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Authors: Cate Cameron

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BOOK: Winging It
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Chapter Fourteen

Toby

Nat ate pizza like it tasted good. Like she was enjoying her meal. That should just be taken for granted, I guess, but I’d known too many girls who were weird about food. Even Dawn, who wasn’t ever too worried about her weight, was a picky eater. She liked gourmet pizza, the kind with artichoke hearts or some crap on it. Nat, though? Regular pizza, double cheese and lots of disgusting scrap-based meat products, and she was happy as a clam.

A little
too
happy, maybe, because she was paying way more attention to her food than to me. She’d stopped even trying to stay on her end of the couch, and I’d stopped trying to resist the temptation of having her snuggled up against me, so she was sitting cross-legged, leaning half on me, half on the back of the couch, with a pizza box full of crusts on her lap.

“The crusts are good for your gums,” I told her.

She tossed a couple of them into the box on
my
lap. “You keep playing hockey, your gums are going to need all the help they can get to hold your teeth in.”

“I’m not the only hockey player in the room.” But I didn’t give her the crusts back.

She just snorted. “You’re the only
real
hockey player.”

There was something about the way she said it. Like she wanted to pretend she was just being casual, but really she meant…something. But I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be asking for details or if it was one of those things I should be able to understand without help.

Finally I gave up and said, “Why do you think you’re not playing real hockey?”

She gave me an incredulous look. “Compared to the OHL?”

“Compared to
reality
. There are lots of ways to play hockey that aren’t the OHL. Doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

“But we’re just ‘playing,’ right? You guys are the real athletes. That’s what you think?”

“Oh, okay, and what else do I think in your make-believe world?” I could have let it go, I guess, but this was kind of bugging me. So I shifted around, bouncing her away from me a bit, and half turned so I could see her better. “Seriously, have I ever said anything like that? I mean, I’m sorry we don’t play together anymore, but that doesn’t mean I think I’m better than you or something.”

She shifted around, too, and glared at me. “Don’t be stupid, Toby. Of
course
you’re better than me. You could kick my ass if we played hockey against each other right now.”

I had no idea what the right answer was to something like that. “I…well, yeah, I mean, I’m way bigger than you are. And I’ve been playing with really good players—guys with NHL experience and everything—for a couple years now. I guess I’d be able to—not kick your ass, maybe, but, yeah, I’d—I’d do okay…”

“Do you think you’re doing me a favor by pretending it’s not true? Like, you’re going to
fool
me into thinking that it’s just a big coincidence that you’re in the OHL and I’m not? You’re trying so hard to be sensitive that you’re patronizing me and acting like I’m too stupid to know what you’re doing.”

“Okay, we’re having two different conversations.” I tried to catch up to what she was saying. “At least two. Maybe three or four. I mean, yeah, okay. I’m a better hockey player than you. Is that what you want to hear?” She stared at me like she wanted to keep fighting but couldn’t quite figure out how. Finally, her face softened a little, but not in a way that made me feel good.

“It’s not fair,” she said quietly.

“Fair?” I thought about it for a bit. “No, I guess not. You worked just as hard as I did. Your skills were as good as mine, and you understood the game just as well. But you didn’t get that growth spurt. You didn’t get big enough, or fast enough.”

“Because I’m a girl.”

I knew I was walking on thin ice. And for pretty much anyone else in the world, I don’t think I’d have taken the chance. But this was Nat, and maybe I wasn’t being honest with her about everything, but at least I could tell her the truth about this. “You think it’s because you’re a girl? Not really. I mean, partly, I guess. But how many kids did we play with? Mostly boys, but a few girls, too. Our team, plus all the other teams in our region. Hundreds of kids, most of them playing hard and loving the game, and I think there are two guys from our year who made the OHL, a few more who are probably going to play college hockey. That’s it. About five guys out of maybe five hundred. So it’s not because you’re a girl, really.”

