’t even here. “Male condors blush.”
“Do not!” The kid next to her—Gregory—puffs up, offended on behalf of all male condors. “Their heads turn red but it isn’t a blush.”
“It’s a blush,” Lee-Ann whispers. “I think it’s cute. And once two condors have bonded, they stay together forever. They fly together, doing tricks and stuff.”
Gregory steps up next to Lee-Ann’s poster. “Once they have a baby chick, the mom and dad take turns throwing up in its mouth to feed it.”
“Regurgitation,” Lee-Ann happily informs them.
Sophie thinks she would’ve been happier being a condor if she didn’t know all this trivia about them. But after Lee-Ann’s presentation, Sophie listens to Gregory’s and then she moves over to Mark. His poster says Condors: Nature’s Clean-Up Crew at the top, and Sophie already regrets being here.
He’s the same kid who used X’s head to demonstrate earlier, and he tells Sophie about why condors are bald before moving onto their other characteristics. “They have tough beaks so they can rip through thick skin. And even though they eat carrion, their immune systems keeps them from getting sick. My mom says I can’t eat raw cookie dough, but I bet a condor could. Neat, huh?”
“Neat,” Sophie agrees.
“Do you want to know the best part? Condors don’t sweat like we do.” A big smile stretches across Mark’s face, one Sophie knows better than to trust. “To keep cool, they shit all over themselves!”
All of the kids in the room, and some of Sophie’s teammates, burst into laughter. Mr. Lightbody’s mouth presses into a thin line, but he doesn’t interfere.
Lee-Ann skips over to say, “It’s called urohidrosis.”
“You’re learning all sorts of new words with this project,” Sophie says.
They send the kids home with autographed shirseys with their name on the back. Lee-Ann pulls hers on over her dress right away. Tito stares at his for a long time and traces his finger over his last name before he throws his arms around Ben Granlund’s legs in thanks.
Once the kids clear out, Napoli does a little dance. “It’s like Christmas,” he says as he holds one of his cameras to review some of the footage.
Kevlar leans over his shoulder. “Please tell me you have Sofe’s face when the kid talked about birds shitting themselves.”
“How come we weren’t allowed to swear if the kids were?” Merlin asks.
“They were talking about a biological function,” Matty says.
Merlin grins, the same way Mark did earlier, and Sophie shakes her head even before he says, “Fucking is a biological function.”
X throws Matty a look full of judgment. “You have children. You should’ve known better.”
“Hey, Garfield!” Merlin calls across the locker room. “Next time there are kids here we can talk about fucking because it’s a biological function.”
“I learned all about the mechanics of bird fucking,” says Garfield. “I’m all set.”
“Condors mate for life,” Theo tells them as if he’s the only one who listened to Lee-Ann’s presentation. “They do beautiful aerials with their one true loves.” He slants a glance at Sophie. “Who are you wooing with your hockey?”
She flips him off.
“Touchy, touchy.” Theo drapes his arms over Kevlar’s shoulders. “Hey, if we’re d-partners then are we together for life?”
“Till trades or retirement do us part,” Kevlar says.
Chapter Eight
SOPHIE STREAMS ONE of Gothenburg’s games so she can watch Elsa play. She’s a force on the ice, snatching the puck off her opponents’ sticks, and sometimes the sticks of her teammates, so she can make a breathtaking play. She barrels into the offensive zone, cuts through three defenders, and it takes a hook and a trip to slow her up enough for the goalie to make the stop.
Gothenburg goes on the power play, and Elsa argues with her coach, probably because she wants to be on the ice. It’s a different style of hockey than Sophie plays, showier, demand written into every stride and every bark of her voice, but there’s no denying she loves the game.
Sophie props herself up on her elbows as Elsa gets her way and hits the ice for the power play. Thaulow wins the faceoff and Gothenburg goes to work. Elsa cradles the puck as she skates down low for better position. The defense shifts to cover her so she passes up to the point. The puck moves and so do the players until Elsa has the puck again. She fakes a pass before she fires the puck on net.
She follows her shot in which means when it rebounds off the goalie’s pads she’s there to bang it home.
Sophie lets herself daydream about what it would be like to have Elsa on her wing. She has no problem passing when she has a teammate with hot hands. She would feed Elsa without complaint until the winger put up fifty goals in a season. Between Sophie’s playmaking and Elsa’s finish, they could be an unstoppable duo. All Sophie would have to do is pass and watch as Elsa scored.
A couple of shifts later, Elsa streaks toward the net. Look up, Sophie thinks at Thaulow. Elsa bangs her stick on the ice to get his attention. It means the defense is paying attention now too and Thaulow’s pass, a beat too late, is intercepted. I would’ve been able to do it.
She’s a mix of frustrated and impressed by the time she shuts the game off so she can go to bed. She has an important game tomorrow, and she can’t lose sleep wishing for something which isn’t happening.
