by Lexie Syrah
Or is he talking to Al Bell, number 44, right-wing for the Chicago Falcons, who leads the team in assists and shoot-out goals, and, oh yeah, is also secretly a girl?
I fling myself off his chiselled body and to my feet. My stupid red dress still clings to my waist, and hastily, I pull it down.
What am I thinking?
I bury my face in my hands and stumble backward, as if somehow that could reverse the last half-hour. How could I let myself fall for Hayden Tremblay? And not just fall for him on the ice, but here, where I’m vulnerable to his ploys and plays. He’s wanted me for thirty minutes, and I’ve wanted him for five months.
I’m such an idiot.
“Everything okay?” he says, reaching forward.
I lurch out of reach. “Don’t touch me!”
“D-did I do something?” Concern flickers across his face, and my heart hurts. Ugh, he looks so sweet sitting there, his brow upturned and his hair mussed up. And God, it’s so sexy knowing I’m the one who mussed it.
I have to get out of here.
“No, I just—” I turn away, unable to continue. I spot my—or Al’s—duffle bag half-shoved in the closet and hoist it up over my shoulder. “I forgot I have to go.”
“Wait, Alice!”
“You weren’t supposed to be here,” I whisper. “Just forget this ever happened. Please.”
I walk toward the door, barely able to contain my shattered breath. I have to leave. For Xander. For the team.
And for Hayden. For Hayden most of all.
“Good-bye, Tremblay.”
…
I jam my finger against the elevator button a thousand times, as if it could make it come faster. When I finally get inside the damned thing, each wall is a mirror, and I’m surrounded by four different Alices.
I am a mess.
The eight-million pounds of makeup have run down my face, my hair is a tangled nest, my dress is wrinkled and uneven, and the only thing that looks in place is Al’s bag flung over my shoulder.
I stagger out into the lobby and into one of their large public washrooms.
I kissed Hayden. Hayden kissed me!
The thought travels through me like a wave, and that’s when I start to cry. Not a nice, dainty cry, but a full-on ugly sob. I push into a stall and lock the door, but I can’t stand. I fall to the bathroom floor.
What was that? What does it mean? Why do I feel it in every part of me?
Guilt floods through me. Xander will never forgive me if he realizes how much I’ve risked. And Hayden…the thought is too painful.
A small knock sounds on the door, and one of the hotel staff gingerly asks if I’m all right. She asks what room I’m staying in, and I cry even louder—because there’s no room here for Alice Bell.
Who am I? Some girl sobbing on the bathroom floor. This is definitely not something Al Bell does, but it’s not something Alice does either. Alice never cries, especially over a boy. Over anything.
I stop sobbing for a moment, tell the lady I’ll be out in a moment, and think. I can’t even remember the last time I cried.
I was five years old when Mom sat us down and said Dad had left and he wasn’t coming back. All three of us cried that day. And then I never cried again. On special occasions like Father’s Day or birthdays, when Xander would go and shut himself in our bedroom, I would be totally fine. Mom would tell me it’s okay to be sad.
I don’t even know if I’m sad now.
I just feel lost.
I stand up and decide that’s a start. I throw off my dress and bra, wrap my boobs, and throw on Al’s hoodie and sweatpants.
Then I stand in front of the mirror and put away Alice. I take out all the fake hair, wash the makeup off my face, rip off my fake eyelashes and throw them in the trash—even though they cost over nine dollars.
I look in the mirror and see Al. I thought I’d feel a little better. A little more certain.
But now, I’m even more lost. I don’t even know who Al is. But the scary part is…in becoming Al, I think I’ve lost Alice too.
I don’t know who I used to be.
And I most certainly don’t know who I am.
…
I don’t know how long I’ve been waiting in that bathroom—at least an hour, maybe two—but it should be enough time for Hayden to be asleep. All I want to do is slip into my bed and forget this ever happened. I drag my feet up to the room, and when I open the door, I’m bathed in light. And the smell of vomit.