I watched her closely for a moment, waiting to see how she was going to react to that little speech, and then I leaned back and spread my arms out in an exaggerated stretch. “Hardly anyone, boy or girl, plays top-level hockey. It’s not that the rest of you are terrible, it’s just that I’m really, really,
really
good.”

And of course Nat smacked me in the ribs. I’d known she wouldn’t be able to resist an opportunity like I was offering her. “Whatever, hotshot. No wonder this couch is sagging—it’s the weight of your ego.”

“And of my rippling muscles.”

“Mostly ego, I think.” She was still frowning, but it was just grumpy Nat, not a big crisis.

So, like an idiot, I decided to push it a little further. “It’s not like you’re done with hockey. You’re not going to make the NHL, but that doesn’t mean you can’t play.”

“With women older than my mom? Players who hardly ever make it to practice and only show up for the games, if that? I mean, how do we get better if we don’t practice? We can’t learn any plays or anything. It’s hopeless.”

“What schools did you apply for next year? Do they have hockey teams? There might not be elite women’s hockey in Corrigan Falls, but that doesn’t mean you’re done with it forever.”

She glared at me. “I might not even
make
the school team next year, not if I’m trying out against girls who’ve been playing competitive hockey for the last four years while I’ve been skating around with a bunch of benders!”

I glared right back. “Oh, I’m sorry, are we just making up excuses? I thought we were trying to find solutions. I guess that’s one more way we’re having different conversations.”

“Okay, what about the ‘compared to reality’ part of the conversation? Are you just going to pretend that the girls who’ve been challenged and who’ve had good coaching and training and whatever else aren’t going to have an edge over me? You’re going to keep pretending I’m too stupid to know who’s a better player than me?” She was back to being mad now. “
This
is why I stopped hanging out with you, Toby! It’s so easy for you, so you think it’s so easy for everyone else, too. I mean, I’m glad you’re doing well.”

She stopped, as if she’d heard those words the same way I had. Dripping with sarcasm, as if she was the furthest thing from glad. “I’m jealous,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “But I really am happy for you. But that doesn’t mean it was easy to watch it all come together for you.”

It took a few seconds for everything to sink in, and then I said, “Okay, well, if you
had
been watching, you’d know it wasn’t easy at all.” I was maybe taking this a bit harder than I should, but it was all part of everything else, and it actually hurt to realize Nat of all people didn’t understand. “You know who’s had it
easy
, Nat? Fucking Scott! I mean, when you and I stopped playing together, I didn’t go straight to the OHL, and my parents—you know they don’t have a lot of money. They helped, but mostly I paid my own team fees and travel costs and equipment, my damn feet growing so fast I’d need two pairs of skates a year, practicing just about every day we didn’t have a game, trying to find time to mow lawns or shovel driveways or do whatever else I could in between hockey, working my
ass
off every practice, every game, because I’m not like some of the other guys, Nat. I don’t have MacDonald’s skill or Winslow’s size.”

I was calming down a little, already kind of embarrassed about my speech, but this was Nat. I’d embarrassed myself in front of her plenty of times, and we always got past it. “I mean, they work hard, too. We all work hard. But, shit, Nat. When Scott cruises up here in his brand-new car and starts bragging about all the shit his dad buys for him? When everybody acts like he’s a damn hero, just for—for
nothing
. He’s done
nothing
. I don’t think he’s ever had a job, he doesn’t lift a finger to help anyone else—” I broke off. I’d gotten way off topic. Shit. “Sorry. The point is, it’s
not
easy for me. And this is my draft year, and I have no idea if I’m going to get the nod. The OHL is great, and I’m really glad I got to play at this level. But you’re talking like I’m
done
, like I’ve got everything I want, and that’s really not true.”

“You’ll get drafted,” she said. I could tell she was still thinking about all the rest of it, still chewing it over and trying to understand it. The draft talk was just her way of filling the silence.

“I hope so,” I said.

