by Carly Syms
"Nice drill, Shane," Coach D says. "I might have to start doing this one in practice."
I can't help but smile -- I really do have the best coach in Shane. I owe all of this to him if he's even giving Coach D training ideas.
He's so smart about hockey. About a lot of things. I still don't understand how he didn't get drafted when he was supposed to. It makes no sense to me.
The blast of his whistle jolts me out of my thoughts, and I realize both he and Coach Dobrov are staring at me.
"Sorry," I say, cheeks flushing a deep red. I'm supposed to be showing her that I'm capable of being her first-string goalie and I can't even keep my focus together in an afternoon practice. Great. "Let's do it."
Shane nods but doesn't meet my eye, and I wonder if he's mad that I'm making a terrible impression on my high school coach -- and reflecting badly on him.
Coach D and Shane take turns peppering me with pucks and I'm slipping and sliding all over the ice. The look on Shane's face isn't an encouraging one. I'm pretty sure he's horrified by the way I'm playing, and he wouldn't even be wrong about that.
"Okay, wait, wait," Shane calls out, stopping the barrage of pucks coming at me. He walks over to the goal and lowers his voice. "What's up with you?"
I stand up and pull off the goalie mask so it's resting on the top of my head. "What?"
"Natalie," he hisses. "Knock it off. You're better than this and that's your coach. What are you doing?"
"I'm trying," I say honestly. "It's a new drill and it isn't that easy for me."
He rolls his eyes. "This is what you want, isn't it? Figure it out."
My jaw drops -- and he's the one questioning my attitude. Before I can say anything else, he's already walking away from me.
"Let's try that again," he says loudly, his voice considerably more upbeat when he knows Coach Dobrov can hear.
I let out a sigh and crouch down into position as he blows his whistle and sends a puck flying in toward me.
I will my body to keep balanced and in control; this drill is all about lower body strength and clearly mine is still a work in progress but even though he's being a jerk, Shane's right. Coach Dobrov's watching. I have to get this figured out, or at least pretend like I can.
My two coaches continue to fling shots on net and I stare at each puck as it flies toward me, trying to slow it down in my mind and get a pad on it.
Shane blows the whistle to end the drill and I turn around to see how many got by me. I know the point of the drill wasn't to stop every puck, but it helps to see some kind of tangible evidence of how well I did.
About ten pucks are scattered in the net behind me.
Not bad, considering there must be at least a hundred littering the ice that I didn't let in.
"Well done, Natalie," Coach Dobrov says. "I'm impressed. I hope you'll bring that intensity at the end there to every practice with the team."
I smile, a rosy blush coloring my face. "Thanks, Coach."
She nods once, says something quietly to Shane that I can't hear and walks off the ice with her stick. Shane waits until the door to the rink closes behind her before he turns to me.
"That was better," he says, no trace of his earlier irritation creeping into his voice. "Like Coach D said, it's a little impressive."
"That was terrible."
"Nah, you settled down. New drills are always tough at first." He glances down at the watch on his left wrist. "Hey, I've got to cut practice a little short today. Do those off-ice lateral drills I taught you when you get home, okay?"
I nod. "Okay."
"Promise?" he asks, lifting his eyebrow.
I smile, thinking about how I'd never have wanted to do drills on my own when all this started. "Yeah, promise."
"Oh, before I go," he says as I pull off my goalie mask and shake my hair out of its ponytail. "Some of the guys on the team and their girls are going skiing at my family's cabin this weekend upstate. I thought maybe you'd want to come."
I freeze.
We're not dating, not even close, apparently, since he still hasn't said anything about it. And he, what, wants me to go away for the weekend with him? Is he crazy?
But instead of saying that, I just laugh. "Me? Skiing?" I bend down to get out of my leg pads. "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Well, for one thing, I don't know how to ski."
Shane rolls his eyes. "And? You didn't know how to play hockey before you met me, either."
"And look how long it took you to teach me. We've been doing this for more than a month now."
"Skiing is easy."
"I bet you're really good at it, right?"
He shrugs. "So what?"
"So it won't be any fun for you to have to stick around on the incompetent hill with me when you could be skiing the Olympic courses with your friends."
"First of all," he says, a smile fighting to emerge on his face. "There is no such thing as an Olympic course where we're going. Or an incompetent hill, for that matter. Second, who says it wouldn't be fun for me to hang out with you?"
"You know what I mean, Shane."
He sighs. "I wouldn't ask you to come if I didn't want to spend time on the mountain with you, okay? This doesn't have to be hard."
A hint of his earlier annoyance with me is seeping back into his voice, and I can't figure out why he's so testy today.
I think about what he said for a second, twisting the ring on my right hand. "Doesn't matter. My parents will never let me go."
"Why? Your dad and my dad adore each other."
I smile at that. "Is your dad going to be there?"
He shrugs. "Maybe. They haven't decided yet. But I'm your coach, Nat. I really don't think it'll be a problem."
