Page 41

Xander, March 29th

Court

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Wordle

You!

Goddamn it.

Well. I hope you don’t feel too sore ;) good luck!

Keep the luck I got talent ;)

Our short text exchange makes me feel like my phone is glowing in my pocket. I have to fight the dopey smile that’s threatening to spread on my face as we suit up. It feels like there should be some kind of mark on me, but nobody says anything. Instead, my teammates are all especially quiet. When we previously faced off against the Badgers, we lost—and today, in the last game of the regionals, the stakes are high.

Whoever wins goes on to the Frozen Four, so I can understand everyone’s anxiety. However, even if that worry should sit on my shoulders like boulders, I feel light enough to do pirouettes on the ice.

Yes, a lot of that has to do with last night.

No, I don’t feel bad at all.

Nate throws me a look, and I reach over to squeeze his slumped shoulder. I know it’s been hard on him not to hear from his brother since their fight. Even yesterday, Nicko made sure to sneak out before Nate came back from the spa. I’m certain that he will come around. Nate’s his brother, and he loves him. I only hope it won’t be the most prominent thing on my best friend’s mind all night.

As soon as we step on the ice, it becomes clear that both us and the Badgers are bringing our all.

The first period is so demanding, that I can barely catch my breath before my line swaps in again. At the end of it both nets have stayed empty, and we are all carrying the bruises to show for it.

The game stays goalless until the third period. We’re only back on the ice for a few minutes when things take a turn. I’m getting nowhere against the Badgers’ defense. Another failed attempt leaves me panting for air as we line up for the face-off.

“You okay?” Nicko whispers.

“Oh, you’re talking to him ?” Nate hisses from my side.

Nicko stoically presses his lips together, not even chirping back.

I sigh and shake my head. “Guys, come on. You’re only–” hurting yourself by hurting each other , I mean to say, but have to break off when more Badgers join us, and the puck is back in the game.

We all want to finish the game with something to show for it but are running out of time. Nate’s beside me as we’re making a push into the Badgers’ defensive zone. His eyes seek me out before he swerves the puck over.

I turn and only just catch one of the orange-clad D-men rushing for me, so I sling the pass right back. Nate does his best, but it’s clear he’s caught off guard, and the puck skitters past his stick. And, like he knew it would happen, Nicko is there, ready to steal it.

Freeing myself from the D-man that’s checked me against the boards, I rush back to where my own defense is clamming up. I want Taylor to stop him but also don’t want Nicko to be flattened. In the end my worry is unnecessary: He skates a sharp turn just before our defense, letting them sail right past him. I’m pumping my legs hard to catch up, but I’m still too far away.

Nicko takes his shot.

Around us the stadium erupts, but I can barely hear anything over the ringing in my ears.

From the other side of the goal Nicko is staring at me. His lips are curled into a grin as he skates off, just before his teammates can crash into him with joyful shouts. Instead of letting himself be celebrated, he’s seeking out our green corner. He slams his hand against the number 16 on his chest over and over again, as if he’s trying to tell them who brought them here in the first place. If only they knew.

Our fans are going absolutely nuts, booing and whistling.

“What a fucking asshole,” Taylor scoffs as he comes to a halt beside me.

“Yeah,” I huff, because he’s right. And yet I still hope that somewhere in a New York office the Rebels are currently watching this fucking asshole play his heart out.

The crowd switches to cheering when I rap my fist against the plexiglass and gesture for the team to rally. I bump shoulders with our goalie before I skate over to Nate, offering him my fist as we get into position.

His face is pinched under his helmet, but he gives my hand a quick punch then grabs his stick tightly as we wait for the Badgers.

Their Captain smirks into my face as we both wait for the referee to make his way over with the puck. I grit my teeth to not scowl at him. Zollweg might be a bigoted ass, but that doesn’t belong on the ice. He’s an opponent like any other. And like all of us, he’s eager to stamp his name on this game.

Encouraged by Nicko’s success the Badgers are pushing aggressively, and Zollweg, as their centerpiece, urges them on.

Being down by one point in a game like this is crushing, yes, but we haven’t lost yet. I’m not going to let him through, no matter how hard he pumps his legs or calls for the puck that Baker lost against the defense two seconds ago.