She frowned thoughtfully, and I knew she was hopping back to the rest of my speech. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. You do work hard. I didn’t mean to—or, I don’t know, maybe I meant to, but I
shouldn’t
have meant to suggest you didn’t. It’s just—you chose that, right? You could have quit any time, but you didn’t, because this is what you want, even if it isn’t easy. I never got that choice.”

I shook my head. This wasn’t the Nat I knew. “Do you actually want to make things work? Do you want to get back in the game and play college hockey? ’Cause if you do, stop being such a baby and start figuring out ways to get past the problems.”

“Like what? What am I supposed to do about being stuck in this town where women’s hockey is completely ignored? How am I supposed to get ready for playing hockey next year with no one to play against me now?”

“Wow, that’s a tough one. I mean, if only you
knew
someone who plays a lot of hockey, someone who could help you get sharp again, that would make a big difference, probably. It sure is sad you don’t know anyone like that. Right?”

She gave me a long look before shaking her head. “You have your own stuff to worry about. You just told me how hard you have to work. You don’t have time to help me out.”

“I can find time. It’s honestly not as bad now—I still have to work hard with the team, but they pay me and they cover my expenses, so I don’t need the extra jobs anymore.” But when I looked over at her, she still didn’t seem convinced. “Fuck it, Nat, I’m not going to drag you into this. If you don’t want it bad enough to even ask for help, then you don’t want it all that bad. And that’s fine. I’ve heard there are people in the world who manage to live rich, happy lives without playing hockey. So if you’re going to be one of them, that’s fine.” I didn’t really mean it, of course. It would be truly weird to live in a world where Natalie West wasn’t playing hockey. But addressing that possibility wasn’t something that would fit into my current speech. I had a point to make. “So, give up if you want to. Just don’t bitch about how unfair it all is. Not when you haven’t even tried very hard to make it different.”

She stared at me for longer than was totally comfortable then said, “So, you’d help me?”

I shrugged. This was Nat—she didn’t need me to let her off easy. “Maybe. Only one way to find out, really.” That earned me a pretty good glare, one that I was happy to grin back at. I casually stretched out on the couch, acting like the conversation was over and it was time to move on. “You want to watch
Slap Shot
?”

“No,” she growled. Then she twisted her mouth around. “I mean, yes. Obviously I want to watch
Slap Shot
. But, first…”

I waited. Nat had developed a crush on my asshole cousin, had dragged me into a stupid, humiliating scheme, didn’t understand how hard I’d been working, and was frustratingly oblivious to my newly discovered sense of her as a desirable human female. So, yeah, I took a bit of pleasure in making
her
struggle with something for a change.

Finally she spoke, so fast that the words kind of blurred together. “Toby, will you please help me with my game so I can make the team next year if I try out for college hockey?”

I raised an eyebrow. “
If
you try out?”

She huffed in aggravation. “I could get hit by a bus or something. Or I might not get into school, or there could be a zombie apocalypse. So, it’s my current
plan
to try out for college hockey.”

“And barring injury or apocalypse, you’ll stick to that plan? You won’t quit just because you aren’t sure you’ll make the team, or because training is too hard or something?”

“I’m not a quitter!”

“You never used to be,” I agreed thoughtfully. “So, okay. Yes, I’ll help.” I tossed a couple of the pizza crusts back into her box. “Eat those,” I ordered. “Good for your teeth.”

She looked at me like she was maybe going to argue, which would have made perfect sense. I had no idea why eating pizza crusts would be all that helpful for a hockey player. But after a few moments’ hesitation, she grabbed hold of one of the crusts and jammed it halfway into her mouth, biting off a mouthful with a feral growl.

She kept growling as she chewed, staring at me with an intense expression only partly lightened by the dancing in her eyes.

It was probably a sign of something deeply wrong with me that her wild-animal act was such a turn-on. Deeply, deeply wrong.

