Page 56 of Fake Skating
“Before you freak out—”
“Oh my God!” my mom said, her mouth dropping open as I walked into the kitchen the next morning.
“What the hell happened to your face?” asked my dad, looking up from the paper.
“It’s just a scratch,” I said, going over to the fridge, trying to act casual even though functioning at all was difficult because I’d barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I thought of all the things I might’ve screwed up by hitting Ben.
“That’s not an answer,” my dad said. “What happened?”
I sighed and grabbed the OJ.
I didn’t want to tell them— God, I so don’t want to tell them— but this was big enough that I had to.
Damage control was probably impossible, but they needed to know.
“I got in a fight,” I said, closing the fridge. “With Ben Worthington.”
“What?” my mom yelled, her eyes huge.
“You gotta be kidding me,” my dad said, throwing the paper down on the table, his eyes narrowing. “Did that guy jump you?”
“What happened?” my mom asked, standing and coming over to get a closer look. “That gash looks terrible.”
I sat down at the table, wanting to puke from how shitty I felt.
I’m so sorry I might’ve destroyed everything.
“It was stupid,” I admitted, dragging a hand through my hair. “Worthington showed up and was mouthy to Dani.”
“You didn’t hit him, did you? Please tell me you didn’t—”
“I hit him,” I said, swallowing hard because my throat was so damn tight. “Broke his nose.”
“Oh no,” my mom said, closing her eyes and covering her mouth. “Not again.”
I saw the fear in her face and my gut churned.
I can’t believe I’m doing this to her again.
“Who threw the first punch?” my dad asked, his face scary serious.
“I did.”
My mom gasped.
“What the hell is so hard about this, kid?” my dad bellowed. “Punching is illegal—why can’t you remember that?”
“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug, because I didn’t.
I wasn’t a hothead and didn’t get in fights (aside from hockey).
Only with Worthington, and only about Dani, apparently.
Fuck.
“So what do we need to know?” my dad asked, shaking his head and looking so fucking disappointed in me. “Because you know his ma’s gonna come unglued. Tell us everything.”
And I did.
I recounted the whole thing, wondering what could be worse than having to look into their disappointed eyes as I shared every detail. And I got emo as shit because I was fucking terrified.
If Ben went to the police, I could get suspended, which meant I wouldn’t be able to play in the tournament.
And everyone—scouts included—would know why.
“Don’t worry about the scouts,” my mom said. “You can’t control—”
“How do I not worry about the scouts?” I said, trying to keep it together, but it was all just fucking clawing at me. “Are you kidding? I spend half my life worrying about the scouts because they control our fut—”
“Alec,” my dad interrupted, shaking his head. “No. You gotta stop. You’re killing yourself with this.”
I scratched my forehead. Wished I could. “How, though?”
“Just play,” he said. “That’s all you have to do.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I said, my chest tight.
“It is,” he said, shrugging. “Just play the game, and the rest will happen the way it’s meant to.”
I cleared my throat, wishing it were that simple.
“Sometimes I look at you and I can’t imagine what it’d be like to have all that talent, right?” he said. “At my athletic best, I was a third-string point guard who didn’t have a three-pointer in me, yet here you are, the guy everybody wants on their team.”
I looked down at the table, afraid I’d start bawling like a little kid if I looked him in the eye. I was already blinking really fucking fast to hold it all in; eye contact would end me for sure.
“It’s great and it’s cool,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder, “but we’re still talking about a game here, kid.
Hockey is a game . It isn’t life and death, even though sometimes it might feel like it.
Work your ass off so you can play the game to your best ability, and then that’s it.
No one’s gonna die if you win, and no one’s gonna die if you lose.
We will all be fine no matter what happens on the ice, and who gives a shit about the scouts? Let the scouts worry about the scouts.”
I did look at him then, because fuck— he had a way of making it seem so basic, and all I wanted was to believe him.
“You hitting Ben Worthington was an idiot move, Al, but we’re all gonna be okay. We will .”
I nodded, not trusting that I was able to speak.
I didn’t deserve parents this cool, for starters. The way they supported me made me want to kick my own ass for being stupid and bringing more stress their way—like, what the fuck had I been thinking?
But on top of that, I was still so fucking scared of the legalities of what was coming.
“It’s going to be okay, Al,” my mom said, coming over and wrapping her arms around my neck. “We’ll get through whatever happens.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like a little kid, and she kissed the top of my head.
“It’s okay, kiddo.” She tousled my hair and said, “It’s okay.”