Sophomore Surge

by K R Collins

  “So am I,” she says.

  Teddy waves his girlfriend over. Alyssa brings Marissa and Merlin with her. As soon as she’s in reach, Teddy winds an arm around Alyssa’s waist and pulls her closer. “Did you know Sophie’s family is already back in Thunder Bay?”

  Sophie glares at her goalie and then glares harder when Alyssa says, “You’ll have to have dinner with us tonight.”

  “And your parents?” Teddy asks.

  “We can host dinner tonight,” Marissa volunteers. “Jeff’s parents left last night, and his dad bought the biggest roast you’ve seen. But if you don’t want leftovers—”

  “It sounds perfect,” Alyssa says. “We’ll bring a bottle of wine.”

  It almost makes her dizzy as they plan but by the end of it, it’s decided Sophie’s coming over for dinner and she doesn’t have to bring anything. She’ll bring the gingerbread cookies her mom baked yesterday, because she certainly isn’t showing up empty-handed, and she can’t eat all those cookies on her own.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THEY LOSE FOUR of their six games between Christmas break and the All-Star break, including back-to-back losses to close out the stretch. Sophie’s glad to escape Concord and fly down to Atlanta.

  Last year, the Commissioner made a big deal about Sophie during the All-Star Weekend, because she was the first woman drafted into the League. This year, he schedules as many photo-ops and press availabilities, because she’s the only woman in the League. When she first sees her schedule, crammed as full as possible, she snaps a picture and sends it to Gabrielle.

  SOPHIE: Looking forward to some help with this.

  Gabrielle sends back a picture of her in goal, her mask covering her face. Sophie laughs and tucks her phone away so she can change for her first event.

  By the time she makes it to the draft, in her third outfit of the day, her feet ache because her stylist forced her into heels. She’s in sneakers now at least, but she sits next to Dima and pouts as she leans against his side.

  “You’re already tired?” Dubya asks.

  “The Mayor of Atlanta staged a street hockey game with the local Girl Scouts. I’m exhausted.”

  Dima laughs and pats her head. “Hard to be so famous.”

  She jabs him viciously in the side and he yelps and jabs her back.

  “Children,” Dubya sighs.

  Riley Dennison joins their table, and he lifts his opaque water bottle in a toast. “To the players on shitty teams who still get stuck in this farce.”

  Dubya laughs. “Speak for yourself. We’re good enough to have two of us.” He glances at Sophie. “Concord sucks, though.”

  Sophie rolls her eyes. To Dennison she says, “Sorry about your season,” because right now Indy makes Concord look like Cup contenders.

  “Someone has to snap Seattle’s first overall pick streak.” He takes a long drink from his bottle and makes a face as he swallows.

  A couple of tables over, Eldon Carruthers sits with some of the Western Conference guys. Sophie hopes they’re drafted to separate teams so she has an extra opportunity to compete against him this year. So far she’s winning her battle with him, but this is the biggest stage they’ve been at together. Neither Seattle nor Concord are talented enough to attract anything beyond local attention. The All-Star Game will have a wider reaching audience, and she’ll make another argument for why she should’ve been picked first at their draft instead of him.

  As if he can feel her gaze, Carruthers looks over. He frowns when he catches her staring, and she lifts her water bottle in what could be considered a friendly gesture.

  “Besides, this is a good year to suck.” Dennison’s still talking, and Sophie forces her attention back to her table. “Chad Kensington is something else.”

  Sophie huffs. All the talking heads are playing up the small American forward who has a decent shot at being the first pick this year, but Sophie doesn’t care about him. She’d much rather talk about the power forward who has the potential to force herself into the conversation and, in Sophie’s hopes, to the number one slot. “Alexis Engelking is better.”

  To her surprise, Dennison shrugs instead of immediately disputing it. “Maybe, but your girl staying in Sweden dampened the excitement over drafting women. They’re flaky, can’t be relied on.”

  Sophie narrows her eyes. “Elsa isn’t ‘my girl’ and she didn’t ruin anything.”

