Sophomore Surge

by K R Collins

  “Like who?” Rossetti presses.

  X keeps smiling but doesn’t give her the answer she wants.

  Sophie hangs back after her shower, waits until X emerges from the trainers’ room so she can ambush him. He sighs when he sees her but follows her down the hall to the exit.

  “You took yourself out of the running for the captaincy.” She doesn’t want to see anyone else with the C this season. She knows the team has to move on—they can’t linger on the trade forever—but seeing anyone else with Matty’s C while the trade is still raw would be wrong. Maybe it would be okay if it was X, but he’s made it clear he doesn’t want it.

  “The next captain should be someone who’s going to be here for a long time.” He pauses and looks at her, until she gets it.

  “We agreed, no retirement talk. You’re our guy. You’re the guy. Who are we without you?” She can’t lose Matty and X. The three of them and Lindy were supposed to be the foundation supporting this team. They can’t lose half of their veteran squad in one go.

  “Sofe…” X drags a hand down his face and keeps walking down the hallway. “I’ve been here since Concord’s beginning. It sounds cool, but it means I’m old. I don’t have enough years left in me to lead this team the way a captain should. I’ll wear an A, and I’ll make my voice heard, but it would be unfair to the team if I accepted the captaincy. There are better options.”

  “You’re the only captain I’d accept this season.”

  “We both know it isn’t true. You’re too much of a hockey player. If Butler named Peets captain tomorrow, you’d stand in front of the media and tell them what a good choice he was.”

  She wants to argue, but he has a point. They fall quiet until they’re out of the building. “Tonight’s going to be hard.”

  “It is.” X doesn’t lie, and she’s not sure if she’s annoyed with him or not. She’s an adult and a professional hockey player, she doesn’t need to be coddled, but it would’ve been nice, even for a few minutes, to believe tonight won’t suck as much as she knows it will.

  They lose 2-3 against Toronto.

  It isn’t an embarrassing showing; they went up against a team who made it all the way to the Maple Cup Finals last season and held their own.

  But what the final score doesn’t show is how Concord played like they’d never seen a hockey puck before. In the first period they were outshot 17-2.

  What the final score doesn’t show is the dozens of times Sophie turned to ask Matty how to make the lines click better or how to get their team to stop making stupid mistakes.

  What the final score doesn’t show is the team in the locker room when the game is over, and they’ve lost and doubt creeps in. If Matty was traded it means their management doesn’t believe in this season. And if management doesn’t believe in this season, then why should the team?

  The A on Sophie’s chest feels as if it’s burning into her skin, but she doesn’t know what to say. How does she motivate a team of players who have given up? Every person in this room should want to be a part of a history-making team and instead, they quietly undress, shoulders heavy, because tomorrow they have to get out there and do the same thing again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THIS IS YOUR team now.

  Matty’s words stick with her. If he’s right, if this is her team, then she damn well better act like it. They have a lot of ground to make up if they want to qualify for the playoffs.

  With the back-to-back, her first chance to test her attitude is during warm-ups. She starts with the kids, because they don’t have seasons of disappointment weighing them down like X or the pressure of being one of the guys expected to defy the odds like Nelson or Merlin. Big Red and Spitz are still new and Peets looks spooked by being the second line center now, but she can work with this.

  “Ready for a big game?” She claps Spitz on the shoulder. “You on the first d-pairing, Peets here as the 2C, you’re giving Manchester a good rep.”

  “I still don’t know what Rocky’s going to do,” Big Red says. He glances over at Peter Rockburn, the guy they picked up in the trade. Everything else was draft picks and prospects, but Toronto wanted to dump his salary, and Concord needed a NAHL-ready center.

  “It’s hockey,” Sophie says. “You both know how to play. Read and react. You can do it.”

  She skates over to Zinger next. He’s working his stickhandling near the bench. He isn’t wearing his helmet and his black hair is sticking up in all directions, held together by sweat and too much gel. He looks up as she approaches. “It’s weird not playing with Peets.”

