by Sara Biren
Showbiz, standing next to me, grins and gives me a little nudge with his elbow.
“Now it’s time to think about the game,” Coach says. “Go out there and play your hearts out, like you do every game.”
We huddle up in the center of the locker room, hands in. All in.
“On three,” Wes yells, and Carter counts it off.
“Refuse to lose. Whatever it takes,” my teammates and I yell.
When I step out onto the freshly cleared ice, a few spots still streaked with water, I’m fueled by every emotion I’ve felt today.
My first shift, I come off the bench and connect with a pass from Luke, catch the goalie off guard, and, with a graceful flick of my wrist, send the puck flying high into the upper left corner of the net.
Whatever it takes.
Chapter Twenty
Later that night, my phone buzzes.
Wes: Great game tonight. You were ON. ALL IN. Proud of you.
My heart flutters with excitement and confusion and promise, all of it. Wes is proud of me.
In my head, I text him: Every time I’m near you, even though you irritate the hell out of me, I feel this connection, this electricity, and I’m not sure that I hate you anymore.
In reality:
Me: Thanks. Same to you. Nice goal.
Wes scored the game winner in the third period, three minutes and forty-one seconds left on the clock and the game tied at three.
Another buzz. A video.
I click to download, and it takes a while, but eventually I’ve got it. I rotate my phone for a better view. The video is somewhat out of focus and unsteady, but I can tell it’s at the arena, in the hallway in front of the guys’ locker room. I see Wes and Fink and the cameraman. The camera shakes and I hear his little sister’s voice: “Mom, I got this.” The shot zooms in.
To Wes. Still in full gear, his helmet tucked under his arm. His dark hair is damp and hangs in his eyes. He’s smiling, cheeks flushed; clearly, the clock has run down, and we’ve just won the game. Off camera, I hear:
“I’m here with Hawks co-captain Wesley Millard, formerly of the state championship Great River Thunder. This is your second year here in Halcyon Lake, your second year playing with a female on the squad. How has that impacted your level of play, Wes?”
Even though I can see only the top half of him, I can tell he’s shifting his skates back and forth underneath him as he speaks. “Truthfully, I was apprehensive at first. But since my first practice with the Hawks, it’s clear how much Holland contributes to this team. Maybe not in points, but in positive attitude and determination. She’s got a lot of skill, yes, but really? I think I admire her most for her grit, and not just because she’s female. How many people do you know who would basically put themselves in the line of fire like this every week? She makes me want to be a better player.”
The film shakes again and then the video stops, and my breath shakes, too, for a few seconds.
I lean back against my pillows, my phone in my hand, trying to think of a response. What can I say that will adequately describe to Wes how I’m feeling right now, how much this video means to me? Even if the TV station takes the film and twists it around and makes it seem like Wes can’t stand being in the same arena as me, I’ve got the raw footage. I’ve got the proof. I watch the video again.
Maybe I made a mistake, telling Wes I couldn’t date him. Maybe Morgan’s right. Maybe Wes and I could make it work.
Maybe.
My buzzing phone jars me from my thoughts.
Wes: Dutch you there?
Life is short, I think. Take the shot.
Me: ♥
Me: Thanks for that. And for before the interview. I needed to hear it.
Wes: I mean every single word.
His next text is a YouTube link. I laugh before I even click. This is going to be good. And it is. Survivor, “Eye of the Tiger.” I watch, mesmerized by the cheesy lights and cinematography as the guys in the band walk down the street in time to the powerful beat of the drums. Then I search for something equally cheesy and wonderful to send in return.
It’s a few minutes before he responds. He must be watching the entire video, Europe’s “The Final Countdown,” one of my all-time favorites.
Wes: The lead singer is so pretty. His makeup is A+.
I snort.
Me: His makeup game is better than mine. In fact, he’s prettier than me.
The little bubbles that indicate he’s replying start and stop, start and stop.