  Dennison holds his hands up. “Hot button issue, sorry. Maybe we’ll get Kensington and Engelking. We have New Orleans’ first round pick and they suck almost as badly as we do. You think she’ll go first round?”

  “She’s hard on the puck, she doesn’t quit on plays, and she has the kind of fight your team’s lacking.” Sophie could give a much more in-depth scouting report, but this isn’t the time or place for it.

  “I already apologized for the dig against Nyberg. No need to drag my team.”

  Sophie shrugs. It’s a deserved criticism, but she lets it go as the Commissioner approaches the microphone on stage and is booed by everyone packed into the venue. The players are in a separate room, watching the opening address from the TV screens scattered across the room or, in the case of two tables over, making a drinking game out of the Commissioner’s speech.

  After the Commissioner, the two All-Star captains for the year walk through separate doors. Corey Freedman, Atlanta’s captain, is greeted by rousing cheers. Anthony Sinclair’s entrance is barely noticed. They step up to the microphone as the draft begins.

  “Fucking Sinclair,” Dennison mutters. He takes a long drink from his bottle.

  “You better save the rest,” Dubya advises. “You’ll need it if he picks you.”

  At least Sophie won’t go last this year. Sinclair would rather play down a forward than select her for his team. It’s not like second-to-last is much better, but it’ll still be an improvement over last year.

  “Sophie’s here to protect me.” Dennison grins, pleased with his joke, but he cuts her a glance as if he’s worried she’ll be mad.

  “Haven’t you heard? I’m reformed. No more breaking noses for me.”

  “It was a long time coming.” Dubya taps his fingers on the table as Freedman selects his Atlanta teammate, James Levesque, as his first pick.

  “Maybe I’ll fight him this weekend,” Dima says.

  “You definitely will not.”

  Sinclair selects Rawlings, his Denver teammate, as his first pick and Dubya covers a yawn when the cameras pan the room for a reaction. Figuli is chosen next and then Dima. Sophie kicks him under the table when it looks like he might not walk out. Eventually, he goes and accepts the Team Sinclair jersey his temporary captain hands him.

  Sophie’s selected next. She’s disappointed she won’t have a chance to center Dima again, but she pulls her Team Freedman jersey over her head and sits down next to Figuli.

  “Hey, rookie,” Figuli says. “How many points do you think we’ll score this time?”

  “I’m not focused on numbers. I want to play the best hockey I can. If we focus and work hard, the points will come.” She manages a straight face until she spots Levesque, staring as if he thinks she’s being serious. She cracks then, smiling and holding back her laughter as the draft continues.

  In the second-to-last pick, Freedman selects Dubya. He has to pass the Team Sinclair section, and Dima grabs Dubya’s hand and tries to steal him for his side. Freedman playfully breaks it up and the crowd laughs and cheers as Dima wipes away fake tears.

  He has a talent for charming the cameras, and the crowds. Sophie was fiercely jealous of it last season. Cameras are her enemy, hovering as they search for any sign of weakness they can turn back on her. Dima’s ease with them made her angry until she realized he hammed it up in order to hide how his English wasn’t perfect. He always laughed first because it meant everyone would be laughing with him instead of at him.

  When the cameras land on her, looking for a reaction, she shakes her head, only a hint of a smile on her fac
e as if to say Oh Ivanov. Never focused, never serious.

  They all have their parts to play.

  The post-draft Team Freedman party is held in Figuli’s room. Sophie navigates it with her Gatorade bottle clutched in her hands like a lifeline. Despite the knowing look Ducasse gives her, she only has Gatorade in it. There’s no Dima to hang out with this year, no cluster of rookies to seek refuge with. She’s debating whether or not she’s been here long enough to justify ducking out when Eldon Carruthers finds her.

  He’s drunk and bumps into her shoulder as if he misjudged the distance between them. He squints, dark eyes even darker in their corner of the room. “You don’t like me.”

  Sophie opens her mouth and closes it again. Of all the things she expected him to lead with, this wasn’t one of them. She doesn’t know what to say, no hockey clichés to fall back on. Because he’s right, she doesn’t like him. He went first in their draft when it should’ve been her, and she knows it isn’t his fault, but he’s a convenient person to blame.

