Sophomore Surge

by K R Collins

  Big Red grins, accepting the accusation. He’s cute in a puppyish sort of way, full of enthusiasm and almost always sporting a wide smile.

  “Take Peets with you,” Garfield suggests. “He has a girlfriend.”

  There’s some shuffling as the younger guys are shooed from the booth to dance. As they settle back into the booth, Sophie ends up next to Teddy. The guys fight over who has to buy the next round and what kind of beer they want, occasionally taking a pause to laugh at the kids as they dance.

  “You have the start against Minneapolis,” Sophie tells Teddy.

  His smile is fond even if it’s also a touch exasperated. “We’re out celebrating two wins, and you’re already looking forward to our next game?”

  “We need to close out the season strong.”

  Teddy shrugs and loses his smile. He looks older and worried, his shoulders weighted down with the pressure of the start. “Rust is one of the best American players of all time.”

  “You’ll stop him.” Sophie nudges her pineapple drink toward him. “Do you want this?”

  “Fuck no.”

  She laughs and braces herself before she takes a long swallow. She grimaces but when Theo looks over she gives him a thumbs-up.

  “Liar,” Teddy whispers.

  She elbows him and lets him steer them away from hockey so he can talk about Alyssa’s class. They’re gearing up for Colonial Day, which is apparently some kind of American tradition where the kids all wear bonnets and dresses or boots and trousers to school and make candles. It’s not the strangest thing she’s seen since coming to America, but it’s up there.

  She finishes her drink as Teddy explains to her how to make a powdered wig out of cotton balls and pieces of yarn. She smiles politely during a breakdown of colonial diets. Finally, though, she checks her phone and decides it’s time for her to turn in.

  “You’re leaving?” Merlin asks as Kevlar hands her her jacket. “Don’t tell me you have a curfew because your dad’s in town.”

  “I don’t have a curfew.”

  No one looks as if they believe her, but none of them stop her either so she counts it as a win. She makes it outside in time to see Spitz helping a woman into a cab. He spent most of the night dancing with her; she knows because the guys took bets on whether they’d leave together, and cheered raucously when they finally did. At least the bar was noisy enough Spitz and the woman didn’t hear.

  The cab drives away with the woman inside and Spitz on the curb. He spots Sophie and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “She was really drunk. I didn’t—I—”

  Sophie cuts off his stammering with a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t need to give her an explanation for why he isn’t going home with someone. “You’re a good guy. Do you want a ride home?” She holds up her car keys.

  He hesitates as if he thinks her offer is a trap.

  “No girl talk,” she promises. “We have the Minneapolis game to look forward to. We’re winning it for Teddy.”

  “One shift at a time?” Spitz guesses.

  They share a smile.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE NEXT MORNING in the locker room, Sophie’s changing from her workout gear into her practice gear when Garfield and Nelson ambush Spitz. Garfield tugs at the collar of his shirt, examining his neck, and he sounds disappointed as he asks, “Not a biter? She looked like a biter.”

  Spitz flushes and bats Garfield’s hands away.

  “Maybe the neck’s too obvious. Did she bite your thighs?” Nelson eyes Spitz’s legs, his thick thighs barely contained by his flimsy spandex. Spitz shuffles backward as if he’s afraid Nelson’s going to yank down his shorts to check.

  “Spitz likes the gentle ones,” Peets volunteers. He grins brightly as Spitz glares at him. “You know, hand-holding, whispered confessions while sharing the same pillow…” He touches his hand to his heart and sighs.

  Spitz, his face bright red now, flips off his friend which leads to another raucous round of laughter.

  “Seriously, though.” Nelson’s determined not to let this go. “How was your night?”

  A few new guys trickle into the locker room, zeroing in on the conversation. It makes it even more obvious when Spitz glances at Sophie. Is he looking for her to rescue him? She could easily shut down this whole conversation by saying he didn’t take anyone home, but Spitz could’ve done it from the beginning. Does he want them thinking he took a girl home?