Me: I’m not fishing for a compliment if that’s what you think.
Bubbles. Bubbles.
Wes: I think you’re much prettier than that guy.
He sends another link. Guns N’ Roses, “Paradise City,” where the grass is green, and the girls are pretty. Clever.
Another text arrives before I finish watching the video, so I switch back over to messages. Another link. Metallica, “Enter Sandman.”
Wes: Sweet dreams Dutch.
Me: You are sick.
Bubbles. Then the bubbles disappear.
My finger hovers over the keyboard. It would be so easy to tell him, to type those words that have settled into the back of my mind: I don’t think I hate you anymore. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we could do this.
Me: Off to never never land. Good night.
Chapter Twenty-One
The interview airs two nights later. My grandparents join us for my favorite dinner: turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole with the little crunchy onions, and chocolate espresso cake for dessert. My contribution to the meal is a sweet and spicy cranberry relish made with cayenne pepper for a little kick. No one expects this from me, but everyone seems to love it. Carter even foregoes gravy for the relish on his second helping of turkey.
Wes would love it, although it might be a little mild for his taste.
Grandma volunteers Jesse and Carter to do the dishes, Mom makes popcorn, and the rest of us settle into the living room to wait for the interview. The minutes tick by. I sit on my hands to keep from biting my nails to the quick. There’s a crash from the kitchen, Carter mutters, “Shit,” and a few minutes later, Jesse and Carter come in bickering about who dropped the casserole lid.
“You two,” Dad says. “Zip it and sit down. It’s almost time for your sister’s fifteen minutes of fame.”
“She’ll be lucky if she gets five,” Jesse says as he plops down on the floor in front of the ottoman and leans against it.
Carter sits next to me on the couch. “Hey,” he says quietly, “you breathing over there? Deep breath, Holls.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice shakes.
“Give me three deep breaths.”
I take a breath for the count of four, hold it for a beat, then exhale for a count of six. And then I do it twice more. Sometimes I like to crank up Foo Fighters really loud and release all my pent-up, negative feelings, and sometimes I like to meditate. Both work.
Mom comes in with a tray of bowls filled with salty, buttery popcorn, but I shake my head when she offers. For once in my life, I’m too wound up to eat.
The weather guy wraps up the forecast and the camera cuts to the female anchor. “When we come back,” she says in that poised, television personality voice, “Jason Fink of affiliate station KSPL takes us to the fifth and final HockeyFest Minnesota location, a quaint resort town north of Brainerd, where he met with a Rotary Club dedicated to their community and a spunky young lady determined to prove she’s worth her salt.”
Carter snorts and Jesse doubles over with laughter. “Spunky young lady?” he gasps out. “Oh my God, oh my God.”
“Shut up, Jess,” I mutter. My phone buzzes.
Morgan: I’m at Cora’s and we’re watching the interview with her parents!
Cora: DYING. DYING. The BEST teaser in the history of broadcast journalism.
Me: Consider this the biggest eye roll in the history of eye rolls, Cor.
I slip the phone back into my h
oodie pocket, but not half a minute later, there’s another buzz.
Wes: EOTT
I screw up my face in confusion, and a few seconds later, he sends another message, like he knows I don’t understand.
Wes: Eye of the tiger, get it?
Ah, yes.
Me: Excuse me, I’m very busy. I’m a very important person here about to watch a very important interview I recently filmed.
Wes: No matter what happens, remember . . .
I wait.
And wait.
No bubbles.
Finally, bubbles.
Bubbles.
I click on the link. Papa Roach, “Born for Greatness.”
The long, resonant opening notes burst from my phone as the video plays, and I scramble to silence it as Grandma shoots me a look.
Carter elbows me. “What’s that about?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did Wes send you that?”
Heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks. “Why would you even say that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because he plays it during warm-ups every single day?”
I’m saved from having to respond as the furniture store commercial ends and Mom shushes us.
