Just One of the Boys

by Lexie Syrah

  An hour slips away from us as I go through all my moves—holding the other guy to keep balance, tearing helmets off, how to deke around a guy’s fist. Just the basic stuff.

  “How did you learn all this?” Bell wheezes, as we lean against the boards for a break.

  “You just pick up tricks along the way.” I shrug. “I’m always the guy getting into fights. When one of my teammates gets knocked down, I’m there to protect them. It’s just my thing.”

  “Your thing?” He looks up at me, scrunching up his face. “Most guy’s hockey thing is passing or shooting or speed…not being an elite goon. You’re too good a player for that.”

  I look out to the ice. “I’m a better player than you, rookie.”

  “I believe this rookie is almost tied with you in points.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Because I’m always feeding you goals.”

  “Sure, Tremblay.”

  “I guess…I just really needed my own thing,” I say, not sure he even cares. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that makes me think he does. “I was always the other Tremblay, the kid brother. Kevin already had the scoring record, the points, the trophies. He’s been the captain of every goddamn team he’s ever been on. I couldn’t beat any of those records…so I needed something that he never did, something that was all mine.”

  Bell’s eyes are trained on me. “And that thing is fighting?”

  “I like the way the guys look to me. They know I have their back.”

  “I get that.” Bell takes off his ball cap and runs a hand through his scraggly hair. “But…”

  “What?” There’s something he’s holding back, because he’s scared I won’t like it.

  “It’s just,” he says, “I think it’s more than that. Don’t get mad, but from what I’ve seen, you seek it out. You look for fights.”

  “But if I can’t fight, what kind of player am I?” I shake my head. “I’d just be…worthless.”

  Bell doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me with that dumb, wide-eyed look on his face.

  “S-sorry,” I stammer, running a hand over my jaw. “I didn’t mean to get all emotional on you and shit. Dude, you’re worse than girl. Got me talking about feelings and shit.”

  …

  Alice

  My heart hammers so loud, it almost drowns out my stupid panting. I can’t stop staring at him. I’m pretty sure Hayden’s never told anyone the things he’s telling me. He looks almost helpless right now. His hair’s tousled and stuck to his forehead with sweat, but I can still see the intensity in his dark eyes.

  Hayden’s not the only one experiencing something new by talking about feelings. There’s nothing I hate more than having to explain myself. I’ve always figured that saying stuff out loud was useless, that if people want to fix something, they just have to go out and do it.

  But listening to Hayden…it’s like he’s realizing this stuff about his brother for the first time…just by saying it. And even more surprising: I care, and I want him to tell me more.

  But why?

  “What kind of player do you want to be?” I ask.

  He squints his eyes and looks up. “The year before my brother got drafted, he broke the record for most points in the junior league. The only record I broke last year was most fights in the season.”

  “Yeah,” I say and cross my arms. “And how many games were you suspended for?”

  “Five,” he says, grinding his teeth.

  “Can’t break many records when you’re not playing.” I jokingly hit his arm, but he doesn’t react. My hand lingers on his sleeve. Is this comforting or weird? All I know is, every instinct in my body is telling me to keep touching him.

  He looks at me—really looks at me. And for a second, I wish he could see right through this whole Al thing. I wish I could just be a girl with a boy. A fantasy of pressing my lips to his, falling against his hard chest, clouds my thoughts.

  But there’s no way he’s thinking the same thing, considering that I’m a boy.

  “Um,” Hayden says, “why is your hand on my arm?”

  Oh shit.

  I skate away from him.

  “Anywaysss,” I say, pretending to search for something in my pocket, even though we both know there’s nothing there, “in case you didn’t get what I was saying—stop being such a scaredy cat and actually play the game instead of hiding behind those fists of yours.”

  Hayden raises his eyebrows and looks at me like I’m some sort of mutant.

  “Hayden?”

  The bright lights of the arena sparkle in his dark eyes. “Okay, I think it’s my turn.”

  “Right! Controlling your temper!” I bite the inside of my cheek. “So we’ve established that you fight because you’re passionate about the game. Maybe we just have to channel that passion into a different area.”