Edmonton brings Shawn Wedin, another one of her former Chilton teammates, when they come to Concord. Unlike with Travis, there won’t be a lunch invite for Wedin. He was one of her enforcers, tasked with keeping her safe on the ice when they played together. Her sophomore year, she learned his protection of her depended on her production level. If she wasn’t putting up points, he wouldn’t stick his neck out for her.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise when, once they were no longer teammates, he felt no loyalty to her. But it caught her off guard when he crushed her into the boards and told her he’d been waiting years to be able to do it.
He visits her during warm-ups as she stretches by her bench. He bulked up over the summer or maybe it’s because she’s down on the ice as he looms over her, but he’s bigger than she remembers.
It’s a stupid bit of gamesmanship, but she responds to it, standing up. He’s still taller than her, but she steps into his space, refusing to be intimidated. He wants to come at her? He won’t have many opportunities to do it. He’s a third pairing defenseman who spends as much time out of the lineup as in. She’s the one with a record and a trophy to her name. She’s the one making an impact on this league. He can’t even make an impact on his own team.
She bares her teeth in a smile. “You’re on the wrong side of the ice.”
“I came to say hi to an old friend.” His smile matches hers, too many teeth to be friend
ly. He taps his fingers against her chin. “Head up, today, I’ll be saying my real hello later.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Before things can escalate, Witzer skates over. “This looks like a nice reunion.”
“You want to jump in and shoot on Lindy? I’m scoring a goal tonight.” She lets her gaze linger on Wedin. “Two if they bump up your minutes.”
“Bitch,” he sneers.
She shrugs, letting the word roll off her shoulders. She hooks her arm through Witzer’s, and they skate away.
“I wasn’t trying to rescue you,” he says. “I wanted to make sure you had an out if you wanted it.”
Late in the second period, Sophie slides a puck across the goal mouth for Witzer to tap in. When he pats her helmet and says, “Thank you,” she thinks, no, thank you.
They win 4-1 which isn’t the statement game she wanted, but she scored the fourth goal of the game while Wedin was on the ice. He hung his head on the replay as if he knew his blown coverage gave her the open lane to shoot. She would’ve thanked him for it the next time they were on the ice, but their paths didn’t cross again.
“Big win for you,” Ed Rickers says.
Sophie wipes her face the best she can with her towel. As soon as she clears a layer of sweat, a new one rises up to take its place. She wipes underneath her eyes and above her top lip before sets her towel in her lap. “It was a good one.”
“Was this a comeback game for Lindholm?” Marty Owen asks. Sophie can’t raise her eyebrows or give a sarcastic response so she stares, unblinking, at Owen as she waits for him to realize what a monumentally stupid question he asked. He, of course, doubles down. “He gave up four goals last game and only one tonight.”
“Lindy played better tonight, but we also played better in front of him. It was a team effort.” They controlled play tonight and, shocker, there are fewer shots against the team with higher possession numbers. They drove the game, shelling Edmonton’s goalie on shift after shift. When the Hydras had the puck, Concord collapsed their coverage to protect their goal.
“You were chatting with your Chilton teammate, Shawn Wedin, before the game. It didn’t look very friendly.”
She finds Christina Rossetti through the crowd of reporters to make sure The Burlington Times camera catches her dismissive shrug. “We aren’t teammates anymore. Tonight, my job was to beat his team and his job was to beat mine. There isn’t a lot of room for friendliness there.”
“Harsh,” Nelson mutters from his stall.
Sophie drags her towel down her face again.
For once, Sophie isn’t the last one out of the locker room. Matty and Lindy are chatting about something in quiet voices. It’s odd they’re having a private conversation here, but she gives them as much space as she can, leaving without saying goodbye.
She debates how to celebrate tonight’s win. She has frozen yogurt in her freezer and one of Elsa’s games saved on her computer. Or she could call Dima; she hasn’t talked to him in a while. Mary Beth waves to her from the far end of the hallway, and Sophie freezes in place. Her brain kicks into overdrive, turning over every interaction she’s had with another person today from the moment she woke up to now. She doubts anyone overheard her conversation with Wedin and even if he said something stupid in his scrum, his team lost tonight so it could be easily wiped aside as sour grapes.
“What happened?” Sophie asks as Mary Beth reaches her.
“Nothing bad,” Mary Beth reassures her. Of course, she follows it up by leading Sophie down the hall to her former locker room, a storage closet with enough space for a couple of stalls and a shower.
“Napoli and CondorsTV did another What’s in Your Bag? segment tonight. They’re airing it during tomorrow’s game against Seattle.”
It’s one of their standard bits. The camera crew roams the stadium during games, and they’ll pull aside a couple of fans to rifle through their bags. It’s where gems like the Matty bobblehead have been uncovered. There’s always a few fans who have a copy of one of Sophie’s biographies, and Napoli will occasionally grab her and ask her to sign them, because it’s good press. This feels different.