“Tonight, we have a very special report coming to us from our affiliate in the Twin Cities. One local town finds itself in the spotlight as they prepare for HockeyFest Minnesota, an annual event that showcases five cities across the state. This year, Halcyon Lake has been selected to represent the Central region, and recently, KSPL sports reporter Jason Fink visited to find out what makes Halcyon Lake special.”
The report begins with a wide shot of the snow-covered park at Hole in the Moon and moves in toward the stone wall surrounding the rink and the warming house. Jason talks about the history of the rink, the Rotary Club, and how they raised funds for the renovation.
“Come on,” Jesse mutters. “Get to the good stuff.”
“Hey,” Grandpa says, sticking out his chest a little. “This is good stuff!”
As Coach Giles predicted, Fink, on hockey skates in the middle of the rink, interviews a couple of cute little Mites (“I love playing hockey!” one of them squeaks out from behind the cage of his helmet) and a Squirt, a girl, her long blond ponytail streaked with turquoise.
“Who’s your favorite player?” Fink asks her.
“Holland Delviss,” the girl says with certainty. “She’s so awesome.”
Carter nudges me, and Grandma says, “Oh, sweetie!”
My cheeks warm again. I tuck my hands under my legs and lean forward a little.
Fink now stands at the glass in the arena. “Holland Delviss is something of a local legend around Halcyon Lake. She and her three brothers have skated as long as they could walk—only natural when your father, Marcus Delviss, led the Halcyon Lake Hawks to the high school team’s only state championship appearance ever and won. Grandfather Grant Delviss also played hockey in his day, was a longtime president of the town’s Blue Line Club, and, as Rotary president, had a hand in the Hole in the Moon renovation.
“But what sets Holland Delviss apart? Holland plays for the boys’ hockey team. In fact, she’s always played on a boys’ team.”
The scene cuts to a shot of me from Saturday night’s game, skating across the blue line, taking a pass from Luke, and firing it toward the net. The goalie stops it with his stick, the puck bounces out toward me, and I swat at the rebound. Really? They couldn’t have filmed my goal?
“Three words to describe this young lady: determined, driven, and spunky.”
Carter snorts again.
The screen fills with a montage of photos of me through the years, mostly in hockey gear, mostly with my brothers. “Mom!” I say. “Really?”
She shrugs. “What was I supposed to tell them? No?”
“Shush,” Grandma says again. “I can’t hear the interview.” The voiceover explains my hockey history. How I’ve always played with the boys. Then the camera focuses on me, standing up against the glass, and the conversation turns to my thoughts on the girls’ team.
Fink: Some people might say that you think you’re too good for the girls’ team. Is that true?
Everyone in the room stills.
Me: No, I don’t think I’m “too good” for the girls’ team. I’ve played with the boys my whole life. Trying out for the boys’ team was the logical next step for me. I’m very lucky that my high school athletic department was receptive to the idea, as well as Coach Giles, Coach Edwards, the rest of the coaching staff, and my teammates. I would hope that any girl in any high school would have that opportunity if that’s what she wished to pursue.
The scene jumps to Coach Giles standing outside the door of the boys’ locker room.
Coach Giles: No one affiliated with this team has any issue with having a female player on the roster. Holland’s been a great addition to the team. Day in, day out, she’s out there working hard, constantly training to improve her game, setting an example for the younger players. She steps out on that ice with integrity and determination every single game, and she lives that way off the ice, too. She’s a real go-getter.
Grandpa chuckles—yes, actually chuckles. “‘A real go-getter,’ huh, Holland?”
Back to me.
Fink: What about your teammates? Your male teammates? Do they feel the same way?
Me: I’ve played with most of these guys for a long time. They’ve never treated me differently because I’m a girl.
Cut to a shot of me and Wes on the bleachers before the game, sitting away from our teammates but definitely close to each other. How in the hell did they get this footage? How in the hell did we not notice someone filming this? I feel Carter’s eyes boring into me, but I will not turn to look at him.
