Any Way You Slice It (7 page)

Jake rolls his eyes, but he pats Temple on the back. “These are the questions that matter, buddy.”

Jimmy Flores says, “We already get free pizza from Tim.” He pulls at his shirt with Tim's House of Pizza across the chest.

“Yeah, but Tim's pizza sucks. Slice is the best in town.” Carter is practically salivating. “And we're growing boys.” He points to Flores. “Especially Jimmy. He really needs the calories.”

Figures.

It's always about the pizza. But it occurs to me that for the first time in years, it's been an hour straight since I've thought about pizza. For some reason, that thought makes me happier than anything else.

“I'll see what I can do.”

Later that night, I'm back at the rink, dressed from head to toe in my hockey armor. It makes me feel invincible and I raise my arms like a superhero. It's after ten o'clock, and Jake's promised me a crash course before the next practice. I flap my arms again and this time I feel like an idiot. I can't believe Jake talked me into this, but honestly, he didn't have to do much talking. No resistance from me. After practice this afternoon, I'm ready to take the plunge. And to do that, I need to know how to play. For real.

I lean forward with my elbows on my knees. I can do this. I've watched the tapes.

How hard can it be?

Jake slides onto the ice and skates twice around me. He stops and puts his hand on his hip in a spot-on imitation of the hipster judge from
America's Next Top Model
. “You look good, girl.”

I scoff. “I look like a ten-year-old boy.”

He looks me up and down again, and nods. “Yes, yes you do. But for a ten-year-old boy, you look great. Now let's get started. We've got practice again on Wednesday, and you need to be able to pull your weight.”

“I haven't said I'm going to play yet.” I rock back and forth, trying to get a feel for my balance.

“You're going to play,” he says, dropping a bunch of pucks on the ice from a five gallon bucket. He gestures to me. “You wouldn't be here if you didn't plan on playing.”

I purse my lips and push myself backward a few feet.

He's right.

“First thing you have to do is keep your knees bent.” He demonstrates by squatting into an almost sitting position. “Lean forward. Keep your back straight.”

I mimic him and lean into position.

“You're small, and you're a great skater. If you can get this down, you'll be a bullet; they won't be able to stop you.” He cruises backward. “Now let's try moving. He gestures to a spot on the wall and we both glide over to the side. “Race you to the other end!” and he pushes off the wall.

“Hey!” I totally would have had this if I'd had a chance at a clean start. I'm flailing in my pads, and it slows me down. He's waiting for me at the wall with his legs crossed and a smug look on his face. He looks at the big clock on the wall. “
Tsk-tsk
, Pen. I thought you were fast.”

“Oh, I'm fast.” I touch the wall and turn on my blade. This time I'm not going to let him get a jump on me. I push away from the wall, but he anticipates the move and passes me almost effortlessly about mid-rink.

We continue at full speed for ten more rounds. By the end, Jake's putting more effort into it, and on the ninth round I actually get to the wall first.

“Ha!” I yell, and pump my arms in the air, but my victory dance is cut short when Coach yells from the side of the rink. “I thought you were going to teach her to play hockey, not race up and down the rink!”

It startles me so much, I lose my balance and end up on my ass. “How long has he been here?”

“What do you mean? He's been here the whole time. The owner isn't going to let a couple of kids stay in the rink without an adult present.” He shrugs. “It was Coach's idea.” He yells over, “Don't worry! That's next.” He reaches down and pulls me up. “Not bad, Blades. Now let's see what you can do with a stick in your hand.”

I try not to snicker. Jules would throw back an awesome, snarky comment at the innuendo, but I refrain because anything I say is going to come out sounding stupid, not flirty. I skate over to where Coach is standing and grab the stick.

He's leaning on the half door, elbows propped on the ledge. “You're looking good out there, Spaulding. I'm just giving Gomes a hard time. How do you feel?”