Despite his confidence that my parents won't care, I'm still pretty skeptical. "There's a difference between coaching me and going away for the weekend with me."
"Just ask them," Shane says. "You're only here for a little while longer. I think it'd be fun." He bends down and kisses the top of my head. "I'm out of here." He grabs his bag and heads for the door before I have a chance to process everything that just happened.
And when I do, all I can think about is that kiss he left in my hair.
He hadn't bothered to kiss my lips. He was rude all day.
What the heck is going on with him?
***
I'm sitting in my English class the next day when my phone lights up in my lap. I glance down at it and can't keep the insta-smile from spreading across my face just at the sight of his name on the screen.
So what's the verdict?
I grin. Shane's pushing hard for me to go on this ski trip -- maybe he really wouldn't hate hanging out on the bunny slopes with me. And now that I've had time to think about it, the idea's definitely growing on me. I mean, who wouldn't want to go away for a wintry weekend with a gorgeous college hockey player, anyway?
My parents are cool w/ it as long as urs are going too.
This, at least, is true. Shane was right, at least partially, anyway. My parents absolutely adore my coach, but they don't love him enough to let me go away with him by myself.
Cool. They'll be there.
I raise my eyebrows as Shane's response lands in my inbox. I hadn't been counting on that, but I 'm smiling as I read it. If Shane's parents really are going, then so am I and I'm kind of excited about it.
So what's the plan?
Leaving Fri after hockey prax. I'll pick u up around 5. We'll be at the cabin by 9.
I don't even care that this weekend has all sorts of potential for awkward since I don't know any of Shane's hockey friends or the girlfriends he mentioned would be there. All I can think about now is spending more time with him. I haven't seen him since that awkward practice where Coach Dobrov made a random appearance the other day but I'm not letting it bother me.
Or I'm trying, anyway.
The hair kiss, I've decided, doesn't mean he's not into me anymore. He wants me to go ski
ing with him for Pete's sake!
But still. I kind of wish I had some idea what that was all about. I replayed that conversation in my head hundreds of times since it happened, and I'm still totally clueless.
Everything had been going perfectly and then boom!
I think about it again, from the first kiss to joking about my shape to me grumbling about the drills he was going to make me do that day. And as I think about that, I key in on what I said for the first time. I'd been thinking so much about his words, his actions and not paying nearly enough attention to mine.
What was it that I'd said right before the shift in his behavior? That without his help, I wouldn't be going back to Arizona as soon as I was because of him?
Could that be it?
It seems too simple, but maybe it's the only thing that makes any sense.
And if that's really it, well, what's that all about anyway? Why? He knew from the start that I was only doing this whole hockey thing so I could go back to Arizona right away.
But I guess I can't lie.
Part of me -- and maybe it isn't a small part -- kind of hopes that's exactly what was bugging Shane that night. Because that means he cares just as much as I do.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
My bag rests at my feet as I sit on the curb outside our house waiting for Shane to get home so we can leave for our weekend trip to northern Wisconsin. He's coming from his apartment downtown and we're going to ride with his parents and meet the rest of his friends up at the cabin.
I glance down at the clock on my phone and let out a sigh. He's almost half an hour later than he said he'd be, and after the day I had, I could really use the boost I always seem to find when he's around. But him not being here -- and not even sending a text to let me know how late he's running -- isn't doing a whole lot to help.
I'm glaring down the street, waiting for his familiar blue Toyota to turn the corner, when my dad opens the front door to our house and walks out to join me at the curb.
"Still nothing?" he asks.
I sigh. "No, Dad. I'm still here, aren't I?"
"Why don't you walk down the street and ask Joe what's going on?"
I stare at him. "Are you crazy?"
"Do you have a better idea?"
"I'm not going to ask Shane's dad why his son is standing me up."
Dad opens his mouth to respond when my phone buzzes in my lap and Shane's name lights up the caller ID.
"Hold on," I say to my father. "Hello?"
"Natalie! I'm really sorry. Practice ran long," Shane says breathlessly. "I'm leaving the rink right now."
"How much longer?" I ask.
Even though this delay apparently isn't his fault -- and now it makes sense why he hadn't been able to let me know what the hold up was -- I'm still ticked off about it.
"I'll be there in fifteen," he promises. "Ten if I speed."
"Speed."
He laughs then goes silent when I don't join him. "Okay. I'll see you in a little bit."
"Okay. Bye."
I disconnect the call and look over at Dad, who's staring back at me with a frown.
"Everything alright, Natbat?"
"It's fine. He'll be here soon. Practice ran late."
Dad raises his eyebrows but says nothing else about it. "Okay. Have a great time this weekend and let us know when you get up there safe. Joe said cell reception can be spotty but give it a shot, okay? For your old man."
I nod. "Sure, Dad. See you Sunday night."
He turns and walks into the house, leaving me to sit on the curb and wait for Shane alone.
