As Chris skated past two of the other team’s wingmen and sent a clearing pass that bounced against the curb a few times before being picked up at the other end of the street, Ryan coughed again. The February air had been biting all afternoon and making his nose run, so he would sniffle, cough, and hack up thick mucus that he would then spit for distance, which is what he was about to do when a shout of “CAR!” came from behind the opposing goal. Ryan picked up the net and carried it to the side of the street. As the same green Explorer that had interrupted their game half an hour ago returned home, Ryan lifted his helmet and spit.
“Sooner or later, they’re actually going to get a shot off,” Chris said as he skated up next to him.
“Hardly. We’re killing them.”
“Yeah, we’re pretty good.”
“Or they’re pretty bad.”
After the Explorer passed and made a right into the cul-de-sac, Ryan put his helmet back on and picked up the net. He placed the goal back on the street and crouched into his goalie stance to watch the face-off at the other end. “So, you never answered my question. Did you call her on Friday or what?”
“I thought I told you. No. My mom came home from work early and needed me to go shopping with her.”
“Oh, that’s what happened,” Ryan said flatly.
“What?”
“You know what.”
Chris rolled his eyes and skated a few feet forward, his gangly legs pumping awkwardly. He practically fell over himself as he spun around and tried to catch up with Rob, who raced past him for what was going to be a slap shot. Ryan rolled forward and squared off, but it was no use; the shot had enough lift to get into his blind spot by his right shoulder. By the time he stuck his stick in the air to block, it was too late. Rob’s hands went up and he yelled, “Burnt toast, bitch!”
“What is it, 5-1, now?” Ryan said as he fished the ball out of the goal with his stick and then flung it down the street toward the awaiting face-off.
“Why does he have to be such a dick?” Chris asked, taking off his Mets cap and smoothing the sweaty, matted brown hair underneath.
“Ah, let him have his moment,” Ryan replied, “Anyway … you were telling me how you’re being a pussy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Call her already.”
“I was going to, but I told you. My mom–”
“Bullshit.”
“Bull true.”
“Bull true?”
“What? It’s a word,” Chris said as he glanced back at Ryan and then skated a little bit to his left so he wasn’t blocking his view of the action at the other end. “Besides, what am I going to say?”
“I thought we talked about this. Just ask her to go to the movies with you. Or out for pizza or something.”
“I can’t just do that.”
“Yes, you can. I believe it’s called asking a girl out, dumbass.”
“I know that. I just … how do I even start the conversation?” Chris asked before being distracted by an argument that was happening in front of the other goal. Two guys were yelling and were probably going to start shoving one another. He shrugged and looked back at Ryan, “Why do you care so much about this anyway? It’s not like you’re asking her out.”
“Well, I haven’t had a crush on her since the seventh grade.”
“Don’t you have bigger things to worry about?”
Ryan coughed a few times and then lifted his helmet to spit again. “I’ll be okay.”
“Your mom’s still pretty upset, huh?”
“She’s calmed down.”
That was a lie. Ryan had to beg her to let him play today and he told her that he was going to be in goal and wearing all his pads, so she didn’t have to worry. Last week, he cut his hand while slicing a bagel and he thought she was going to call 9-1-1 and have him rushed to the emergency room, even though everyone knew that a nick from a bread knife was not going to be fatal. But she’d been irrational—hell, she started tearing up right before he left the house today because she spotted him putting on his Red Sox hat as if his messy, curly blond hair not being there in a few weeks was going to be the worst thing ever. It made him glad to be out of the house.
“What about your dad?” Chris asked.
“He, uh, doesn’t talk about it.”
That was the truth. Ryan thought that if anyone could talk to him straight, it would be his dad. But through all the doctor’s appointments and tests, his dad had talked about getting Rangers tickets or seeing the next Marvel movie. And the few times he overheard his parents talking about him, Ryan noticed his mom did most if not all the talking.
Chris was quiet. He was probably trying to figure out the right thing to say. Not that he could. For a moment, Ryan regretted telling his friend, but he knew it had been the right call—there needed to be someone who had a chance at being helpful, especially since his sister Caroline was away at college and didn’t always respond to his texts.
Ryan changed the subject back. “Isn’t she in your earth science class?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.”
“Did you have homework this weekend?”
“Yeah, but I did it in study hall on Friday.”
“You’re such a nerd,” Ryan muttered under his breath as the ball followed by a crowd of guys chasing it came rushing toward them. Chris reacted quickly and slapped the ball back toward the other end before skating back to his position. “You know, you don’t have to stand here in front of the net.”
“I know. But then I get yelled at when I’m too far up and the ball gets by me because there’s nobody back here.”
“Suit yourself,” Ryan said. “Anyway, I wasn’t asking if you did your homework. I was asking if you had homework.”
“Why?”