Fink (voiceover): Wesley Millard, co-captain of the Halcyon Lake Hawks and formerly of the state championship Great River Thunder, has played with Delviss for two years. I asked him to share his feelings about having a female on the squad.
Cut to Wes after the game, the interview from the video he sent.
Wes: Truthfully, I was apprehensive at first. But since my first practice with the Hawks, it’s clear how much Holland contributes to this team. Maybe not in points, but in positive attitude and determination. She’s got a lot of skill, yes, but really? I think I admire her most for her grit, and not just because she’s female. How many people do you know who would basically put themselves in the line of fire like this every week? She makes me want to be a better player.”
“‘She makes me want to be a better player,’” Jesse mimics. “Barf!”
“Holy shit!” Carter says.
“Carter! Language!” Grandma and Mom say at the same time.
He nudges me. “Is there something going on between you and Hot Sauce?” He sounds completely, one-hundred-percent incredulous.
Like I couldn’t have something going on with Hot Sauce? Does he think Hot Sauce is too good for me?
Oh my God, no, stop.
“Don’t be stupid.”
Carter’s face appears on the screen again.
Carter: I’ve played hockey with my sister my whole life. It’s weird when she’s not out there with us.
Fink: Do you think her talents would be wasted on the girls’ team?
Carter: Uh, well, I guess. In pick-up games and stuff, she smokes those girls.
Oh. My. God.
“Carter!” I elbow him in the ribs. “What the hell? And what’s your girlfriend going to say about that?”
“She agrees with me.”
Me: The coaching staff, the fans, my teammates all hold me to the same high standards as any other player . . . I feel honored to be able to play the game with a group of such high-caliber, dedicated players.
Fink: You wouldn’t feel honored to play on the girls’ team?
Me: I didn’t say that.
Fink: But you feel that the girls’ team doesn’t have the same high-caliber pool of talent, so your talent would be wasted there?
Me: I—I didn’t say that, either. And that’s not a fair question. The girls on that team are skilled and driven.
Fink: So why don’t any of those girls play on the boys’ team with you?
Me: I can’t speak for the girls on the team. I can only speak for myself. I earned my place on the boys’ varsity team, and that’s where I intend to stay.
“Oooh,” Jesse says loudly, “Snap!”
Carter reaches over and whacks him across the head. “No one says ‘oooh, snap,’ you dork.”
“Carter! Jesse! Quiet!” Dad says.
Fink speaks over more footage of me during the game: What about college? Are you planning to play in college?
Me: I’d like to, yes.
Fink: For the women’s team at Hartley?
Me: Yes.
Fink: You aim to play women’s hockey in college, but you don’t want to play on the girls’ team now.
Me: I’ll try out for the team, yes. There are no guarantees in life, however, as we know.
Fink: Does it bother you that your dad, your two older brothers, and predictably your younger brother will all wear that captain’s C, but your jersey will go without?
The camera focuses on my face, how my eyes narrow and my lips pinch together before I reply.
Me: What are you saying? That I can’t be the captain of my team because I’m a girl? That’s ridiculous. The captain role is a leadership position, determined by a vote of your peers. Male, female, doesn’t matter, as long as you’re a strong leader, as long as you remember what that C really stands for—caring, courageous, consistent.
Fink: So, you’ll be throwing your hat into the ring next season?
Me: Watch me.
My mom sucks in a breath, and Grandpa chuckles again.
“Crap,” Jesse mutters.
The camera focuses on Fink at the Hole again.
Fink: You heard it here, folks. Will ambitious, driven Holland Delviss earn a captain’s spot on next year’s varsity boys’ team? That remains to be seen. Will the Halcyon Lake game be the televised HockeyFest Minnesota spotlight game? That’s up to you. Voting is now open. Visit our website to watch all five features and vote for your favorite.