Snow flies up as I come to a sudden stop and dig my skates in. I dip my head against my shoulder for the hit.

Zollweg is going too fast to curve around me; I see the realization flicker through his eyes moments before he crashes into my side.

The impact rattles my teeth. My side is numb from the pain, but I stay on my skates. I flick the puck over to Taylor, then rub my hip to ease the throbbing ache.

At my feet, Zollweg sneers, rucking his chin up at me.

“Still sore from taking all that referee dick that got you here, faggot?” He spits on the ice between us.

My thoughts screech to a halt. Zollweg’s words hit my head like a wrecking ball. On social media it’s one thing, but I would have never expected a word like that to be thrown at me in the middle of a game.

I only just manage to throw him a disgusted look, hoping that it hides my shock over his insult. Heat shoots into my face and a weight drops into my stomach.

“You–” I don’t get to finish my heckle; two outraged shouts—one from behind me, the other from Zollweg’s side—interrupt me.

Both Nicko and Nate rush at the idiot before I can stop either of them.

“You take that back!” Nate shouts, his face contorted with rage. Nicko, too, has blotchy red spots on his cheeks, pulling Zollweg away from me by the back of his jersey.

“Don’t! He isn’t worth it!” I hiss, grabbing Nate around the chest to haul him out of the fray, but he stubbornly stems against me.

“Hey, hey, hey!” the referee cuts in, his hand coming down like a guillotine between us. Several other striped shirts are on their way over. “Cool it.”

“Zollweg called Hart a– he called him–” Nate finally stops fighting me, trying to explain but trailing off, his eyes glued to me.

I take a breath, stemming my hands into my hips. On the other side of the official Nicko and Zollweg are being wrangled apart by two linesmen.

“He called me a fag,” I grit out between my teeth.

The referee looks at me, then over at Zollweg, then back at me. His bushy brows draw together.

“Now, son, that’s a pretty harsh accusation.”

I flex my hands before I look at the referee. “I know. It’s serious to me too.”

“So you’re sticking to your statement.”

Next to me Nate growls. “What the fuck? You fucking idiot, of course we–”

“Nate!” My warning comes too late; the referee is already trilling his whistle, sending Nate off the ice.

And just like that I’m on my own, and I don’t know any more if this is a battle I want to fight, especially right in the middle of a game like this. Even if I know it’s important to bring up these points, I can’t always be the lone pillar. I don’t want to be the one to cause a fuss every time.

Again, the referee looks at me for a moment that feels as though it might never end. When he blows his whistle again, somehow even shriller this time, I flinch, ducking my head.

The other officials flock over, and I follow Nate back to our bench.

“What happened?” Coach holds the door open for us to step through.

I grit my teeth and wait until the rest of our team has also returned from the ice. I definitely don’t want to say it a third time.

“Zollweg called me the f-word.”

Several heads whip around to where the Badgers are gathering in their own box. I have to resist the urge to look over and see if I can make out Nicko. I need to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble on my behalf. And that he’s alright. I don’t want him to deal with Zollweg’s bigotry by himself.

“That fucker,” Baker growls.

Some of my teammates are starting to mutter amongst themselves. Coach is still looking at me, putting a heavy hand on my shoulder as he pulls me off to the side.

“Are you alright?” His voice is significantly quieter now, his gray eyes calm but serious in his bearded face. For once the laugh lines aren’t softening his severe appearance.

I swallow and nod, even though I can still feel my insides writhe.

I hate this.

I hate being the center of attention, the cause for the whole uproar—because of who I am. Even if I know in reality it’s Zollweg and what he thinks is alright to put on the ice. It’s not my fault he’s an asshole, but it feels that way.

“Sit down, boy. We’ve got this,” Coach tells me, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

I nod again, feeling like even if there were words I wanted to say, I wouldn’t find my voice.

Somehow, I get to the bench and only become aware of two bodies settling in on either side of me when Nate bonks his helmet against mine.

The referee’s whistle sounds again.

I pull myself together, looking over to where the striped figures have finished their talk, two of them breaking off to speak to the coaches while one steps out onto center ice.

“Number 17 St. Bernard’s Bats, game misconduct, insulting an official. Number 48 St. Bernard’s Bats and number 16 Bonham Tech Badgers, two minutes for roughing. Number 6 Bonham Tech Badgers, no penalty. The game continues.”

