Page 2

Chapter

Two

When my alarm went off at six-thirty, an orchestra was already playing forte inside of my head. Logan was dead to the world, one leg kicked out over the comforter. His smooth, tanned skin looked even darker against the white sheets, his baby blonde hairs glinting in the sliver of street lamp light shining in around the blackout curtains that didn't quite fit the window.

It looked like he'd been at the beach for a month, which was unfair since it was mid-October in Calgary. I dragged myself out of bed and went to the washroom. I hadn't planned on showering, but given the night's events, it was a necessity.

I turned on the water and went into autopilot, quickly washing myself, brushing my teeth, and throwing on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. Thankfully, my conductor didn't care what we wore to rehearsals as long as our asses were in the seat fifteen minutes early.

I moved as quietly as possible, even though I doubted anything I did would wake Logan. He'd probably be in the exact same position when I returned at ten-thirty. I slipped out of the room and walked into the galley kitchen to grab a hard-boiled egg and an orange.

I smiled when I saw my water bottle washed out and drying on the rack. It didn't matter how late Logan got home or how terrible he was at remembering to do the actual dishes. He always cleaned out my water bottle for me. He'd done it ever since I moved in—a true act of love since he thought it was ridiculous and used his own hockey water bottle for months at a time without washing.

"It's only touching your mouth," he told me as I cleaned it out after school one day. I told him that my own mouth touched plenty of food and his mouth during the day, and the idea of sucking on that nozzle grossed me out.

I shared food from the same fork as Crystal and Maddie and licked wing sauce off my fingers, but for some reason, a water bottle nozzle was where I drew the line. I threw on my coat, grabbed a granola bar and my water bottle, and threw them in the bag with my folder of music. I popped in my morning mix tape with Ace of Bass, Lisa Loeb, and new Bryan Adams—always Bryan Adams. It made me feel like my morning walk through the tundra was a movie soundtrack which fueled my cinematic brain.

I picked up my violin case and exited the townhouse. I walked the two blocks to campus and entered the GRB science building, immediately turning down the first corridor and entering the tunnel that connected to the Rosza Art Center and concert hall. It wasn't snowing, but it was just chilly enough that I preferred finishing my journey inside.

I didn't use the tunnels by myself often—very murdery—but that morning, there was a stream of students with the exact same idea. I found Lily and Caleb immediately by Caleb’s rust-orange hair. Lily's brunette waves were pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head, and they were wearing comfy uniforms similar to mine. Caleb's pajama pants had pickles on them, which was especially classy.

"Rehearsals on a Saturday morning should be illegal," Lily groaned.

Caleb took a drink of his coffee. "Six months left, and then you'll have rehearsal every day of the week."

Lily laughed. "You don't know that."

Caleb gave her a look. "You're joining a band, Lily. Learning an entire six albums' worth of music. I know you're good, but you're not that good."

Lily scoffed. "I'm already working on it. And when my recital's over, I can set my own schedule—three days a week max."

I laughed, mostly to cover the twinge of jealousy in my gut. Lily was first chair and was asked to audition for Stellaluna, an indie bluegrass band out of Toronto. As of three weeks before, she'd been hired on for their upcoming '95 tour in Canada with the possibility of going international with the group. Playing violin had never been cool, and Lily was about to make it kick-ass.

"Have you heard anything from Franck?" Caleb nudged my elbow.

I shook my head. "I don't think she’ll make any decisions yet."

He nodded. "You're probably right. I would expect an invitation by February at the latest."

That had been my prediction as well. Ms. Franck had high standards and borderline hubristic opinions on musicianship. She'd chosen Lily for first chair weeks into fall semester the year prior. After hearing her play twice.

I wasn't offended that I hadn't received the same treatment, even though I knew my playing was up to snuff. But I was starting to get nervous. With Lily graduating, I always assumed I would be next in line, especially since I already had two years under my belt. But a few incoming students this year were good, and her decisions weren't always linear.

"I still can't believe she chose Mabel for that cello solo." Caleb lowered his voice.

"I know," Lily whispered. "She's improvising all over the place, completely bastardizing the integrity of the primary melody."

I, as a rule follower, couldn't have agreed more. And that was also why I was starting to get nervous. I was a damn good violinist, but if Ms. Franck was looking for riffing, that was not in my wheelhouse.

We pushed through the doors and walked through the cavernous entryway, our voices and shoes echoing off the steel and glass of the art center. We found our seats in the concert hall and tuned our instruments. All chatter died when Ms. Franck arrived, looking like she was ready for a Paris runway and not a collection of pajama-clad students at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning.