***
It's closer to twenty minutes by the time Shane's car finally turns onto our street and cruises to a rest in front of my house. He almost drives straight past me to his own place but stops short when I stand up and flag him down.
That's only mildly embarrassing.
"Hey!" he says as I lift the lid of the trunk to toss my bag in. "I'm really sorry."
I shut the door and get into the front seat before I respond. "Don't worry about it."
He glances over at me before shifting the car out of park and driving the few feet down to his own house.
"You okay, Natalie?"
I smirk. It's the second time someone's asked me that in the last half hour.
"I'm fine."
"I really am sorry I didn't tell you I was running late," he says. "Coach wasn't in a good mood. I even asked him if I could run out really quick to let my parents know and he wouldn't let me."
I sigh. I'm not even sure why I'm so cranky about this -- maybe it's just a combination of things and it's easiest to take it out on Shane because he's here...and because I know he isn't going anywhere.
"It's not a big deal," I say, and try to convince myself that I mean it. And even if I don't, I hope I can at least start acting like I do.
Shane parks in his driveway and shuts off the car's engine.
"Hope you don't mind riding up in the backseat," he says. "My dad wants to drive."
Before I can say anything, Shane's parents walk out onto their front porch, bags in hand. They say hello, add their luggage to ours and climb into the car.
Shane looks at me over the roof and winks before we get into the backseat together.
"All aboard!" Mr. Stanford says once the car doors closed. "Next stop: Magic Kingdom."
Mrs. Stanford chuckles quietly next to her husband but Shane just groans. His dad shoots him a look in the rearview mirror.
"Just a little family tradition," he says, glancing over his shoulder at me as he backs out of the driveway.
"My dad does the same kind of thing."
Mr. Stanford smiles and nods. "That doesn't surprise me."
I'm not sure what to say to that so I don't say anything at all. It's then that I realize I'm about to be stuck in a car for the next four hours or so with Shane and his family. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do next -- if they aren't going to talk, I'm definitely not going to be the one who pipes up and ruins the silence.
I reach into my bag and pull out my phone and a set of earbuds, and I can feel Shane's eyes on me the whole time. I glance over at him and he smiles before digging his own phone out of the back pocket of his jeans.
I'm staring out the window, wondering what the heck I'm supposed to do for the next four hours when my phone vibrates in my lap.
Sorry it's weird in here.
I look over at him and he's smiling back at me. Shane shrugs apologetically, lightly biting down on the left corner of his lip. The effect is adorable, and I can't keep a grin from spreading across my face as I type out a response to his text, my earlier irritation with him fading.
You're taking me SKIING. I can suffer thru the car ride.
It's kind of weird texting someone who's sitting right next to me. I can't help but glance over at him to gauge his response to my incoming message. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the screen.
Bet you're a natural ;) You are at hockey.
Only bc I have a great teacher!
You're right. I guess I do get to take some credit.
Nah, Coach D is the best :)
A small laugh escapes his lips when he reads my text message and his mom glances back over her shoulder.
"Everything okay back there?" she asks.
"Oh, it will be," he replies. "Just have to sort someone out." It's my turn to try and hide my grin. Mrs. Stanford raises her eyebrows and turns her attention back to the road in front of her.
Looks like I'll be taking early retirement then
Leaving your client in a pinch? Not very professional Mr. Stanford...
Doesn't sound like she needs me anymore...
I fight to control my reaction as I read this text. I don't want to look over to see if he's watching me, and I definitely don't want him to realize I'm wondering if his message applies to more than just my training on the ice.
You'll have to ask her to be sure but I think
she'd rather be safe than sorry
There. The perfect response. If I'm reading way too much into his comment and he's only talking about hockey (likely), then it works beautifully. But if he had a little subtle meaning to his text, well, I think my answer is relaxed enough not to be too enthusiastic but not bland enough that he might think I'm disinterested.
Whew.
Texting a guy you're pretty sure you adore is not easy work.
Guess my retirement can wait a few more days
Probably for the best.
You should nap. My friends def don't plan on sleeping when we all get up there
I try not to let disappointment cloud my face. I'm liking our secret back-and-forth texting while his parents sit right up front, just a ruler's length away from us.
Seriously. I'm going to.
I nod at the follow-up text as my phone vibrates in my lap before looking over at him. He grins at me, closes his eyes, folds his hands underneath his chin and mimics excessive snoring.
I clap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing when he opens his eyes and winks at me. My heart flutters erratically at that simple gesture as I tuck my phone back into my bag and shut my eyes, ready to take his advice.
We have all weekend to talk and laugh and be silly together, so what's a few hours of rest before the real fun gets started?
Besides, I'm pretty sure this weekend is going to be amazing.
***
The shift in road from gravel to hard, crunchy snow stirs me out of my sleep a couple of hours later. I blink a few times to clear the slumber from my eyes and blearily glance out the car window.