Mary Beth hands over her iPad. She has the unedited footage pulled up, and Sophie hits play. Napoli leads the camera through an empty hallway rather than the concourse. There are no brightly colored signs drawing people in to buy hot dogs or fried dough or ice cream. He’s…near the team kitchen?
Theo and Kevlar come into view, their bags slung over their shoulders as they walk down the hallway. Napoli calls out to them and waves them over.
“Can I poke around your bag?” Napoli asks. “For the fans, of course.”
Sophie, protective of what little privacy she manages to carve out, would’ve hesitated, but Kevlar hands his bag over with a smile.
“If we find anything embarrassing, we won’t show it,” Napoli promises.
“He keeps all his embarrassing stuff tucked under his mattress.” Theo grins and dodges Kevlar’s half-hearted swing.
“Ignore him, it’s what I do.”
“Is this the secret to a good d-pairing?” Napoli asks.
“Selective hearing and never go to bed angry,” Theo says.
They’re loose in front of the camera, comfortable with themselves and Napoli’s attention in a way Sophie’s never been. She spends so much time being filmed and studied and stared at, she should be more natural in front of a camera, due to sheer exposure if anything. But the only time she feels settled when there’s attention on her is on the ice.
Kevlar holds his bag at waist level as Napoli unzips it. He pulls two spare ties out. “Doubly prepared?”
“Well, I need one for me and one for this guy.”
Theo scoffs. “Like I’d wear your ties. They’re all ugly.”
“Not as ugly as your face.”
Sophie huffs out a quiet laugh as the d-men play-fight. One of Napoli’s assistants has to dart in to grab Kevlar’s bag as he drops it so he has both his hands free. Napoli ignores the commotion and digs through Kevlar’s bag. He uncovers more spare clothes, a paperback book, and a few protein bars. Sophie can’t help but wonder why she’s watching this. Then Napoli unzips one of the side pockets. He pulls out a travel shaving kit, a box of Band-Aids and…a box of tampons.
“Oh,” Sophie says.
Napoli drops the box on the ground before he picks it up with the very tips of his fingers. “What are these for?”
Theo stares at Kevlar as if he wants to know the same thing. Kevlar raises his eyebrows and a smile tugs at his lips. “You don’t know what tampons are for?”
Hilariously, Napoli flushes bright red as he drops the box back into Kevlar’s bag. He zips the pocket up so he can’t see the teal packaging any longer. “I know what they’re for. Why do you have them?”
“In case Sophie needs them.” He says it matter-of-fact as if he can’t understand why Napoli wouldn’t know. “Have you ever been in her bag? She has extra stick tape, a whole first aid kit, even extra shaving kits. If anyone’s forgotten something on a roadie, all they have to do is knock on Sofe’s door, she probably has it. She has our backs, we should have hers.”
“It was a variety pack.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to ask her what size she uses.”
Napoli winces. “Good idea.”
He looks the most uncomfortable Sophie’s ever seen him. She’s never understood why guys are so uptight about pads and tampons, but it is kind of funny to see the guy who teased her for having a small TV slowly edge away from Kevlar’s bag as if the tampons will jump out and attack him.
“My bag next?” Theo offers. “I promise I don’t have any tampons. I won’t make any promises about condoms.”
Napoli sighs and the footage cuts out.
Mary Beth takes her iPad back. “We aren’t airing the clip, but I thought you’d want to see it.”
She has a bruise blooming on her shoulder from Wedin hitting her during the game tonight. She tries t
o imagine him carrying emergency tampons for her and can’t quite hold back her laugh. “We have a good group of guys here.” If she’s ever traded, and she hopes she isn’t, she doesn’t think Kevlar would try to run her through the boards.
Mary Beth squeezes Sophie’s good shoulder. “We have a good team. Are you going out tonight?”
“Not with Seattle tomorrow. Besides, two more games until our Halloween party. Everyone’s saving their livers for the big bash.”
“Are you going this year?”
Last year, Sophie went trick-or-treating with the Wilcox kids instead of going to her team’s party. It was in the midst of her feud with Hayes, and for a brief time it spilled over into her whole team. She didn’t want to be around them more than she had to so she hid out with her GM’s kids. It wasn’t one of her prouder moments.
This year is different. She glances at Mary Beth’s iPad, the screen blank now. Management chose her over Hayes last season but at the end of the season, her team chose her. They rallied around her after their playoffs hopes were dashed, lifting her to her Maddow Trophy win. Coming into this season, she has an A, she has the respect of her teammates, and, if a peek inside Kevlar’s bag is any indication, she has their support.
“I’m planning on it. Since we call McArthur Merlin, someone decided we should go as the Knights of the Round Table. Witzer’s going as Guinevere, because he claims no one else has the legs for it.”
“Please do not send me any pictures,” Mary Beth says.
Sophie laughs and follows her PR manager out of the room.
She takes the second faceoff of the game and lines up against Eldon Carruthers. His black hair pokes out from underneath his helmet, and his eyes are bright and focused under the stadium lights. He doesn’t have the slump to his shoulders or defeat written into the lines of his face.