“Because if you call her up tomorrow and ask her about the homework, that might be a good way to get her to talk to you.”
“But I already did my homework.”
Ryan knew that Chris couldn’t see his eye roll through the cage of his goalie mask, so he made sure that his body language reflected it. “That doesn’t matter.”
“But … oh.”
“Yeeaah, genius.”
“So, I call her tomorrow … why tomorrow?”
“Because tomorrow’s Sunday and she’ll probably be doing her homework tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Only you do your homework on Friday.”
“Well, I thought I’d get it out of the way,” Chris said as he looked past Ryan. “CAR!” Ryan turned around and picked up the goal again, skating with it toward the curb. It felt a little heavier this time, but he decided to ignore that and after placing it on the curb, took off his helmet and picked up his water bottle. He took a swig and then started coughing. “Wrong pipe,” he managed before taking another swig. This time, the water went down fine.
The car made a left onto Sycamore Lane and the guys got back into their positions. Chris quietly watched another face-off at the far end of the street followed by another goal. “So, I call her, ask her a question about the homework, and then ask her out?”
“Just try to talk to her for a few minutes and ask her if she wants to hang out sometime.”
“And that works?”
“I have no idea,” Ryan said, “It’s just what Caroline told me back when I asked her for advice about Jen McFadden.”
“But you never asked out Jen McFadden.”
“That’s because she was going out with Brian Henderson. See, I can do my homework, too.”
“Funny. They’ve been going out for that long?”
“Since last year in middle school,” Ryan said before glancing up the street and seeing Rob on another breakaway. “Shit.”
Chris reacted a moment later and tried to go one-on-one with Rob, which proved to be a big mistake. Rob shoved him aside and kept going. But this time, instead of skating to where he could shoot one high, he began skating to his right. Since he played with these guys every weekend, Ryan knew exactly what was going to happen and instead of following Rob, moved in the opposite direction just as Rob tried to fake him out. Frustrated that his finesse move didn’t work, Rob raised his stick high behind him and tried to launch one, but overcompensated and the shot was a roller that bounced a few times and wound up between Ryan’s knees. He was going to retrieve the ball and pass it to Chris to clear it until he heard Rob’s shouts of celebration from behind the net.
His peripheral vision not being the best in the helmet, Ryan looked around to figure out what had happened, but before he could figure out that the ball had dribbled between his legs and into the back of the net, Rob buzzed near them, yelling, “I said burrrrrrnt toooaaaast, biiiiiiitch!”
Ryan stepped forward and shoved him in the chest. It didn’t do much and Rob responded by shoving him back. Ryan then whipped off his helmet, threw his gloves and stick to the pavement, and charged at Rob, who had thrown his gloves off as well. Rob dodged out of the way and stuck out his foot, which caused Ryan to stumble toward the pavement. Before he hit the ground, he tried to land on his leg pads, which were like having two plastic-and-foam sleds strapped to his knees. He slid forward, tumbled onto his side, and slammed his left shoulder and arm into the asphalt.
Ryan slowly got to his feet and bent over, trying to catch his breath.
Chris skated over. “You okay?”
“I don’t need your help,” he gasped. He took a long breath through his nose and held it while he looked down the street. The other guys had stopped skating and were staring at him while Chris hovered around him.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Let me get my stuff back on.”
“Are you sure?”
“Leave me alone,” Ryan replied tersely. He skated away from Chris, snatched his helmet off the ground and put it on, then forcefully smacked his stick against his pads.
The game resumed and Ryan grit his teeth as a shot came his way. He deflected it to his right and Chris picked it up and headed toward the opposite goal. Ryan stood and watched, coughing and spitting occasionally while trying to ignore the way his left shoulder stung. He knew the bruise was going to be dark and that it would take a while to go away; once his mom saw it, that would be the end of hockey. He decided he would look at it when he got home, and put it out of his mind as the action began to shift back in his direction.
Chris, once again, couldn’t do anything as Rob took the ball and shoved him hard enough to knock him to the curb. Ryan took a deep breath and crouched. As Rob skated faster and faster toward him, Ryan squinted and tried to picture what his next move would be. Would he continue skating along the curb? Would he move to his right and try to get the ball around him?
Ryan told himself to square off—take a few steps out and face him directly, force the other boy to try to get around him, and then sweep the ball away. Rob’s stick clicked against the pavement as he kept control of the ball and got closer. And closer. Ryan didn’t know if Rob wasn’t stopping or simply couldn’t—either way, there was no choice but to dig in and get ready for a last-minute fake-out.
It never happened. With only a couple of feet between them, Rob let go of the ball and held his stick across his body, slamming it into Ryan’s chest. Ryan stumbled back and felt the wheels of his skates slide away. He landed on his back, his helmet smacking the street.
