27
The First Hockey Game
CONFIRMED NUMBER OF PARTICIPANTS: Nineteen (six-on-six game with goalkeepers, one referee, and two alternates on both sides).
EXPECTED PROFICIENCY LEVEL: Some surprisingly good players, two who might be Quebec-level.
POTENTIAL TEAM NAMES: Desert Penguins, Austin Improbables, Emergency Room Riders.
POTENTIAL TEAM SLOGANS: “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
ACTUAL EXPERIENCE ICE SKATING OR PLAYING HOCKEY: Optional.
“It’s a dance!” Norris said, slamming Liam’s trunk with his foot.
When Norris was a kid, the cereal he always wanted was the one Judith would categorically not buy. The actual cereal didn’t really matter—tiny Norris was never in it for the sugar or the toys. He just wanted whatever she told him he couldn’t have. If she refused to buy the super fiber brand that tasted like cardboard, Norris would whine endlessly and clutch the cereal box to his chest with tears in his eyes in the grocery aisle. Needless to say, as soon as Judith figured that out, Norris became a very regular seven-year-old. The point was that the prom thing had been on his mind since the previous weekend, even as he and Liam approached their first-ever league game.
“Like, what’s the big deal in just going? There are no strings attached.”
“Hmm,” Liam hummed in that way Norris now knew meant he had some razor-sharp bit of insight, which he was just waiting for permission to share.
“Go ahead,” Norris said with an eye roll as he dangled multiple boxes on top of his sports bag.
“Just like there weren’t any strings attached to that snow globe?” Liam asked, carrying the other half of the boxes.
“I’ve decided that I don’t like you,” Norris finally concluded as they reached the warehouse.
“Really? I find you to be a very charming guy.”
The biggest surprise of the day was the stack of boxes Liam had hauled out of the back of his car. Brand-new gear. Helmets in a few different sizes, pads, a portable blade sharpener, and a handful of middle-of-the-road Bauer hockey sticks. A few of the guys’ sticks had looked extremely flimsy the previous week.
“That’s a lot of equipment to just hand out, dude!” Norris said, looking down at the loot they’d just dropped off on the sidelines as the other players busied themselves with warm-up drills around the ice. “Like, you could buy a car. A small car, secondhand, but still . . . you could be mobile!”
“I have a car.”
“A small boat, then! Where did you get the funds?”
Liam stared at him blankly, tilted by the weight of the boxes he was carrying.
“Right,” Norris remembered. “Rich.”
“It’s amazing how much money my dad will throw at the problem that is me these days.” Liam grinned.
“If I ever meet your parents,” Norris continued, “I want to talk to them about these beans I’ve got that really would make an amazing investment.”
“We do own a few farms in Wisconsin,” Liam said. “Maybe we can trade you the beans for the biggest cow we’ve got.”
That was how they both seemed comfortable talking about these new heavy topics that were now part of their lexicon—in a dry, glib way that put neither of them on the spot.
“Come on,” Liam said with a nervous glance at the other team, which was filtering in through the doors. “Let’s do this thing.”
The team was endlessly grateful for Liam’s gifts, changing into them right there on the ice. Maybe it was the excitement of new gear, but there was a buzzing feel of anticipation as the referee arrived and called captains for the coin toss. Liam and Norris went together, and after winning the toss, chose their side.
And then, with a nod to his teammates, who stared back solemnly, and a blow of the whistle, they were off.
The game started awkwardly, with a few missed passes that Norris attributed to nerves, but soon they hit their rhythm and were passing nicely. Patrick even got a decent shot off that the other team’s goalie was hard-pressed to block. All in all, they were doing well and holding their own in a scoreless second period when Norris overheard one of the guys from the other team say, looking straight at him, “I didn’t know they taught black people how to play hockey.”
“What did you just say?” Norris asked, because he genuinely thought he’d misheard.
“Whatever, don’t go hood on me. I’m just saying, black people have football and basketball, which makes sense, but hockey, that’s Icelandic shit, man. Not your lane.”
Quickly moving past the fury and embarrassment boiling in the pit of his stomach, Norris cataloged the guy’s face for a launching off point and settled on the crooked teeth peeking through thick, gingivitis-inflamed gums. These would do just fine.
“Hey, man, cool it,” Liam said, sliding to a stop near them and having overhead. “I don’t want to have to have the ref kick you out.”