"Instruments in tune?" she asked in her thick Eastern European accent. "Spirits in tune?" she asked when we all nodded our heads the first time. "Alright. Let's begin."

For the next two hours, we played, we stopped. We listened to her criticisms. We corrected. By ten o'clock, my fingers were burning, my shoulder was aching, and the migraine was creeping up the back of my skull as predicted.

I didn't connect with Caleb and Lily after rehearsal, but that was fine because I'd forgotten to eat my granola bar. All I wanted was to head straight home and fall back into bed for a few hours after popping an unholy amount of NSAIDs.

But when I walked into the house and found Logan sitting shirtless at the kitchen counter, I knew that wouldn't happen. "What's wrong?"

He stared at a letter, his eyes wide. I dropped my bag and violin case, slipped off my shoes, and hurried over to him. He turned the letter toward me.

I scanned it. "This is an email."

"Yeah. I know. I printed it off."

"You printed off an email?"

He nodded and tapped the paper impatiently. I started to read.

Subject: Official Invitation to Hockey Canada November Selection Camp

Dear Logan Kemp,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected to participate in Hockey Canada’s November Selection Camp as part of the 1994 IIHF World Junior Championship evaluation process. Your outstanding performance throughout the past season has allowed you to compete for a spot on Team Canada.

My heart picked up speed. Team Canada? Logan had been devastated when he hadn’t been selected in previous years. Last season, because of a tweaked knee.

I kept reading.

Camp Details

Dates: November 5 - December 3 (upon selection after round one)

Location: Max Bell Centre, Winnipeg, Manitoba

Arrival Date: November 4 (evening check-in)

During this camp, you will be evaluated through:

On-Ice Training: Skill development sessions, tactical scrimmages, and special teams strategy work.

Off-Ice Assessments: Fitness evaluations, team-building exercises, and leadership workshops.

Exhibition Games: Pre-tournament matchups against international junior teams from Finland and Sweden (locations to be determined).

Important Note: While this invitation reflects our confidence in your potential, participation in this camp does not guarantee a spot on the final roster. Final selections will be based on your performance in practices, exhibition games, and your demonstration of character, discipline, and commitment.

If Selected for the Final Roster:

December 4-7: Travel to Europe for acclimatization and exhibition games.

December 8-23: Pre-tournament preparation in Ostrava and Frydek-Místek, Czech Republic.

December 26 - January 4: 1994 IIHF World Junior Championship Tournament.

I skipped over the expectations and contact info and re-read the dates, then looked up at Logan. "Czech Republic?"

He nodded. "I have to leave in a week for Winnipeg."

Have to? “But what about school? You still have half the semester left."

He held out a hand. "This is what I've been working for, Shar. Who cares about school?"

"Who cares about school?"

He exhaled. "No. I don't mean who cares about school. I'm just saying they'll figure something out. This is why I'm here, to play hockey. They'll probably defer my classes or something. This is huge."

I sat down on the stool next to him. "Yeah. No. It's amazing. I just—sorry. It's a lot to process."

He set the letter on the counter. "Maybe I can take my finals when I get back or something."

"Two months"

He blew out a puff of air. "Yeah."

"You'll miss the holidays."

"Hey, I'll get to see Christmas in freaking Europe."

Fair. I went on a trip to Germany during high school one spring. All anybody could talk about was how amazing the Christmas markets were and how they wished we’d been there over the holidays.

My mind immediately jumped into logistics. Two months and a bit. It wasn’t that long. I would finish out finals, go home for Christmas, and then it would only be a couple of weeks before he was back.

Before I could say as much, a door opened at the end of the hallway. Rob sauntered out, his hair standing on end. Shirtless. I swear he did that on purpose. Just to make me uncomfortable.

I gripped Logan's wrist. "What about Rob?" I hissed, suddenly desperate to hear his answer before Dr. Evil made it within earshot.

Logan frowned. "What about Rob?"

"Well, he can't?—"

"Morning, shitheads." Rob stalked to the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk with his name scrawled across the side in Sharpie. He had to label all his food since I was definitely going to share his skin cells by touching it.

"I got some news, bud," Logan said.

My grip tightened. "Logan?—"

Rob turned, and Logan held up the email. "I'm going to World Juniors."

Rob's eyes widened. He started saying something, but I didn't hear a word of it. Because Logan hadn’t answered my question.