I take a deep breath, wondering if I should be honest or not. I'm sore and my muscles are already tightening up. I'm going to have a bruise the size of a softball on my thigh where I fell. So, of course, I lie. “Great, Coach. I feel great.” I give him the best thumbs-up I can with a huge glove on my hand and skate back to Jake.

We spend the next hour doing drills. By the end, I can chase Jake down the rink and fight him for the puck. Of course he takes every chance he gets to sneak a shot between my legs and score. And he doesn't do it quietly. He hoots and hollers every time he hits the net. He makes me practice forward and backward—working on my crossovers, my stick handling, and my stopping—until it feels like my legs are going to fall off.

And I love every minute of it.

It makes me wonder what else I've missed not being Jake Gomes's friend for the last four years.

The clock on the wall reads 11:10. I pull a glove off to make sure my watch matches. “I've got to get out of here.” My parents think I'm at Lori's, but it's late and I'm guessing they're already wondering why I'm not home on a school night. I turn around fast, and wrinkle my nose at the smell.

Gross.

I'm pretty sure the locker-room stink is me. I've got to figure out how to get my gear cleaned somehow—otherwise I'm not going to be able to live with myself.

“Your dad must be excited about you playing.” Coach says, as we step off the ice.

“What?” My mouth goes dry.

“Didn't he tell you?” Coach looks almost offended. “I used to play with Adam when we were in high school. He was amazing. I see a lot of him in you. There's a natural talent there.”

Crap.
Coach knew Dad in high school. That's why he was so easily convinced I could play. It makes sense now. “Um. Dad doesn't talk too much about the glory days.”

It's the truth.

“I guess I don't blame him,” he says. “I haven't talked to Adam in a long time. We all hoped he'd come to the last reunion.” He nods, remembering the good times. “Not that I haven't seen him, I mean, you know, at Slice … but it's hard to have a conversation with how busy that place is all the time.” Coach is deep in nostalgia. “It was one of the worst things I've ever seen, the day he got hit. He went down like a ton of bricks. All the life went out of him.” After he says it, he notices the horrified expression on my face and realizes he's said too much. “I mean … Oh shoot, I'm sorry Penelope.”

Grams told me the story. I know Dad got hit by a gorilla of a player during a championship game and it was the last time he ever played. But I'd never heard it from someone who was right there when it happened.

“I've got to go change. My ride will be here soon.” I glance back at Jake, who's got a weird expression on his face. “What are you looking at?”

“I didn't know your dad played hockey,” he says.

“He's practically got a shrine at school,” I say, stepping over the threshold onto the tile floor. “The case in front of Principal Jones's office is full of trophies with my dad's name on them.”

Grams gave every last one of them back to the school when dad stopped playing.

Jake heaves the loaner sticks over the wall of the penalty box and follows me off the ice. “I just never put the pieces together that it was the same guy.”

I throw myself down on the lowest bleacher and start to pry my skates off my feet.

“It's easier to get them off when you strip down a little more.” Jake's laughing at me—but not like he's making fun. More like we're old friends, even though it's only been a couple of days. My heart flutters when I realize we
are
old friends.

“Let me help.” He leans over and pulls at my skate until it pops off and sends him flying backward off the edge of the bench.

He lands on his butt and groans. “That's gonna leave a mark.”

I shake my head and chuckle. “You can always say you got into it with a defenseman with a death wish. I'll be your witness. The dude was huuuuugggeee.” I struggle to get up to help him. But then I get tangled in my own pads and end up falling over my own feet. By now I'm laughing so hard I can hardly breathe. I stumble again and practically land on top of him, which must look ridiculous. Coach calls over, “Stop messing around you two; we need to get out of here.”

“I'm sorry.” I can't catch my breath. My arm is stuck under me and I'm not sure what part of Jake's body it's touching. I try not to move my fingers just in case they're close to something they shouldn't feel. My cheeks are burning as I try to get up gracefully, and if I didn't know better, I'd think Jake wasn't helping on purpose. I try pushing myself off of him, but he's not trying at all. “Stop it, Jake. Let me get up.”