  “You’ll settle into playing with Rocky. Do you know what would help?”

  “Practice?” he asks drily.

  She laughs. “How about a goal?”

  She can’t imagine what it’s like to be Rocky, one moment on a team pushing to win it all and then suddenly on a team far down in the standings. She hasn’t talked to him besides a brief welcome, because he’s sticking close to the veteran guys, ones who have been traded around like he was.

  “Not all of us are you,” Zinger says. “We can’t decide we want a goal and score on the next shift.”

  “Then do it the old-fashioned way, hard work and patience.”

  She laughs again as he swats her. She skates over to Garfield and Nelson next, and her smile is replaced with something more guarded. While some of her teammates have seen a promotion since the trade, Garfield and Nelson were moved to the second line. Sophie’s the first line center, and Coach Butler kept her with her usual linemates, because they’ve spent nearly two seasons building their chemistry. It means a bump up for Merlin and Witzer and a bump down for Garfield and Nelson.

  In reality, it isn’t a difference in anything but name, but it doesn’t mean they’ll take it well. She and Nelson have always had a strained relationship. He wasn’t comfortable with having a woman on the team, and he puts up with her because he’s supposed to, not because he’s accepted her. He took Hayes’s side last year when she and her fellow rookie feuded. The A he was given after Thurman was traded was given to Sophie to start this season. She doesn’t think he’d hold a grudge against her for it, but she’s had teammates hate her for less.

  The two wingers stop passing the puck back and forth when they spot her. Nelson, now wearing an A again, flips her the puck. She catches it on her stick, tosses it into the air, and catches it with her glove.

  “I heard you’re rallying the troops,” Garfield says. “Silverman tweaked his groin last game. He’s slow going post to post.”

  “Let’s make him work then.” She hands Nelson his puck back. “Make sure you tell Peets. I need to finish my rounds.”

  She skates over to her linemates as Nelson gathers his own linemates to him.

  “Here comes trouble,” Witzer says.

  “Traffic and screens in front of Silverman all night. Cut off his lines of sight, force him to move, and we’ll score.”

  She leaves them to continue their warm-ups and seeks out Teddy. He’s deep in a split, rocking side-to-side to reach an even deeper stretch. “No groin trouble for you?”

  “That’s the hope.” He shifts into his butterfly. “How tired is everyone after last night’s game?”

  “We’ll be strong in front of you. This is an important game to win.” Quebec is in striking distance of Concord in the standings which makes these two critical points. It won’t do any good for them to overtake DC only for Quebec to leapfrog them at the last minute. They need to win and to do it in regulation.

  “They’re all important if we want to make the playoffs.”

  Sophie grins. “Now you’re getting it.”

  “I didn’t…” Teddy shakes his head. “Go practice scoring. I can’t do it on my own.”

  “You won’t have to.” Promise delivered, she leaves him to his stretches and grabs J-Rod and the other d-men to tell them about Silverman’s weakness.

  Last night, Sophie lost the opening faceoff to Matty. Tonight, she beats Coderr
e to start the game on the right note.

  Merlin carries the puck into the offensive zone, and passes to Sophie. She skates around the back of the net and fights off Coderre as he wraps his stick and then his arm around her to slow her progress. She collides with Rotrand and loses the puck. She steals it back, regaining possession long enough to trap it against the boards.

  She battles with Coderre on one side and Rotrand on the other until Witzer drops down to help her. They emerge with the puck, and Witzer passes up to Kevlar. He walks the blue line, evaluating, until Witzer pushes his way to the front of the net to act as a screen. Only then does Kevlar unload his shot.

  It’s blocked by Galloway, and the Bobcats start the puck the other way.

  Sophie’s first four shifts fall into a similar pattern; strong offensive work followed by scrambling on defense until Teddy bails them out.

  Her fifth shift is the same, a good push on Silverman’s net before a blocked shot sends Quebec the other way. But then it’s Concord’s turn to block a shot, and Sophie’s the one on the breakaway. She takes off down the ice, big powerful strides, until she’s too far ahead for any of the Quebec players to catch her.