“Dude, c’mon,” the guy said before he skated off. “Homeboy’s not offended, right? No need to get all PC.”
And, sure, Norris could have let it go. Or laughed it off. But that was an alternate-reality Norris—one who existed in a world where Batman used an arrow and Superman had a shaved head.
“Yeah, no sweat, man.” Norris smiled brightly at the other guy’s retreating back.
“Are you okay?” Liam asked.
“I’m good.” He nodded. “Really!”
In truth, that asshole demanded a swift and thorough humiliation, and Norris was, in turn, vicious. The second period continued and, in three quick motions, the puck was stolen and the enemy landed on his butt. The guy’s hand-eye coordination did not let him do more than carry a tiki torch. Every time the opportunity presented itself, Norris made sure to let the unknown asshole get ahold of the puck first, before effortlessly stealing it from him, with the biggest, blackest grin. He realized he really had missed not playing with a hand tied behind his back. A few moments later, Norris did it again, to the chuckles of a few of the other players.
“You’re fucking cheating, you piece of—”
The guy scrambled to his feet, face and eyes red, gut peeking through his T-shirt that was at least two sizes too small, under his oversize, unzipped hoodie. Fine Aryan specimen, that one.
Norris was nevertheless taken aback when he threw his stick to the ground and started to step toward him. Up close, there was actually a sizable height difference between them, and the other guy loomed a good head over his own five ten. On the other hand, Norris had not been in a single fight in his hockey career. And after eight years of playing the sport, there was something kind of cool about it taking place in Texas.
Before he could even bring his hands up, the shoulder check came fast and surprisingly vicious, sending the other guy sliding perpendicularly before he could reach Norris and causing a few visible winces to be heard around the ice.
“Like I said,” Liam said, coming to a near-wobbly stop afterward. “Cool it.”
It was a penalty shoulder check; no doubt about it. No referee would have been fooled.
“What the hell?!”
The guy looked from Liam to him, where most of his frustration seemed to lie, and back to the line of players behind them. As he left, he hurled a litany of insults back at them. His language was . . . colorful. Full of color. A complete Crayola box set of color.
The uncomfortable thing when these things happened—because Lord knows this wasn’t the first instance of casual racism Norris had encountered as one of the only black kids at his elementary school—was the expectation of a reaction. Norris never wanted to be the black guy who escalated things. In his head, he always imagined his mother shaking her head disapprovingly at him from the sidelines should he get into a fight. So he mostly just did this. Stayed quiet and waited for things to calm down . . . A thoroughly un-Norris approach to life, according to Eric.
“Holy shit! Did you see that?” he heard Patrick whisper at his side. “Our boy’s a killer!”
“It was a complete accident,” Liam said, sounding genuinely guilt-free. They all watched the other player exit the premises before resuming the game.
Norris scored the first, and only, goal early in the third period, which caused a small round of clapping to erupt from the sidelines. Norris looked up to see a few of Anderson’s cheerleaders, Meredith and Maddie at the foreground, burst into cheers.
“Holy shit, dude,” Norris noted, wiping sweat from his chin. “We’ve got fans.”
“We?” Liam grinned, coming to a perfect stop next to him.
In truth, Norris wasn’t totally surprised to see them there—Patrick and Meredith were disgustingly inseparable, after all—but it still felt good. Aarti hadn’t been interested in coming to his game, and Judith had inquired a few times, only to be reminded that no matter how much he loved her, she was his mother, which meant that her public appearances in his social life had to be limited and scheduled well in advance. So, needless to say, the handful of girls cheering and giggling for them on the sidelines was a strange sight but a welcome one. When had he turned into an actual American cliché?
And when, exactly, had he started liking it?
They won the game, 1–0. Not a proper whooping, but Norris was excited all the same, and his reaction was nothing compared to his giddy teammates’. After fist bumps were exchanged, Norris noticed Liam and Maddie chatting by the side of the rink. The postgame crowd had dwindled and the rest of the players were already filing out of the warehouse. Meredith and Patrick had immediately devolved into an impromptu make-out session as soon as Patrick had stepped off the ice, hair still damp with sweat. Meredith and Norris exchanged the right amount of judgmental glaring as he skated past them to join Liam and Maddie. Something about seeing the various, very purposely compartmentalized aspects of his life chitchat together made him inexplicably anxious.
“You’re good, Canada!” Maddie greeted him. “I was just telling Liam here that you’re a really great skater,” she complimented him.