  “Sofe doesn’t care if you give us the dirty details,” Merlin says. “But if you’re concerned about her delicate ears…” He claps his hands over Sophie’s ears and then shouts loud enough for her to hear anyway. “You can tell us now!”

  Sophie knocks Merlin’s hands away. “Hurry up and change.” When no one moves, except Nelson so he can lift up Spitz’s shirt, she adds, “Last one on the ice has to help Merlin clean up the pucks.”

  “What?” Merlin squawks.

  “If he’s last, does he have to do it on his own?” Big Red asks.

  Sophie grins and there’s suddenly a mad rush to get changed, everyone forgetting about Spitz and his night.

  Merlin is trying, and failing, to use his seniority on the team to make Big Red help him after practice when Coach Butler says, “Fournier, you’re with me.”

  “Oooh,” the team choruses.

  Coach looks as unimpressed with them as Sophie feels. She looks down at her skates, but before she can even ask her question, he answers. “As you are is fine.”

  “Someone’s in trouble,” Wilchinski sing-songs.

  X claps Wilchinski on the back. “Thanks for volunteering to help Merlin.”

  Nelson, because he’s an asshole, knocks a bucket of pucks to the ice, scattering them. “Oops.”

  Sophie’s glad to leave X to corral their teammates. She puts her skate guards on and awkwardly waddles after Coach Butler. When they reach his office, she pauses, because Coach Vorgen, Mr. Pauling, and Mr. Wilcox are all there.

  Is she in trouble? Why is she having a post-practice meeting with two of her coaches, her GM, and her team’s owner? She takes her helmet down and pats her hair once before giving up on it.

  “You have exceeded our expectations recently,” Mr. Pauling tells her. He offers her a warm smile as she sits cautiously in one of the chairs. “You’ve had an offensive breakout in the latter half of the season and, more importantly, your game against Denver demonstrated your personal growth.”

  Mr. Wilcox and Coach Vorgen both nod. She feels like she needs to say something so she offers a tentative, “Thank you.”

  “The team looks to you now,” Coach Vorgen tells her.

  She can’t help her quick glance at her head coach. His lips are pursed in a straight line, clearly unhappy they look to her first and him second. It’s something she’ll have to be wary of, because she doesn’t want to be seen as stepping on his toes. The coach is the first authority on the team, then the captain, then the As. It’s the hierarchy she’s had drilled into her since her first organized team.

  “For these reasons, and others, we’re offering you the captaincy of the Concord Condors,” Mr. Pauling says.

  Sophie’s brain screeches to a halt. Matty’s been gone for three games, and they want to pin the C to her sweater? She doesn’t command the locker room the way he does. Maybe the team does look to her now, but she doesn’t have the answers they need. She—

  Another one of the hardest things in hockey is when they ask you to train your replacement.

  This is your team now.

  They traded Matty with the intention of slotting Sophie into his place.

  She sags back against her seat, feeling small inside her pads. She would be the first woman to wear the C, another accomplishment to add to her growing list. But…she isn’t ready for it. What has she done to earn it besides not get traded? Yeah, she scored her fiftieth career goal a couple games ago, and she didn’t completely lose her shit this time against Denver, but those aren’t reasons for a captaincy. Those are basi
c expectations.

  She looks around the room, at the three men smiling as they wait for her acceptance and the one whose expression is neutral as if they’re down by two in a big game. She takes a steadying breath. “Thank you for the offer, but I have to decline.”

  Mr. Wilcox’s smile slips from his face.

  Mr. Pauling chuckles. “Not ready for it yet?”

  “No, sir,” she answers, glad he understands. As the first woman in the League, she can’t accept the captaincy because she’s a convenient body. She has to prove she deserves it before she can wear it. There will always be people willing to tell her how she doesn’t deserve her place in hockey which makes it even more important for her to believe she deserves it.

  If, when she’s ready, they make the offer again she’ll accept the responsibility and do her best to live up to it.