  Carruthers, apparently, doesn’t need a response from her. “I mean, it’s whatever. Everyone knows why you broke Sinclair’s nose, but I never did anything to you. I don’t think I did, at least.”

  Tucked away in their corner of the room, no one’s paying attention to them. Maybe it’s what makes her brave enough to tell the truth. “You went first in our draft. You’re my measuring stick.” It won’t change how she was picked last, but maybe it will pave the way for another woman to be chosen first.

  “Not really.” Carruthers’ shoulders slump as if all those expectations are finally hitting him. “I was first overall and what did I do? Sucked enough for us to get another first overall. It’s kind of nice, though. When I came in last year, Hippo looked so fucking happy, and I didn’t get it. I thought he’d be jealous, y’know? He was supposed to be the savior of the franchise and here I was replacing him. But we lost and lost and lost and when we drafted Tippy, I finally understood. Let him be the savior. All I want is to play hockey.”

  This is the most she’s ever heard him say in his life, but she still doesn’t know how to respond. Sorry Seattle sucks?

  “It’s fucking depressing,” Carruthers continues. “It rains all the fucking time and a good season is one where we don’t get a top-five pick. I don’t want to be stuck here for the rest of my career.” He sways into her, and she can smell the booze on his breath. When she steadies him, she notices the tears gathering in his eyes. “Sometimes, I forget how much I love hockey.”

  “O-kay,” Sophie says. “You need a Gatorade hat trick and to go to sleep. Who’re you staying with?”

  “So you don’t need to hate me.” He keeps on going as if she didn’t say anything at all. “I’m suffering enough.”

  He drapes his arms over her, half-hug, half-bid for support. She holds him up and looks around, hoping for someone to help her.

  Freedman and Figuli head over, her captain for the weekend taking Carruthers from her. He wraps an arm around the Seafarer’s waist and talks quietly as he leads him out of the room.

  “Everything okay?” Figuli asks.

  Sophie’s chest is heavy as if she’s about to cry. “Seattle sounds rough.”

  “It’s hard not to win.”

  Figuli’s never won the Cup in all his years in the League. If Carruthers is broken after only a season and a half in Seattle, how much worse is it for Figuli who has been here for so much longer? Is it easier for him since he’s made it to the playoffs, even made it to the Finals? Or is it worse having come so close and never winning?

  They’re winning the game this weekend. She knows it isn’t the same as lifting the Cup, it isn’t even close, but she’ll set her rivalry with Carruthers aside and remind him hockey is fun. There’s a reason they’ve dedicated their lives to the sport, sacrificed time with their family, and collected a myriad of bruises.

  They love this sport, even if it doesn’t always love them back.

  Sophie’s the first one at breakfast the next morning by virtue of being the only hockey player in the hotel who isn’t sleeping off a hangover. She’s done with her eggs when Dima and Dubya stumble in. Dennison and Ducasse trail them. The older players find a table together, but Dima brings his coffee to where she is.

  He clutches his mug like a lifeline and breathes in the steam.

  “I heard it works better if you drink it.”

  Dima flips her off, and she laughs and keeps eating. A few minutes later, Carruthers wanders in. Sophie waves him over to their table. The Seafarer squints at her as if he’s not sure what he’s seeing.

  Dima fetches him and grabs some breakfast while he’s up.

  “It’s way too early,” Carruthers says as he sits down. “Berry hid his phone, turned the alarm up to full volume, and crashed in someone else’s room. Asshole.”

  “Kids up even earlier,” Dima says. “Outside rink already.”

  Sophie checks her phone. It’s quarter past nine. “They’ve set everything up?” Her hotel room faces the wrong way so she can’t see the stadium from her window.

  “Oh yeah. Camp is there. Everyone is in bright pink T-shirts.”

  She thinks about what J-Rod told Zinger at surprise pizza. He was introduced to hockey at the All-Star Weekend when a player took the time to talk to him. He wishes one of the southwest cities would host so hockey could pick up traction in places where it isn’t already popular. Atlanta isn’t one of the big hockey markets. How many kids are here because they’re bored and it’s something to do? How many might fall in love with hockey if someone would only nudge them toward it?