  She approaches Silverman from the side, waits until he seals his post, and she crosses over, forcing him to push to the opposite post. Like Garfield told her during warm-ups, he’s slow, and she pokes the puck between his skate and the post before he can close the gap.

  One-nil.

  And the big five-oh.

  She spits her mouth guard into her glove, raises her arms above her head, and roars as the goal light flashes. Fifty fucking goals. She slaps the glass, laughing as the Quebec fans slap back, booing as if they can bring her down.

  She turns around in time for Merlin to knock into her. “Fuck yeah!” he shouts as he slaps her helmet.

  Witzer flies in, yelling more of the same, and chest bumps her into the boards.

  Kevlar and Theo are the last to reach her, but they each pat her helmet before Theo gives her a push toward the bench. She skates through the fist bump line and sits down next to Garfield. “Thanks for the tip. Silverman definitely isn’t as quick as he usually is.”

  “The goal was all you.”

  She raps her knuckles against his helmet. “Little bit you. Now, it’s your turn to make Silverman work, eh?”

  Garfield scores with two minutes left in the period. He and Sophie exchange a grin as he skates through the line at the bench. “Can’t let you have all the fun,” he says.

  With thirty seconds left in the game, Quebec cuts Concord’s lead in half. The stadium cheers as if they’ve won the game. There’s still another forty minutes left to play, but Sophie knows a goal can change the momentum of the game.

  She gathers her teammates to her on the bench. “We can’t get sloppy.” She has to shout to be heard above the crowd. “We play hard for the last thirty seconds and we carry our focus into the next period.”

  When they get to the locker room, Coach Butler throws his clipboard and says the same thing Sophie did but with more expletives.

  After intermission, Sophie leads her team to ice level, but she doesn’t jump on the ice right away. In the buildup to the game, she almost forgot something important. She slips behind her bench to the glass seats and ignores the jeers and the middle fingers, the fans who light up and show her the worst sides of themselves because they think she’s paying attention to them.

  She ignores them all as she searches the rows for the fan she wants to see. There, in a Trois-Rivières jersey, is Estelle. Sophie waves. When Estelle frowns, confused, she takes her helmet off and waves again. Estelle’s mouth drops open. She tugs her dad’s sleeve and points.

  Sophie waves again before she turns around and right into—Coach Butler.

  “The team needs you focused,” he says.

  She’s the most focused one on the team right now. She’s the only one who believes there’s still hope left for her season, and he’s wasting his time on her? “I am.”

  His gaze flicks behind her. “Are you?”

  She pops her mouth guard in and steps by him so she can get on the ice.

  She scores on the opening shift of the period. When she stares down her coach, he nods, pleased as if he’s the reason she put the puck in the back of the net. Her eyes narrow and frustration prickles under her skin until Kevlar crashes into her, knocking her irritation away.

  They win 3-1, and Sophie’s delayed with Teddy, because they’re both named as stars of the game. Teddy’s announced as the third star, Coderre is the second. As soon as Sophie’s announced as the first star, the few remaining fans boo as heartily as they can. She waves to them as she skates out to accept the accolades. Then she returns to the bench where none of her teammates are waiting for her.

  She doesn’t blame them. She’s cautious as she enters the locker room, prepared for a whipped cream pie to the face or a bucket of water dropped on her head, something light-hearted to welcome her to the fifty-goal club.

  Instead, Theo hands her a pizza box. The bottom of the box is still warm which means he ordered her a pizza to Quebec’s stadium. Why? And when?

  “Um.” She looks up from the box at Theo who grins as men with cameras crowd closer to catch her reaction. She opens the lid, half-expecting something to jump out at her. Instead, it’s a normal pizza. Well, not quite normal. There’s pineapple and ham on it, and she doesn’t understand why people insist on putting fruit on pizza. She glances up at him, still confused. “Thank you?”

  “Pineapple and ham.” Theo looks proud of himself. “It’s a Hawaiian pizza.”