Chapter Fifteen

Nat

It only takes about half an hour to watch
Slap Shot
when you fast-forward through all the boring parts, and Toby and I had always been in perfect agreement about which parts were boring. Pretty much everything that happened off the ice got cut in our version of the film.

As the credits rolled, Toby carefully gathered the garbage from our meal, set it on the coffee table, and then turned to me. “You still have your net in the garage?”

I nodded slowly. “It’s there.” It might be a bit buried under a few years of crap, but I certainly hadn’t thrown it out, and I knew my mom wouldn’t have, either.

His response was casual. “Wanna take shots?”

So simple. How many hours had he and I spent on the driveway, taking shots on net from all different angles, with various approaches and challenges? As we’d gotten older and better at the game, we’d added more patches to Felix, the plywood goalie cutout who blocked the center of the net, until we were shooting at gaps that were barely bigger than the puck. We’d still left lots of dings in the garage door that served as our backstop, but only when we’d been trying too hard for speed instead of accuracy.

It had been a long time since I’d bothered to work on my shot, though. Damn. Toby was right—I
had
been feeling sorry for myself, looking for excuses instead of working toward solutions. Why hadn’t I been able to see that on my own? And why hadn’t anyone else given me a kick in the pants and reminded me to get to work?

“Yeah, let’s take shots,” I said, and Toby grinned at me. We lurched up off the couch together and headed for the stairs.

I’d been right about the net being hidden in the garage, but Toby and I got it free pretty quickly and burrowed around a little more until we found a bucket of pucks. My street hockey sticks were too short for Toby
and
the blades curved the wrong direction, since I was left-handed, but he didn’t seem too worried about it. “Versatility is the hallmark of a great athlete,” he said.

I didn’t bother answering, just pulled the garage door down and took my stick and the bucket of pucks to the end of the driveway. “I need to warm up, but then we can call our shots. Maybe play H-O-R-S-E?”

“You’re getting competitive already?”

“You scared?” I taunted, and then totally ruined the effect by almost whiffing on my first shot.

“Terrified,” he agreed, and of course his shot went right in the five hole.

We stayed out there for hours, first taking shots, then setting up little drills and plays and then going back to the shots. Raiders have curfew most nights, but since there was no game that Sunday they had some freedom for that Saturday night, and I guess Toby was taking full advantage of that opportunity, even if he
hadn’t
gone to Kelly’s party.

And me? I’d say my mom looked a little surprised when she pulled up to the house sometime after midnight and saw Toby and me out there, but that was all. “Good thing I haven’t gotten around to replacing the garage door,” she said, and she tossed me the keys to her car, which she’d left in the street. “Move it in when you’re done.”

The last time Toby and I had played hockey on my driveway, I’d still been too young to drive. Other than that, though, everything felt like old times.

Well, there were a few other glitches. Like a few times when I caught Toby looking at me with a sort of weird expression. Like…I’m not sure. Like he didn’t know me, or something. Like he was watching me, trying to figure me out. Not hostile or anything, just curious in a way that Toby had no reason to be. And then one time when we were gathering up the pucks after we’d emptied the bucket, we both bent over to dig the same one out of the mesh gathered around the bottom of the net and our hands kind of overlapped. I was the one who’d gotten to the puck first, so he should have pulled his hand away. Which he did, eventually, but not as fast as he should have. And by the time I’d tossed the puck into the bucket and straightened up, he’d turned away and was halfway back to the end of the driveway, refusing to look at me.

And maybe, just maybe, I was being a bit strange myself. It was kind of hard to adjust to having Toby there, and everything was the same as it used to be but still somehow different.
Toby
was different. Or the way I saw him was.

It must have been the kiss, I decided. It had scrambled my brain somehow, confused my body. Now when he leaned into me, pushing me away from the puck, I was suddenly aware of—of
everything
. His strength and warmth and how soft his hair was as it brushed against my cheek, the way he smelled, the little huff of a laugh he gave when I threw my weight against his. After we’d been playing for a while and took our jackets off, I found myself staring at his chest as he lifted his arms. When had he gotten so broad? When had my friend turned into
this
?