  “What do you suggest?” He skates out to the ice. For someone so tall, he’s awfully graceful.

  I swallow in a dry throat. “How about…let’s concentrate on making a playoff spot!”

  He scoffs. “Obviously. But how do we do that?”

  “More goals and more points,” I say. “We’re always on a line together. Maybe we can spend some extra time on the rink, work on some moves together…” I know Xander would not be happy if he knew I wanted to spend more time with the number one player on the Falcons, but hey, this is for the good of the team! And now that Hayden’s been passing to me, we’ve been lighting up the rink almost every game.

  Hayden stops at the net and leans against it. “Y’know, that’s not the worst idea. But do you really think just the two of us can make some points happen?”

  “Look,” I say, skating toward him, “we’re already good. This way we could be great!”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “What are you smirking at?”

  “My awesome plan.” I smile.

  “That hardly classifies as a plan.” He laughs. “Play more hockey! Remind me not to include you when I’m figuring out how to survive a zombie apocalypse.” He pushes me, and I glide backward.

  “Come on!” I laugh. “It’ll work and if it doesn’t…we’ll go back and think of something new.”

  “No, you’ll be fired from planning ever again!” he says. His voice deepens, and I can tell he’s serious. “But y’know, since it’s your only plan…I guess I’ll try it.”

  “Good.”

  “And Al,” he says—and my world stops. He called me Al. Not Bell. Not rookie. Al. And for a moment, I close my eyes and can almost imagine that’s my real name.

  When I open my eyes, it gets worse. He gives me that narrow-eyed half-grin. The one that makes me think he has x-ray vision and is peering into my soul. “Thanks.”

  I swallow, remind myself to deepen my voice, then shrug. “No problem, man.”

  We leave the ice and I’m thinking I did a pretty good job of holding it together as a dude—until I get into my car and see my reflection in the dashboard mirror.

  A giant blush covers my entire face.

  …

  Hayden is on my mind the whole next day at school. It’s so annoying! The last thing I should be worrying about is Hayden Tremblay. At least Madison is coming over this afternoon, so I’ll have a distraction.

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a female friend, but Madison is just so gosh-darn nice, she made it impossible not to want to be around her. At the rink, she’s a reassuring figure that I’m not so alone in this lie. And she’s always hanging around our house, going over lines with Xander or wooing Mom with a flash of her gorgeous long hair.

  As we walk home, she trills the whole time about how amazing Xander is at theater and dishes gossip on the Falcons’ players. I’m surprised to hear there’s no dirt on Hayden.

  “He’s so boring,” she says. “He goes to the rink, and then goes home! Not like Sacachelli. Now he’s got an exciting list of extracurriculars—”

  Mom’s silver van is parked in the driveway. I
check my watch: just after 4:00 p.m.

  “That’s weird,” I say to Madison as we walk up to my front door.

  “What is?” She heaves her heavy pink backpack further over her shoulders.

  “Mom’s never home this early.”

  The moment my hand touches the doorknob, it’s like a dark energy fills me. Sometimes I swear I’m psychic and can sense Mom’s wrath the way a sorcerer senses magic. “Actually, maybe we should study at your house—”

  “ALICE BELL!” The roar rattles the house even before I open the door.

  “Is it too late to run?” Madison squeaks.

  The door flings open, and we’re faced with my mother, red-faced and sweating. Smudged eyeliner runs down her face: a very uncommon occurrence.

  “Afternoon, Mother Dearest,” I say, avoiding eye contact. I snatch Madison’s hand and drag her past Mom and into the living room, heading for the stairs. “We’ve got a big test coming up, so we have to study. All night. You probably won’t see me for days—”

  “Alice Magnolia Bell, don’t you dare take another step.” An evil smile forces it’s way across Mom’s tight face as she turns to Madison. “Madison, darling, how are you? You look wonderful. Would you excuse us for a moment?”

  “Nice to see you, Rosaline! Of course, whatever you need,” Madison says. She squeezes my shoulder and whispers, “Good luck!” before running up the stairs.