  “You have sixteen games left this season.” Mr. Pauling has grown serious again. “When I ask you again this off-season, I expect you to be ready.”

  No pressure, though. “Thank you. Is there anything else you need?”

  “You’re good. Go home, spend some time with your dad. I hope he’s enjoying his first Dads’ Trip.”

  “He is.” Sophie offers them a strained smile and books it out of there as fast as she can still in her full gear.

  She makes it downstairs before she feels safe enough to lean against the wall. They offered her Matty’s captaincy after she spent months doing her best to make sure they would keep him. And now she has sixteen games to make sure she’s ready to accept it when Mr. Pauling offers it again.

  If he offers it again, a small part of her brain whispers.

  “Sophie!”

  Sophie pushes off the wall, media smile already fixed to her face before she realizes it’s only Mary Beth. Her PR manager falters when she sees Sophie’s expression. “Congratulations not in order, then?”

  How many people know? Will this leak and poison the rest of their season? Is Lenny Dernier going to dedicate an entire segment to how she never should’ve been offered the letter in the first place?

  “Breathe,” Mary Beth tells her.

  Sophie drags in a shuddering breath. “Sorry. I—I said no.” Hearing it out loud makes her wonder, again, if she made the wrong choice. She’s spent years and years battling to prove she belongs in the same league as men and now, when she was offered tangible proof her front office at least sees her as belonging, she turned it down?

  Mary Beth’s expression doesn’t change. “Then I guess we don’t need an emergency PR meeting.”

  “Yeah. Um, thank you.” Sophie slips into the locker room, hoping for a few moments to collect her thoughts.

  Instead, her team is still mostly here and a lot of them are naked. Big Red yelps and grabs a towel as if they haven’t been sharing a locker room all season. It’s enough to make her laugh as she sits in her stall and unlaces her skates.

  She strips out of her gear, down to her spandex when Merlin nudges her. “What did Coach want?” He whispers but the locker room is quiet enough for his words to carry as if everyone was waiting to see who would ask her.

  “I saw Pauling and Wilcox in the building,” Nelson adds and the scrutiny grows.

  Lindy looks at her with his goalie stare as if he can somehow beam the answer out of her head. Next to him, X looks as if he’s waiting for confirmation of something he already knows. She’s careful not to look at either of them as she answers. “They liked my game against Denver.”

  “Seriously?” Merlin asks, let down.

  He isn’t the only one.

  Lindy and X are both staring so hard it’s as if they’re trying to read her mind so Sophie pulls her ace card. She tugs her shirt off and everyone immediately finds somewhere else to look, as if there’s something scandalous about a woman in a sports bra.

  X lingers while she showers so he can walk out with her. Not only does it mean she can’t ditch him, there’s no one she can pull into their conversation to save her from something she absolutely doesn’t want to talk about.

  “They liked your game against Denver?” X asks.

  She shrugs. It wasn’t her best deflection, but it wasn’t a lie. They did like her game against Denver, because it apparently showed the kind of growth they wanted in order to name her captain. She isn’t sure showing enough restraint to keep from breaking Sinclair’s nose again deserves a captaincy, though. A sainthood? Maybe. Not a captaincy.

  “And Quebec. They congratulated me on the big five-oh. No pineapple involved which was a relief.”

  “It’s an American thing. They—” X catches himself and frowns at her. “You’re trying to distract me. There’s only one reason our owner and GM arranged a meeting with you and Butler.”

  “A couple of reasons,” Sophie says, one last desperate attempt to deflect. “I mean, I am the first woman in the League, and women require special handling. They’re very emotional.” X’s sharp look makes her sigh. “I’m done. Ask your question.”

  “Outright or you won’t answer it?”

  She refuses to give him answers he doesn’t request. It’s too ingrained in her not to give any more information than necessary. X isn’t a reporter or a stranger trying to squeeze out details of her life, but she’s still guarded.

  “They offered you the C,” X says.

  It’s a relief to hear him say it, even as she flinches away from the words.