So, yeah, things were a bit weirder than they’d been when we were kids, and I had a few moments of distraction. But it was still a fun night, and by the end of it we were calling our shots and I was hitting them with almost as much accuracy as he was.

“You always were a sniper,” he said as he ducked his shoulder under the net and carried it back to the garage. I swear, I felt like I might levitate. Because I
had
always been a sniper, and I still was. Maybe my shot wasn’t as hard as Toby’s these days, but that didn’t mean I was useless.

“Thanks,” I said. But that wasn’t quite enough. “For everything. I mean, the hockey, and the—well, I’m not going to call it a pep talk—”

“The yelling at?” he suggested.

“Don’t make a habit of it, but, yeah, this once? Thanks for the yelling at. I think I needed it.”

“It’s not all you need,” he said, tossing the stick he’d been using back into its spot by the door. “This was just a warm-up. It’s too late for you to do much about getting recruited, probably, but it might not be too late to try out for some of the stuff that goes on over the summer. You could get your name out there, get some good practice in game situations, and be really sharp for tryouts in August. But you’ve got to get some work in before you’re ready for the summer stuff, even.”

I stared at him. “You’ve thought this through?”

“Well, I’m not, like, an expert on women’s hockey. But there are definitely women’s training camps—I’ve seen those. You might have to pay your way, since no one will know who you are and won’t offer you a scholarship or whatever. You still have the child support fund?”

Of course Toby knew about that. My dad left when I was seven and never looked back, but he sent a check every month. My mom had been too pissed at him to actually spend the money, so she’d dumped it all into an education account for me. Our lower-middle-class version of a trust fund, I guess. “Yeah, I still have it. And I’ve got my reffing money. I could afford to go to a camp. But, seriously, you think I’m not even good enough to go to a training camp yet?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You were the one going on about how you hadn’t had good coaching or training or competition lately. So, yeah, I guess you’re probably not as sharp as you could be.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’d better not be underestimating women’s hockey, Nat. Don’t go into this with some ‘I played with the boys so I’m bulletproof’ attitude. They probably
all
played on coed teams when they were younger.” He took half a step back, easing out of the garage and onto the driveway. “You should think about this. It’s not something you should decide to commit to just because the idea occurred to you, or because I dared you. If you decide you want to get back into hockey, and do it seriously? That’s a big decision. Maybe you shouldn’t make it right now. Sleep on it, or whatever.”

I heard what he was saying, but it was too late. I’d made the decision as soon as we’d found the old net buried under all the junk in the garage. I’d seen that white nylon mesh and it had been like a part of me that had been asleep for too long had finally woken up. I’d
missed
that part of me. It had made me feel alive, like I was part of something bigger than me, something exciting and true. It was about two in the morning, and I was tired and starting to get cold, now that the sweat was cooling and leaving me damp in the late winter air, but I could still feel that buzz of energy running through me. “I’ll sleep on it and call you tomorrow to confirm,” I said. He nodded and took another step backward, and I grinned at him. “But, Toby? I’m in. I want this.”

He looked at me for a long moment then nodded and smiled back at me. “Okay. Good. Call me tomorrow.”

He headed for his car then, and I jogged down to bring my mom’s in from the street. I parked it in the driveway and stepped inside the garage, ready to pull the door down, and when I glanced out to the street, Toby was still there in his car, waiting to be sure I made it inside safely. There wasn’t a whole lot of crime in Corrigan Falls, but it still gave me a warm glow, knowing that he was looking out for me. Knowing that he cared. He’d always been good that way, and it was nice to know that inside his adult body he was still the same guy.

I waved good night and slammed the door shut, then went inside. I needed to stay focused, I reminded myself. Toby was a friend; that was all. Scott Dakins was the one I wanted. I just need to figure out how to get him without totally ruining my renewed friendship with Toby Cooper.

BOOK: Winging It
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