I look around the room. The sheets of his bed are a tangled mess, and there’s a calamity of empty booze bottles on the ground: way more than when I was here as Alice.
Some pathetic moans travel out from the bathroom, and I poke my head in. There he is, sprawled across the toilet, shivering and absolutely pathetic.
He turns to me slowly, barely makes eye contact, and then returns to the toilet.
Nasty.
“Hang in there, buddy,” I murmur. I wet a cloth with hot water and wipe his mouth. No point worrying about if this is something “bros” would do—he won’t remember this tomorrow. Then I go to the mini fridge and pull out a bottle of water, unsurprisingly full, and his sweatshirt and pajama pants. “Let’s get you ready for bed, dude.”
He leans against the bathtub. Hopefully he’s barfed up all his guts for the night. I hand him his sweatshirt and pants.
After a pathetic attempt, he’s got his pants on, but one arm through the head hole of his shirt. He falls limp against the tub. “Al, I’m dying.”
I pull the sweater over his head. “You’re not dying,” I mutter. “You’re just an idiot.”
Hayden collapses on my shoulder and laughs a little. The sound sends blood racing through my veins. He doesn’t look quite so disgusting now; his hair falls across his eyes, and he gives big, sleepy blinks. Not so pathetic…just fragile.
He looks up at me, his dark eyes narrow. A furrowed brow and pursed lips make him look like he’s thinking…
“Al,” he mutters. And in the space of the breath, I imagine him saying a million different things. The world suddenly opens up a chasm of possibilities. He could say anything. He could know. I could tell him the truth right now. The truth. And something else hangs there too—but I’m not quite sure what it is yet.
“Yeah?” I whisper and I’m not sure if I sound like Alice or Al, or if there’s even a difference right now.
He looks at me for a moment longer, then smiles a little. “Y’know, you’re my best friend.”
You’re my best friend.
A sad smile crosses my face.
That’ll do.
I sniff, and a tear whispers down my cheek.
And that thing—that elusive thing that was hanging in front of me—suddenly becomes clear. And all the possibilities, well, they all point to it.
You’ve done it now, Bell.
I’ve fallen in love.
Chapter Fourteen
Alice
“I’m so TIRED.” I practically collapse as I walk through the front door.
“Stop your whining, Alice,” my mother clips. “It’s not ladylike.”
I throw my figure skating bag on the floor and let loose the biggest moan I can manage. Mom doesn’t have eight pounds of fake hair weighing on her neck. Mom doesn’t have to manage high school and figure skating rehearsals and hockey practice, all while pretending to be a boy and a girl at the same time. I moan again, louder this time.
The days have all turned into a blur. Coach has intensified practices now that the playoffs are right around the corner. And for the first time in a few years, the Falcons have a chance to make them. Then there’s Mom’s charity Ice Ball, which is coming up soon too! I haven’t even thought about how I’m going to keep Alice, the figure skater, away from all the Falcons, who are supposed to attend…or why Al won’t be there. As long as I don’t run into Hayden, it should be okay. He’s the only one who might have a chance of recognizing me as, well, me.
A sharp jab of shame sits in my
chest as my mind drifts back to that night in the hotel room. Hayden never said anything to Al about Alice and never tried to contact me again. It’s clear that night was nothing but an attempt at a one-night stand.
I stumble up the stairs, whacking my bag on each step. I’ve got about half an hour before the hockey game. Most of that will be spent washing off Alice and becoming Al.
Trudging into my bedroom, I collapse on my bed. If I close my eyes for even a second, I might fall asleep. That’s when I notice Xander, sitting at my computer desk.
“Hey,” I mumble, face half-buried in my pillow. “What are you doing?”
He spins around slowly. “I had to print my research paper for school.”
I close my eyes. I’m about done with Xander and his emo self lately.
“You left your pictures up.”
My eyes pop open. I’d uploaded all my pictures from Christmas vacation. Xander clicks on a selfie of Hayden and me. He was making me try this weird Canadian food with squeaky cheese on French fries. It was amazing.