  I’d breathe a sigh of relief that Madison won’t witness the reaming of a century, except if I know Mom, she’ll be loud enough for Madison to hear even upstairs in my room.

  “What is this?” Mom snaps and holds out a piece of paper for me to examine.

  “Uh,” I mumble, looking away. I already know what’s on it. “A note? For you.”

  A low growl rumbles in the back of Mom’s throat that swings up into a falsetto as she reads the note aloud: “Mom, I can’t go to Mexico for Christmas this year. I have hockey. From Al.”

  I give her a terse nod and a smile. “That’s what it says, all right.”

  Mom squeezes the bridge of her nose. “Alice, what do you mean you can’t come to Mexico? We go every single year. The owner, D’Angelo, is expecting you!”

  “That’s just it, Ma. We go every year. And this year, I have a hockey game.” It’s not a lie. If I go on our annual Christmas vacation to Mexico—which isn’t really a Christmas vacation at all, but an excuse for Mom to drink and burn on the beach for a week while ignoring Xander and me—then I will miss a few games for the Falcons. I’m sure I could find a way to explain it to Coach Z, but I don’t want to stop training. I worked so hard to be here.

  And besides, I don’t want to go. I’ve gone every single year for eleven years, and it’s always the same. And especially now that Xander’s decided to ignore me every waking minute of the day, there’s no point. He’ll probably love a Mexican vacation without me: no one will force him to go parasailing or ride up a rocky mountain on a donkey.

  “Hockey?” Mom snarls. “That’s all you ever think about! Hockey, hockey, hockey! It’s just some silly recreational league! What about your family?”

  “What about your family, Ma?” I snap back. “All you ever think about is yourself. Xander and I don’t even like Mexico! It’s too hot, the sand gets everywhere, and I can’t sit by a pool for seven days without wanting to die of boredom. I’m not going this year!”

  Mom’s lip trembles, and I expect her to start yelling again. But she doesn’t. Her eyes shine brightly. “Fine. If you hate it so much, you don’t have to come.”

  “Mom,” I say, stepping forward, but she grabs her coat.

  “I need to go to the office,” she says. “I’ll cancel your plane ticket.”

  “Mom, can’t you understand how important this is to me?”

  “Yes, I understand. Whatever is best for Alice,” Mom snivels and slams the door.

  I stand there in silence for a minute, maybe longer. A strange feeling prickles at the back of my eyelids, and my throat is tight. Maybe it would feel good to collapse on the floor, sobbing and screaming about how it wasn’t fair that Mom made me the bad guy when it’s she who doesn’t understand me.

  I even try. I slam my eyes shut, trying to squeeze a few tears out. Maybe if they saw me cry, Xander and Mom wouldn’t seem so distant.

  But I can’t. This is just how I am: hard and cold as the ice I skate on every day. And now I have to go upstairs and face Madison, which is the last thing I want to do.

  It’s not that I don’t like her—it’s just…I’m not good at having friends. I’ve never been good at it. It’s just easier to deal with this stuff on my own.

  I trudge up the steps to my bedroom. Madison waits on the bed, brow furrowed.

  “Did you hear all that?” I say.

  “Yes,” she says and pats the bed. “Come on, sit down. Let’s talk about it.”

  Slowly, I slump down beside her. “I’m sorry,” I say. “First you find out I’m a crossdressing weirdo, and now you realize what a dysfunctional family we are!”

  Madison smiles. “Don’t worry. All families are dysfunctional.”

  I stare at her, with her perfect made-up face, and designer clothes, and that bright smile she always wears. “Not your family, though.”

  She laughs. “Trust me! My family is super dysfunctional.”

  A small smile creeps on my face. I was kind of nervous to bring Madison home to study, without Xander here to carry the conversation. But it’s nice to be open with someone—God knows I can’t tell Mom, Xander, or even Hayden everything.

  “So you don’t want to go on a family vacation with your fam?” Madison asks.