There was a scuffle. Some yelling. Ryan couldn’t hear it over the sound of his gasping. He knew he simply had just had the wind knocked out of him and would be fine in a few moments, but all he saw was the blurry winter sky and then the fuzzy faces of two boys who were picking him up and helping him to the side of the street. They laid him down on the grass between the street and sidewalk, and one of them asked if he wanted water.
He nodded. The boys went to get his water bottle. He still could only hear snippets of conversation.
“… fuck is wrong with you?”
“… fuckin’ dead …”
“… wanna go?”
“… break it up …”
“don’t need you fuckin’ losers …”
“… penalty shot?””
“… just play with one goalie …”
“… goin’ home.”
He propped himself up on his elbows and watched the other boys start playing again without Rob.
“Here,” Chris said, and Ryan noticed his friend sitting next to him offering a water bottle. He took a sip and spit the water onto the street. He was still wheezing a little and tried to take a breath.
“Shouldn’t you get out there?”
“I’m in the penalty box,” Chris said.
“The penalty box?”
“I punched Rob in the stomach.”
Ryan laughed and then coughed. “Ow. What?”
“I punched him in the stomach.”
“Awesome.”
“You’re not mad?”
“No.”
“Cool.”
The boys watched the game for a moment before Chris said, “Your mom’s not going to be happy.”
“I can hide it.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Just don’t say anything to her, okay?”
“I won’t.”
Ryan looked at his hand, which had smacked against the pavement and was now starting to bruise. That might not be easy to hide, although to be honest, it didn’t matter. In a week, he would be missing school and might not even be around on the weekends. He took another sip of water and sighed. “Do you want to go in goal when the power play is over? I’m going to sit out.”
“Sure,” Chris said, and he and Ryan began unbuckling the goalie pads. “You can use my stick if you feel like getting on defense.” Chris stood up and stretched, and then adjusted the goalie helmet before putting it on and skating back toward the goal.
The game continued, and he thought about two weeks from now and a month from now. He saw the way everyone looked at him when he was trying to catch his breath; how would everyone look at him all he could do was watch? He took a sip of water and saw Chris block a shot. As the half hour or so they had left went on, it seemed as if the game got quieter and further away.
Around 5:00, the sun was already setting and the air was soundless. Chris and Ryan sat on Ryan’s porch and waited for Chris’s mom to pull up. They talked about the saves Chris made in goal and the Rangers’ playoff chances. Ryan then broached the subject Chris had been avoiding. “Are you going to do it?”
“Do what?”
“Call her, dumbass.”
“You think that earth science thing will work?”
“Well, it will make it easy for you to start the conversation.”
“She’ll probably say no.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
“You don’t know that.”
“I guess,” Chris said. His mom’s minivan pulled into the driveway. He started gathering his stuff and stood up. “You sure your mom’s not going to freak out about what happened?”
“She’ll get mad,” Ryan replied, looking up at him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to play anymore.”
“I could tell her it was my fault.”
“No. I’ll be okay. This was probably my last game anyway.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. The doctor said I’m going to be really tired.”
“Oh,” Chris said, “Do you want me to get your homework for you on Thursday and Friday?”
“My mom said she talked to my teachers,” Ryan replied.
“Oh, okay.”
“Yeah, I wish she hadn’t. They were all looking at me weird last week.”
“Sorry.”
“I think I’ll be home next weekend, though. And we can hang out, I think.”
“Okay. Maybe we’ll play Xbox?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
“You can tell me all about how you chickened out.”
“I won’t. I’m going to call her when I get home.”
“Whatever.”
Chris carried his stick, gloves, and skates down the driveway and tossed them into the back of the minivan. “See ya!” They pulled out and Ryan sat alone on the stoop, watching the sun turn the sky from a deep red to a deep blue. The air was frigid and stinging and as he untied the laces of his skates, he wondered if Chris really was going to come over to play Xbox. Six more weeks of winter and six more weeks of doctors and needles and medicine that was going to make him sicker so that he could get better made no sense yet at the same time sounded like it should.
He took his skates off and the biting cold against his drenched, sweaty socks made him shiver. He felt the ache in his shoulder and his back again and took a deep breath while he stared at the darkening sky. He had told everyone he was fine because he needed to. Needed to be fine and brave, because he thought doing that would fix everything. But all he could think of now was how it kept getting colder and how as the night began to settle in, it was getting quieter and quieter. Ryan watched a car pass his house as in the distance, his mom called him to dinner. He looked at the end of the driveway, now dark, and picked up his skates. Maybe Chris would ask her out. Maybe he would play again and he’d really get revenge on Rob for that dirty hit. Maybe Caroline would text him back. Maybe Mom would stop worrying. Maybe Dad would talk to him about something other than sports or movies. And maybe all he would have to think about would be his homework.