  Sophie nods, hoping to stall until someone explains the joke to her.

  “Like Hawaii Five-0?” Theo asks.

  She ups her smile and holds the box out. “Anyone want a slice?”

  “Hopeless,” Theo says but he snags two pieces.

  Sophie’s phone buzzes nonstop from the locker room to the bus. She has congratulatory texts from Colby and Matty and some of the guys she played with at Chilton. Travis sent her a series of exclamation points and passed on Figuli’s congratulations. Her response to him is interrupted four times by texts from Dima. It takes her an embarrassingly long time to realize Dima is sending her fifty puck emojis one at a time.

  SOPHIE: I hate you. Why are you like this?

  Her phone buzzes with another three pucks.

  SOPHIE: Seriously. Why?

  Another seven come in while she’s texting Colby.

  “Someone’s popular,” Teddy says.

  “Dima.” Sophie glares at her phone as if it will make him stop. “Next time we play Boston, I’m going to check him so hard he forgets his name.”

  Teddy leans over to look at her phone. He laughs as more pucks pop up. “He’s being supportive.”

  “He’s being a pain in the ass,” she grumbles but she can’t quite keep the smile off her face.

  Buried in her texts from Dima is a message from Elsa congratulating her on the milestone. Sophie opens it a few times, intending to answer, but she doesn’t know what to say. Elsa knows how she feels. Sophie wants her on her wing more than anything, but she promised herself she wouldn’t pressure Elsa to come over. She opens the message again to stare at the words.

  Congrats on 50 goals. You would’ve had it sooner with a better left winger.

  It’s an echo of what Sophie told her after her four-goal opener this season. Is this another promise? Sophie’s musing is interrupted by another three pucks from Dima. She laughs and tucks her phone into her pocket.

  She pokes Teddy’s side. “When are you scoring your first goal? I’m running away with the competition here.”

  The final practice before their Denver game is brutal. Coach Butler pushes them hard and Sophie pushes herself even harder. She was the weak link last time they played, and she can’t afford a slipup tomorrow. Sure, they’re only on a one-game winning streak, but tonight could make it two. Has to make it two if they want a shot at the playoffs.

  She
stumbles up the stairs to her apartment, wrung out in the best of ways. Her legs tremble and her hands shake, nothing a solid meal and a long nap won’t fix. She unlocks her door, turns the handle and…runs into her closed door.

  She rubs her shoulder and frowns at her door before she tries the handle again. It’s locked. She must be more tired than she thought. She unlocks her door for real this time and opens it.

  Her dad is sitting on her couch. He has broad shoulders and a thick waist, two things she inherited from him. His hair is a light brown, almost blond in the summer. From the shoulders down she looks like her dad. From the neck up, the dark brown hair, blue eyes, pointed nose, she looks like her mom.

  Her dad insisted on renting a car at the airport, because he didn’t want to be stuck at the apartment while she’s at practice or games, which is fair, but she figured he would at least tell her when he arrived. Apparently not.

  “You should’ve told me you were here, I would’ve picked up something for lunch.” Her plan for herself was leftovers, but she feels weird offering them to her dad. He was her first coach, her first trainer, the first person to see potential in her and push her to reach it. She’s spent a lifetime trying to live up to his expectations of her, and two-day-old quinoa won’t cut it.

  “I ate at the airport.”

  He has a newspaper arranged on her coffee table, the sports section folded and waiting until he’s read everything else. She leaves him to his reading and pulls a couple of Tupperware boxes out of the fridge to heat up.

  Already, this is different than last year when her mom visited. She isn’t sure why she expected anything else. If Sophie’s team was blown out 2-9, her mom could find something positive to say about Sophie’s game. On the flipside, if her team won 9-2, her dad could find a dozen things for her to improve on.

  “Denver tomorrow,” her dad says. “Will you keep your cool this time?”

  She sighs and hopes the sound is covered by the microwave.

  “Don’t get huffy with me. You’re the one who lost your composure and broke a man’s nose.”