“You're the one on top of me,” he says with a grin. “Why don't you let me get up?”

I can't figure out where to put my hands. It's getting late, and I need to get out of this gear and shower. Even though we're both sweaty, Jake smells amazing. It must be pheromones or something, because we both should reek given how hard we just worked out. I'm going to owe Lori my firstborn, along with all my tips from the weekend, since she's probably already in the parking lot. My instincts prove correct, when she appears out of nowhere.

“What the heck is going on here?” she asks, but I hear the laughter behind the attitude. “And here I thought you two were playing hockey.”

“Please. Help. Me.” I say between gritted teeth. She hauls me off him, and in the last second Jake pushes me hard and I end up on my back, flailing like a turtle. They each grab a hand and pull me up.

“Great practice tonight, Pen. I think there might be a hockey player in there somewhere.” Jake waves as he walks away. “Catch ya later.”

I ignore the smirk on Lori's face all the way to the locker room.

Wednesday afternoon, Lori honks the horn from the street in front of Slice.

I jump up from the stool behind the counter. “Gotta get to the library before the good spots are taken.”

“Really?” Grams's eyebrows practically hit her hairline, as she looks up from the celebrity gossip rag she's reading. “Do you think you'll have a chance to help me with the bathrooms later?”

I bend over to give her a quick kiss. “Um. No, but there's plenty of time. I'll be back for the dinner crowd.” I'm terrible at lying to Grams. But she doesn't call me on it.

As soon as I slide into the passenger seat, Lori shifts the Bug into reverse. “Do they suspect yet?”

“Grams knows I'm not going to the library, but she won't say anything.” I cross my fingers and hold them up so Lori can see.

She shakes her head as she eases into traffic. “Remind me to give you the new quiz I found online today.” A MINI Cooper passes her on the left as she's crawling up to the light, so she lays on the horn and flicks her middle finger. “Loser!” With a quick glance at my death grip, she continues like nothing happened. “Anyway, it's supposed to reveal how well you'd stand up to an FBI interrogation. My guess is not very well.”

“Shut up.”

After she parks the car, Lori pops the trunk. “I found this for you.” She pulls out a huge hockey bag. Perfect for holding all the gear that I'm currently storing in a locker in the women's locker room.

I grab one end of the bag, which is bigger than either of us. “Wow! Where'd you get it?”

She shrugs. “Mom must have bought it for Chuck before he left for college. It's been in the garage for years. Someone might as well use it.”

Even with the bag empty, it takes both of us to haul it from the car into the building. I have no idea how I'll ever be able to manage it alone, and with all the gear inside. But I won't think about that right now.

It takes half the time today to change. I punch her on the shoulder as she turns to leave. “Thanks for helping me do this. This is why you're my BFF.”

She smirks and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. I know. I'll pick you up in two hours. Be ready or you'll be late for your shift.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She shoves me into the door.

I'm on the ice just after practice starts. The guys are already racing up and down the rink. I step over the threshold, and ease into the movement. My muscles are tight, but it's not bad. I extend my legs and try to take longer strides. Skating with all the gear is easier today, too.

“Hey, Blades!” Jake gives me a thumbs-up. “Looking good.”

Some of them look surprised to see me again, but tiny Jimmy Flores gives me a shy wave and then stumbles. Mark Temple nods a greeting.

I put my head down and focus on the drill. Skating back and forth from the blue line to the red line.

During a break, I stretch out my legs on the bench.

Jimmy nudges me. “Are we really going to start winning now that you're playing with us?”

“I have no idea.” I try to laugh it off, but his face is dead serious. “No pressure or anything. I hope you're not all putting your hopes and dreams on me.”

He shrugs. “Coach thinks you're going to bring us luck.”

“Seriously?”

Out on the rink, Temple takes a shot and Carter completely misses the block. All of us on the bench cheer for Temple's goal. When the noise dies down, Jimmy is still waiting for an answer.

I think about lying to him, but I surprise myself. “Probably not. But so far I'm having a good time, if that counts for anything.”