He Shoots, She scores

Chapter Six: Weston | Nuisance

It's another day of blood, sweat and tears. I come late to the rink by two minutes, two I repeat, and coach makes me sit in the penalty box for ten.

It should be important to add that Coach Evans is the father of John Evans, our team's right winger. It should also be mentioned that right wingers score the most goals, statistically speaking. John is right-handed, as am I. Who out of us both is better at scoring though? Objectively speaking, me. I know it. Coach knows it. The whole fucking team knows it. And yet Coach Evans refuses to put me on right wing. So instead I'm put on right defenseman, even though the dream is to play center. Centers have most ice time. It's what my father would've wanted.

Coach is making us do warmups by skating from scrimmage to scrimmage. Usually he takes this time to sit back and chug his Gatorade. Me and the guys take advantage of this and slow our pace a little. I skate from the red to blue line alongside Eli. We're always able to skate in tune with one another. "Hey. Let's talk this Friday" I say to him. We skate to a halt. The ice shaves dance in the air.

"What about it?" We race to the opposite end.

"Our first playoffs is this Friday. Why not host some celebratory action after the game?"

"How are you so sure we're gonna win?" Eli shoves me to get a head start. I shake my head and skate twice the speed, managing to catch up with him.

"It's Lakehead" I pant, slightly out of breath. "Is that even a question?"

"Fair point. So who's invited?"

"Everyone. Anyone."

"But not your ex hookups, correct?"

"Obviously not."

"Right. So that narrows the female guest list down to...zero?"

"Ha-ha" I deadpan.

RJ skates up next to us. "Less talking, more hustling. Coach is watching us right now and it's honestly freaking me out."

I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, Coach Evans is shooting glares in our direction while chewing his gum with great grievance. We all know his stares of hatred are solely directed towards me. I don't know what I did to make him hate me. Maybe it's because he wants his own kid to get drafted into the NHL so badly that he views me as competition. If that were the case, I'd be flattered but also irritated. It's not like I plan on playing hockey professionally anyway.

Coach Evans blows his whistle. We have a minute to grab some water before marking our positions. I go to right wing, Eli is goalie and RJ plays left defenseman. The whistle goes off again. And we're off.

Me and John are put on opposite teams and so we charge for the puck simultaneously when it's in our view. He gets in my way, so naturally, I check him against the wall. It creates a loud thud which makes me smile behind my helmet. Coach sounds the whistle. Again. "Weston! Penalty!" he screams.

And that's how I know today is going to be a very long practice.

When we get home, we all retreat to our respective rooms like hermit crabs. All three of us are not only physically drained from practice, but we're also loaded with enough readings and assignments to make us anti-social for a week, so we collectively agree to get those out of the way so we can be party ready for Friday. I'm eating dinner in my room while going through the last few readings for my political class when I hear something from the living room.

When I go downstairs to investigate, I pause at the sight. It's Gracie (that much I suspected) but there's also three other strangers here. They're crowded around a music stand and belting out some song. Gracie's back is to me so she doesn't hear me approach, but the other girls do. Their singing gradually stops and their voices get caught in their throat. I can see the girls hissing to each other excitedly. One of them blushes. Gracie whirls around and when she spots me, her lips twist into a faux smile. "Oh, hello Weston. I hope I'm not bothering you?" Her tone reeks of fake naivety. She tilts her head and bats her eyes all innocently.

I narrow my own eyes. "Who are you guys?"

Gracie waves a hand to each person as she introduces them. "This is Alex, Aashvi and Shauna. They're part of my vocals class." They all say their own version of hello and I nod to each of them.

"Listen, you guys sound cool and all, but this singing is kinda distracting. The rest of us are upstairs trying to study."

"Are you? Huh." Gracie is wearing overalls, this time in a light pink colour, and I'm starting to wonder if that's all she owns in her wardrobe. "Well, I'm also studying."

I scoff. "You're singing. I'm sure you guys can find another time for your musical hobbies."

"Weston, I'm a musical theatre major." I'm sorry, what? "This is my homework. Quite literally."

"You're a musical theatre major?" I can feel my jaw harden. This is bad. Really, really bad. And just when I thought the situation couldn't get any worse. Yesterday, she made pancakes and left the kitchen a complete mess with a note taped to the fridge that read "Sorry, was running late- will clean later!" I came downstairs to see syrup all over the counter and I was late to class cleaning up after the sticky chaos. I'm finding traces of her everywhere. Those long strands of brown hair can be found clogged in the sinks, in the shower...the shedding is worse than a dog. Not to mention her bunny. God, I hate that animal. When she's home, she lets it roam around freely around the apartment. She claims he's litter trained, and yet I'm finding fresh piss and droplets of shit in every crevice. And now, now, to top it all off, I'm going to hear this high pitched singing every night. "Gracie. Could I have a word with you in private?" I grit my teeth and nudge my head towards the kitchen.

"Sure." She smiles sweetly before excusing herself.

In the kitchen, I don't bother wasting any time. "Kick them out or I'll do it for you."

"Excuse me?" Gracie crosses her arms and holds her place. Even though I tower over her, she's putting in great effort to appear intimidating. "No."

"No?"

"No." For the first time, I'm seeing a different side of her. Gone is the perky and cheery girl I first met. She's mad and I can feel how hard she's refraining herself from shouting at the top of her lungs.

"I can't get any work done with all this ruckus!"

"Well I can't get any sleep when you have sex, so I guess we're even." I pause. She tips her chin higher. Touché. I guess has a valid point. "So if you want me to stop bringing my theatre friends here, then you need to stop bringing girls home."

I meet her hazel eyes. She's not backing down. Well, neither am I. "And if I don't?" I challenge.

She grins and whirls around, clapping twice. "Ladies and gents, from the top!" And off they go, singing god knows what. As she's singing and conducting her little group, she puts the nice cherry on top by sending smirks in my direction every now and then. Well played, Gracie.

My mind goes to the party we're having this Friday. Loud music. Beer. Kegs everywhere. People filling every room. And just like that, a new idea is brewing. We've entered a game of chess and it's too late for either of us to back out. Once I have her in a checkmate, she'll finally have enough and pack her bags for good.

I go up to Gracie and gently nudge her elbow. Leaning in close, I catch a good whiff of her vanilla perfume as I whisper, "You know what, go ahead and stay here as long as you want."

"Really?" She glances up at me with skepticism.

"Positive."

"Thank you" she says, void of sincerity. She doesn't seem to fully believe me. I see it in her eyes. She's smarter than I give her credit for.

I lean in just a little closer. "You know, I love this song."

I can feel her tense up. This isn't going according to her plan. "Do you?" she snaps.

"Mmhm. Maybe you should bring them around here more often. It really lightens up the mood. Don't ya think?"

"Maybe I will."

"Good."

"Good." Her shoulders slump in defeat and she appears more irritated than ever.

"Hey, can I put in a song request?"

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Just go away, Weston."

I wink at her before heading upstairs, whistling a happy tune until the top step.