  “We go every year! Can’t we just have a normal Christmas for once? With snow and wrapped presents and stockings and Santa? If I have to see D’Angelo in a fake white beard one more time…”

  “Why didn’t you just talk to your Mom about it?” Madison says, as if it were just that easy.

  I stand up and pace away. I’ve never talked to anyone about this besides Xander, not even Freddy. “Our dad left around Christmas, so it’s like, kind of a sore spot for Mom, I think.”

  “Oh,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s cool. We were like five, so I don’t really remember him. None of us have heard from him since, and that’s fine with me.” I peek a look back at Madison to see if she’s getting weirded out by all my family drama, but she just stares intently, listening.

  “That must be hard on your Mom.”

  Immediately, my stomach feels like it’s twisting into a ball. I don’t want to think about Dad or any of it. “Yeah, well it’s hard on me, too. Mom checked out after that. She doesn’t care about anything I want. She doesn’t even try to understand me! What if I want a real Christmas, huh? Doesn’t matter to her.”

  Madison flops down on the bed, her long hair pooling around her face. “Yeah, my appa is like that. It’s med school for me, and that’s that. Doesn’t matter what I want to do. That’s why I have to do all these extracurriculars on top of school, like volunteering for the Falcons. It’s all to build that resume up.”

  “And theater?’

  “No,” she says, and her eyes shine. “I had to convince my dad that theater would look good on my resume. I didn’t tell him that it wasn’t my med school resume I was talking about.”

  I sit back down beside her. “What do you want to do?”

  Her eyes flash with evil mirth. “I want to star in Korean dramas!”

  “What are those?”

  She gives me the biggest smile I’ve ever seen and yanks her laptop out of her bag. “I’ll show you!”

  Our textbooks go untouched for the next three hours and my worries are forgotten as Madison and I binge-watch quirky show after show.

  “I never thought subtitles could be so funny,” I laugh as the credits roll of what has to be our fourth episode.

  “I’ll teach you Korean—it’s even better. Then when I’m a big star in Korea, you won’t have to miss me so much.�
��

  “You can’t move to Korea! Then Xander and I would only have each other.”

  “Don’t worry.” Her face falls slightly. “Besides, it’ll never happen. Appa says it’s the doctor’s life for me.”

  “That really sucks.”

  Madison looks at me and smirks. “It’s okay. Your life is pretty much like a Korean drama, so it’ll tide me over. All the cross-dressing and secrets! You just need one of those cute boys to fall in love with you, and then it would be perfect.”

  I raise my eyebrows and laugh. “Yeah, okay. Keep dreaming.”

  “Anyway,” she says looking down, “if I didn’t do all this extra stuff, I wouldn’t have met you or Xander!”

  A flash of warmth creeps over my skin. Maybe being alone is a little overrated after all.

  Chapter Nine

  Alice

  “I look like figure skating Barbie.” I grimace as I hold the mirror up to my face. Madison has made me up with fake eyelashes and fifty pounds of makeup and put sparkles in my long brown hair extensions.

  “Oh sweetheart, you look gorgeous!” Ma pops her head into the room.

  I nod meekly. The first time I saw Ma after our fight about Mexico, she acted like nothing had happened. I had expected her to go on and on about what a wonderful time she and Xander were going to have, what kind of magical excursions she would do with the extra money from my plane ticket…but she just acted like it never happened. That’s how I know I really hurt her.

  And it’s the same with Xander. We’ve both buried our fight deep down in the vault. Things definitely aren’t the same—he pretty much ignores me whenever Madison’s not around—but I’ll just continue to navigate his moods as best I can.

  “Ready to leave in five?” She beams. The sad thing about my mom is that I can never tell if her smile is real or not.

  I groan and try to flop down on the bed but Madison pulls me back up, yelling that I’m going to wrinkle my little white skate dress.

  “Oh, and dumpling,” Ma adds, “don’t forget Channel 5 is going to be there! Hurry now, we can’t be late! Xander, get dressed. You can’t go in pajamas.”

  “Can’t go, anyways, Mom.” He smirks from my bed. He’s taking full advantage of his broken leg to lounge anywhere he pleases.