“Thanks. And just to be clear, Carey Price is a really great skater.” Norris grinned. “I’m somewhere between Wayne Gretzky and Kristi Yamaguchi.”
“But humbler, right?” asked Maddie.
“Better looking than Gretzky too,” Norris added. “Thanks for coming.” Lord knew she had a packed schedule. “I know it’s not a football game.”
“Definitely not football,” she agreed. “But, y’know, I can see the appeal.”
Liam was eyeing them both with a muted expression, his eyes darting back and forth between them as they spoke.
“Stop that,” Norris said, pounding Liam’s head lightly with his glove. “Are you ready to bounce?”
“Can’t drop you off tonight, sorry,” Liam said. “I have my Late-Evening Gardening class. Already running late.”
Ugh. Norris was too exhausted for the bus, and Judith would be another hour at least. His life was a series of acute sufferings.
“Is that code for something?” Maddie whispered.
“Code?” Liam answered with a frown.
“It’s an actual class,” Norris finally explained.
“Oh.” She smiled without missing a beat. “Sorry, it just kind of sounds like—”
“Like he’s going to be lighting up all the joints, yes,” Norris agreed. “I told him.”
Alas, Liam was perhaps the only person in the world for whom a night-gardening class wasn’t a lie.
“Tonight we’re doing Moth Traps.” He grinned.
“I’ll give you a ride,” Maddie said, twirling a ring of keys around her fingers. “I have Dad’s convertible today, so the posthockey . . . boyroma isn’t a concern. And some old learner’s permit pamphlets I still have from middle school, because really, it’s time.”
“That’s a lost battle.” Liam waved them off. “Good game, coach. See you at school.”
“Not your coach!” Norris shouted off.
“Madison!” Meredith shrieked, startling them both.
Jesus.
“Me and Patrick are going to, um, hang out in his car, okay? He’ll drop me off.”
“Sounds good, babe!” Maddie waved back.
“Something was definitely perforated just now,” Norris said, still holding his ear.
“Be grateful.” Maddie smiled. “Last year she sang the national anthem at homecoming.”
“Is the local wildlife still recovering?”
“Wow,” Norris said, discarding his gear into the back seat with a stunned look.
“I know,” Maddie preempted. “Shut up.”
Of course Big Jim had a convertible. Norris had expected something out of Malibu Stacy’s pink cartoon dream house, so the patches of rust against the formerly burnt orange Beemer that awaited them in the parking lot, complete with chipped white leather seats, had been a bit of a shocker.
“It’s the McElwees last-resort vehicle when everything else is in use,” Maddie explained, sunglasses on and roof down.
“So, does it get hard?” Norris asked. “Meredith and Patrick humping on every available surface?”
“I told you already, Canada,” she said. “I’m over Patrick. That’s ancient history. I’m not much of a piner.”
Her face was unreadable through the sunglasses, but to Norris, she seemed to be telling the truth.
“Are you coming to prom?” Maddie inquired, as if she too had access to his innermost thoughts. Creepy.
“Um, I—”
“I know it looks lame from the sidelines, but it’s always loads of fun. Everyone’s hot in their dresses and tuxes, there’s photo booths, bad music, bubble machines. It’s a whole production.”
Nothing, absolutely nothing, in this state was ever done small; Norris had learned this by now.
“You and Aarti should really come,” Maddie continued. “We have a key to homeroom, don’t tell anyone, and someone always starts a second party there once it gets late enough. Last year someone made pizza, and someone filled water guns with craft beer. The entire second floor was sticky for finals.”
God save him, that did not seem unfun.
“Prom is not really Aarti’s thing,” Norris finally said.
“Ah,” Maddie answered diplomatically. Norris was grateful that she didn’t push further.
“Yeah.”
They drove on in silence for the rest of the way.
“Well,” Maddie suggested as they pulled in front of his building. “You should come with us then. It’s not limited to couples; this isn’t Utah. It’ll just be a good time. You and Patrick are sort of friends now, and believe me, Meredith is never as pleasant as when she has a crown on her head when she inevitably wins prom queen. You did sort of miss out on the wedding after all.”
Huh. Well, that was a thought. And Aarti had told him that he could—no, should—go.
“That actually sounds . . . really fun.” Norris smiled.
“Shut up,” Maddie said automatically.
“No, I’m being serious.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
And like that: Norris Kaplan was going to the prom.