“Don’t freak out,” I say, sitting up. “Look at the pictures. I look just like you.” Same scraggly hair, the deep smile, the round eyes. “I was so careful the entire time. No one knows. No one could tell us apart.”
“That’s the point, Alice! No one can tell!”
I get up and slam the laptop screen down. “What’s your problem?”
He crosses his arm and glares at me. I’ve been pretending to be him for so long, it’s almost like looking in a mirror. “You spend all your time with him…on and off the rink. You went to his freaking hometown! And you talk about him all the time!”
I recoil. “So what, I’m not allowed to have friends now, huh?”
“Except he’s not just your friend,” Xander says, his words harsh and cutting. “You love him.”
His words strike me like a check against the boards. Because Xander is right. I do love Hayden Tremblay. And I want him more than anything I’ve ever wanted before. I want to watch him lose himself on the ice, and be there to feel his energy during a game, and see him grow into the leader he was meant to be. I want to be with his family and hear their silly stories and eventually remember all their names. And I want to sit with him in a snow bank staring at ghosts until we’ve chased them all away.
And as much as it hurts to admit it, I want Hayden to see me as a girl, to feel his body against mine, to kiss those lips like I did in the hotel room. I love him.
So I tell Xander part of the truth. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. I’m a boy with him. He thinks I’m his best friend.”
Xander shakes his head, nervously clenching and unclenching his fists. “People talk, Alice. People are going to notice how close you guys are. It’ll get around the league.”
“That we’re friends?” I raise my hands in disbelief. “I haven’t heard anything!”
“You don’t hear because you don’t listen!” Xander yells. He stands, getting right in my face. “What they’re saying isn’t about Alice Bell! It’s about me. But in Alice’s world, only Alice matters!”
Anger flies through my body, and I pace around him. “You know what, Xander? I did hear something. I heard what Freddy said to Alexander Bell. You knew he was cheating on me. You knew, and you never told me! I’m your sister! How could you?”
His face drops, fading of all color and emotion. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“It doesn’t matter, Xander,” I spit. “You betrayed me, to keep some secret of your own. You think I’m being selfish? You’re the selfish one. Because I do pay attention to Alexander Bell. I pay attention every time Alexander Bell is checked into the boards and every bone in my body rattles. When Alexander Bell’s stats go up every time I score a goal. How scouts are now saying Alexander Bell’s name when I step on the ice. Those are the things I pay attention to.”
“Al—” Xander argues, but I storm out of the room.
…
Hayden
The locker room buzzes with energy. Home game against our rivals, the Ice Wolves, and we’re on a winning streak. I jog in place to try and get some of the anxious energy out of my body. We just need a few more wins to get into the playoffs—but a few losses could mean another worthless season.
Anger rises in me as I think about facing Galen Fredlund on the ice. He thought I hit him hard back at the bonfire? Hah. I hardly knew Alice then. If I could get my hands on him now—
I stop myself. I can’t go down this path. Fighting with Fred will only hurt the Falcons and thinking about Alice will only hurt me. She’s Al’s sister. And that’s a line I’m not prepared to cross. That night in the hotel room…well, it will just have to stay a memory.
At least I’ll get to see Fredlund’s face when he gets humiliated in front of our crowd.
As usual, Al’s already here, dressed in the blue Falcon uniform. He’s always here, ready to go, way before anyone else. He’s got more quirks than anyone I know: the way he always has to be ready before anyone else, his weird allergy to soap, the way he’s always clearing his throat… Even though he’s a freak, I smile when I sit down beside him.
“How ya doing, eh?”
Al doesn’t respond. His eyes are glassy, and his mouth is a thin straight line.
“Al?”
“I’m fine. Just thinking.” He hasn’t blinked once since I sat down.
“Well, don’t hurt yourself.” I laugh and give him a shove.
“Stop!” Anger fills his voice, and he pushes my hand away. “Just…don’t, okay?”