“What?!” Nate is on his skates immediately.

“No penalty at all?” Baker is just as outraged. I clear my throat but Hill, our captain, steps up before I can say anything.

“You wouldn’t even consider a game misconduct?”

“Not with only one accusation.”

“That’s bullshit! I was right there!” Nate stalks over to join Hill.

“And insulted an official. Now stop arguing and get back on the ice.” The second part is directed at Hill, who shakes his head but turns around to us. He studies each of our faces closely.

“What are we feeling, guys?”

I’ve always appreciated the democratic way the Bats are working, but right now I wish someone would tell me the right decision.

I shake my head, uncertain if anyone even notices.

“What’s the alternative to playing? Throwing the towel?” Taylor huffs, hands on top of his helmet as he walks up and down.

“No! The Frozen Four is right there!”

“We can’t!” Several voices are piping up, others just huffing or grumbling vague dissent.

“Xan gets two minutes for doing nothing , and I have to sit on the fucking bench while Zollweg walks away without a scratch? After throwing around slurs like that? We can’t just go back!” Nate’s voice is angry enough to hurt my ears.

“ I don’t wanna be on the ice with an asshole like that!” Baker chimes in, shifting his weight as he takes a step closer to me.

“But can’t you just...y’know...ignore him?”

I don’t know who said it, but everyone turns to me. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my head.

“I...no.” I clear my throat to make myself heard. I don’t want to be that guy, but I have to be. Because people think this is just a minor hiccup, something I just have to swallow and get over. Because there’s kids watching, wondering if this is okay. If insults being thrown at you is just something you have to live with and ignore but keep on playing through. That’s not the point I want to make.

“No. This...I’m done.” I make sure my voice carries. “I’m not going back on the ice to play someone who thinks it’s okay to insult me this way. If he had just called me an idiot that would be one thing. But this isn’t chirping. I wouldn’t ask anyone to put up with that.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking discrimination!” Nate growls.

Silence follows his words, then the bench creaks as several others sit down.

Hill nods, once again looking at all of us. “Alright, a vote. Who’s for stepping out?”

I don’t look up, not wanting to influence anyone.

“Who’s against?”

My arm goes up; I don’t want to know if I’m the only one, so I don't look up.

“That’s settled then,” Hill hums, then leans over the railing to talk to the official. “With all due respect to your decision, we won’t continue the game under these conditions.” His voice is clear and firm.

The referee’s mouth twitches, like he just bit into a lemon.

“Are you sure? It’ll mean you forfeit. The Badgers will win by default.” He looks at Coach, who merely raises his hands. This is our decision, and he will not step in.

I have to swallow hard to keep the scratch in my throat down. My team has my back.

“Absolutely. We’re sure,” Hill reinforces, setting his shoulders.

“Alright.” The referee skates over to the other team.

“I–” my voice breaks off before I get out another word. Nate’s hand squeezes my shoulder.

Our captain just nods from his spot at the banister.

“Can’t have some fucker think he can run his mouth,” Baker mutters next to me, undoing the straps of his helmet. “Sucks about the game though.”

Some others grunt in agreement, and I nod along. It really does suck.

I’m about to loosen the clasps of my helmet and guards, when voices get carried over from the other box. We all turn our heads to look.

“No!” I recognize Nicko’s voice when he shouts out. “That’s not okay! I don’t want to win like that!”

“What are they doing?”

“Looks like Hoff’s staying off the ice too.”

“What?!” I push up from the bench, leaning against the banister next to my captain to see where he points across the ice. And true enough, two orange figures have stepped out of the box, but the rest are still standing in it. One at the front is shaking his head, determined.

Nicko’s eyes find me. I stare at him, hoping he’ll stand down, that it’ll all be over.

He doesn’t though; instead, he shakes his head again and turns toward his coach as well as his teammates.

We don’t catch any of the words that are being thrown around until several of the officials join the fray. Eventually Nicko sits down. The rest of the Badgers stagger around for a moment, then, one after the other, they sit too. The ones that are on the ice raise their hands, shouting angrily, but no one budges.

Finally, the referee steps into center ice again.

“Due to insufficient number of players on the ice, the game will be delayed for fifteen minutes.”