  She eats faster. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her companions.

  “Where’s the fire?” Carruthers asks.

  “I want to go outside.”

  Dima wrinkles his nose. “Photos?”

  “This isn’t part of my schedule. I want to try some of the games. You can play goalie against me.”

  “Not stupid.” Dima laughs, though, and drinks the rest of his coffee in two big swallows. “Change first?”

  Dima’s currently wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt covered in sheep gleefully bounding over a fence. She’s almost afraid of what he’ll choose to wear outside. His fashion decisions are…creative. Sophie stands up, done with her breakfast. Dima stands too and, when Carruthers doesn’t stand with him, he clears his throat. “You come too.”

  “What?”

  Dima wraps Carruthers’ bagel in a napkin and says, “Eat and walk.”

  Carruthers looks to Sophie for help but she grins instead of saying anything, so he shrugs and follows them. They stop off at their rooms long enough to change. Sophie puts on one of her pairs of Under Armour, the warm ones because it’s chilly out this morning. She layers a long-sleeve shirt and her All-Star sweatshirt. It has her name and number on the sleeve and, more importantly, it has a hood.

  She flips the hood up and meets Dima and Carruthers outside her door. They’re dressed the same except their hoods are down. Dima laughs at her but as soon as they’re outside, he flips his hood up too, because even though it’s Georgia, it’s still winter and it’s cold.

  They hear the kids before they see them, but when they turn the corner of the hotel, Sophie pauses because the front of the stadium is packed. There are mini-rinks set up and shooting challenges and tables of official NAHL merchants hawking their wares. Dima nudges her and points to the rack of Fournier jerseys, both Concord and All-Star styled ones, as if she hadn’t noticed them.

  “I already have a few of those but thanks.” She laughs as he shoves her. She leads them across the street to pick what they’re doing first.

  There’s a cutout of a goalie guarding a net with a few open spaces to try to shoot the puck. Kid after kid takes the stick the attendant offers them and tries to score five-hole or high corner.

  A couple of kids have brought their own sticks, and they fare much better. There’s one, a girl who doesn’t look more than ten, who’s wearing a pink Fournier jersey who steps in
to try, holding a neon pink hockey stick.

  “Wait!” Dima shouts. He vaults into the setup, and the attendant opens his mouth to scold him before he realizes who it is. Then he freezes as if he wasn’t trained on how to react to a NAHL player hijacking his station. Dima pushes the fake goalie out of the way and then crouches in front of the net. “Now you go.”

  The girl looks from Dima to her mom as if to ask is this okay?

  “Sir,” the mother says, and Sophie has to bite back her laugh. “Could you please let my daughter shoot?”

  Sophie steps in next, offering the mother and daughter a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. You can shoot at him. Do you want me to demonstrate for you?”

  The girl looks at Sophie, then Dima, and hesitantly hands her stick over. It’s much shorter than Sophie’s preferred stick and the blade has the wrong curve, but she can work with this. She shows the girl where to put her hands. “A lot of people think it’s about the wind-up, but you don’t need a big swing to be effective. Where do you want me to put the puck?”

  “Hey!” Dima protests. “I didn’t sign up for you. I’m not wearing a cup!”

  Sophie’s smile grows. “Poor choice on your part.”

  Dima shields himself with his hands, leading to laughter from the growing crowd. Sophie snipes the puck top corner. “Now, you try,” she tells the girl. “I’ll be here to help you.”

  Dima tosses Sophie the puck and she sets it down on the ground. Once the girl is holding her stick again, Sophie stands behind her and adjusts her grip. She guides her through the motion twice before stepping back. Dima moves too, and the girl knocks the puck into an unguarded net.

  “Now you have to practice a thousand more times.”

  The girl’s eyes grow wide. “A thousand?”

  “A thousand a day,” Dima adds, joining them. He opens the door so they can step out and the next kid can take his turn. “Two thousand if you want to be great like me. Only one to be like Sophie.”