  “You turned it down?” He sounds incredulous as if he didn’t immediately cut off anyone’s thoughts of offering him the C once Matty was traded.

  They’ve reached the parking lot now, and Sophie does an instinctive sweep to make sure no one’s around to overhear them. “I told you. You’re the only person I would accept this season with a C on their sweater.”

  “You’re the next captain of the Concord Condors.”

  “Maybe. But it isn’t happening this season.” She holds up a hand as he opens his mouth to protest. “I know Matty’s gone, and we aren’t getting him back. It doesn’t mean I’m ready to lead the way they want me to.”

  “As soon as they iron the C onto your jersey, everyone will follow you.”

  She rolls her eyes. “If the only reason my teammates listen to me is because of a letter on my chest, I don’t deserve it. They need to listen to me first.”

  “You’re a good kid.”

  “Not a kid,” she mutters and he laughs before he tugs on the end of her ponytail.

  She’s wrung out by the time she makes it home, looking forward to eating something and taking a long nap. Only, when she opens her apartment door, the first thing she sees is her dad, sitting on the couch, with a game tape of Minneapolis playing on her TV.

  She pauses and only belatedly remembers to close the door behind her. “How do you have this?”

  Her dad pauses the game as if he doesn’t want to miss a single shift. He studies her, critical, then says, “You don’t seem happy.”

  “Did Coach Vorgen give you this?”

  “I was hoping to go over their style with you before Philip and I go out.”

  Who the hell is Philip?

  “But you were late,” her dad continues.

  Her chest aches, a sharp familiar pain. Ah, Dad’s disappointment. She drops her bag by the door and wanders into the kitchen to put together something to eat.

  “Did something happen at practice?”

  She taps her fingers against her fridge as she peers inside. The more people she tells, the more likely something will leak out. But she can trust her dad, and she has to talk about it with someone or she’ll end up blurting it to Marty Owen in the middle of her presser tomorrow. Talking to X had been good, but she couldn’t tell him how she actually felt. She might be his captain next year. She can’t share her doubts or her fears or her blinding rage with him.

  She glances at her dad, unsure if she can really share it with him either. “I was offered the captaincy.”

  “Of course you were. Will you wear the C against Minneapolis?”


  She closes the fridge to turn and stare. “What do you mean of course?”

  “It’s obvious they dropped Mathers to make room for you to grow.”

  Anger bubbles up. She wasn’t allowed to be angry in front of her GM or her owner. And forget about showing emotion in front of her coach. But now she curls her fingers around her granite countertop and takes a vicious pleasure in saying, “I’m not the captain.”

  Her dad stands up so he can see her over the back of the couch. “What?”

  She doesn’t repeat herself. He knows what she said.

  Her dad shakes his head. “You turned it down? What have we been working toward your entire life if it wasn’t this?”

  “The goal was always the NAHL, and I made it.” She might have been drafted last, but she’s carving a place for herself in this League. And, apparently, squeezing other people out in the process. When did Matty realize they were grooming her to take his place? How doesn’t he hate her for it?

  “Making it doesn’t mean your place is secure. The C will help.”

  Sophie can’t help but laugh. “It’ll protect me the way it protected Matty? I said no. I’m wearing the A for the rest of the season.”

  “And if they don’t offer it to you again?”

  “Then I didn’t deserve it in the first place.”

  There’s a long, terse silence, before he says, “I see.” He goes back to the guest room and Sophie follows him as far as the hallway, but she pauses outside his room, unwilling to intrude in his space even if, technically, every room in this apartment is hers.

  “What do you mean I see?”

  She and her dad have had epic blowups over the years, all stemming from hockey. Sometimes, they shout until they don’t have words while her mom wrings her hands and tries to play peacemaker. Sometimes, they yell until Sophie’s eyes prickle with tears because he won’t listen and she has to walk away because there’s no crying in hockey. Sometimes, rarely, her dad is the one who walks away, because he won’t admit to being wrong but he will put a fight on hold if he doesn’t think he’ll win.