“Whatever, man.”
I heave a sigh of relief as Coach Z walks in. I’ll deal with Al’s mood swings later.
Coach Z’s eyes are intense under his heavy eyebrows. He stands in front of us, arms crossed, and stares each of us down. He locks eyes with me a moment longer than anyone else, but a small smile appears under his thick moustache. What are you planning, Coach?
“Well, boys, it’s been a hell of a season. We’ve played together for months now, and taken some hard losses. But we’ve had some triumphant wins, too. As a coach, I couldn’t be more proud of how you’ve grown as a team. Not only our new players, who joined us at the beginning of the season, but our veteran players too. You’ve worked together, found connections, and kicked ass. All of you have committed to the bird.”
His eyebrows rise, revealing smiling gray eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Coach look so…happy? “And maybe none so much as one particular player. A fierce playmaker, goal-scorer, team player, and leader. I’m proud to say that I finally feel confident to name the Falcons’ captain.”
Coach Z stares straight at me, and all my teammates follow his gaze. My stomach lurches back toward my spine. Is this really happening?
Coach grins and picks up a jersey emblazoned with a C. “Congratulations, Tremblay. You’ve earned it.”
It almost feels like I’m walking through my own imagination as I jump up, surrounded by the hoots and hollers of my teammates. A smile breaks across my face. I probably look like an idiot, but I don’t care. Coach shakes my hand and claps me on the back. I pick up the jersey and stare at it.
Tremblay. Captain Tremblay.
I can’t wait to tell Kevin about this. A strange warmth fills me. I don’t want to tell him just because I have something to prove. I want to tell him because I’m proud, and he’s going to be happy for me.
I notice Coach Z holds two other jerseys as well.
“Sacachelli, Bell,” Coach barks, grinning, “congratulations. You’re now our new alternate captains. Keep Tremblay in line, won’t you?”
Sacs jumps up with a howl and gives me a flying hug. I laugh and hand him his new jersey with the shiny white A. Wasting no time, he throws off his old jersey and whips on the new one.
Al hasn’t even moved. He’s still sitting there, staring off into the distance, that emotionless look on his face. He should have already been grinning from ear to ear because I got captain…he goddamn knows how much it meant to me. Bu
t Coach just named him an alternate! A complete rookie, getting the A! I expect him to be dancing around the locker room and embracing Coach in one of those awkward hugs he loves to give.
Coach clears his throat. “Uh, Alexander Bell is one of the new alternates.”
Now the whole team looks at him. He stares down at his skates.
I walk over and touch his shoulder. “Al?”
At my touch, he leaps up and looks around as if he just woke up from a thousand-year sleep and has never seen the inside of a locker room before.
“The jersey, yeah.” A weak smile forces itself on his face, and he quickly grabs the jersey and sits back down. “Thanks.”
Coach talks strategy for a few minutes, then we break before the game. I turn to Al. “How cool is this?”
He avoids eye contact. “Yup. It’s cool.”
“You gonna put it on?” I look down at his new jersey, hanging limply in his lap.
“In a minute.”
I put my jersey on, savoring the feeling of the fresh linen sliding over my body. I want to feel pumped up, but something about Al’s mood puts me on edge. “Everything okay, man?”
“It’s fine,” he snaps and stands up, too.
Maybe he’s nervous about the game. I try some positivity: “Come on, this is awesome! I wonder what Fredlund and his pups will think when they see our new letters!”
“They’ll probably wonder why it took so long for the Falcons to get a captain.”
The words hit me like a puck to the chest. He meets my gaze, only then realizing what he’s said. He tries to laugh it off: “Not that it matters when we cream them.” But there’s no laughter in his words.
I stare at him blankly, then head to the bench. The last thing I want is to get into a fight before the game. What’s his problem? He knows how hard I’ve worked for this…how hard we’ve worked together.
I can’t let it get to me. Maybe we both need to let off steam.
Thank God we’re playing the Ice Wolves tonight.
…
Alice