I go in early to watch the end of Zoe’s practice. I try to be stealthy, but I’m noticed almost immediately.
“What’s Hunky Brewster doing here, Zee?” a big player calls out. Either she doesn’t know how acoustics work in an empty arena, or she doesn’t care.
“He’s here to help me.” Even from up here, Zoe looks embarrassed. I still don’t understand why she’s so confident on the farm and so timid on the ice.
I’m just in time for the scrimmage. As usual, Zoe takes too long to make decisions. I brainstorm the best ways for her to gain time: skating speed, her pivots are weak, even the way she positions her stick could be improved.
“Goody. Why are you here?” Wags sits down next to me.
“I promised to help Zoe. What are you doing here?”
“I came to pick up some gear and saw you.” He looks down at the players. “So, Zoe is best friends with Marie Josée, right?”
“Who’s that?” I ask.
He lowers his voice. “Marie Josée Laroque. Number 9.”
I look down at the players. “Oh. You mean Rocky?” I’ve met Rocky before, but never heard her full name.
He nods, watching the scrimmage the whole time. Then everything clicks.
“You like her?” I ask.
“Shhh,” he says.
It’s funny to see a big guy like Wags reduced to a blushing mess. He continues in a low voice, “I’ve liked her for ages. She’s so much fun and well, you can see how cute she is. We’re friendly at parties and stuff, but it’s never gone anywhere. She always seems to have a new boyfriend.”
This is the most I’ve ever heard Wags say on any subject. He has got it so bad. I can’t help smiling as I watch Zoe make a feeble poke-check.
“So, can you help me?” he asks.
“Me? How can I help you?”
“I figure if you’re going out with Zoe, you can get the inside track on Marie Josée. Maybe we could all do stuff together. At least tip me off when she’s between boyfriends.”
“Hold up. I’m not going out with Zoe.”
“You’re not? But…” He squints at me. “You like her, right?”
I do like Zoe. At first, she drove me crazy, but the more I know her, the more I respect her. But do I like her? Zoe is cute, but what’s really attractive about her is her energy and drive. She’s passionate and alive.
“It takes me a long time to figure out if I like someone,” I confess.
Wags scoffs. “Really? Because I think you know right away if you’re attracted or you’re not.”
“I don’t agree. It’s when you get to know someone that real attraction develops. Inner spirit is as important as outer appearance.”
“The guru of California speaks.” Wags mocks me.
“Trust is important.”
I watch the practice and make notes while Wags ponders this.
“Sounds like you’ve been burned before,” he says.
I nod. I’m not going to spill my relationship issues but yes, I have been burned. It began in high school when the first girl I dated turned out to be more interested in my famous parents than me. Then I found out that my second girlfriend thought I was “hot” but boring. After that, I didn’t date for a long time. And when I did, I only went out with people I already knew well. Like Lauren, who was part of my friend group in high school. We went to different colleges, but we started hanging out last summer when we were both back in L.A. I already knew she was a decent person.
“Attraction is the easy part. Finding the right person is harder.” I watch Zoe make a nice pass out of the zone. I can see her smiling even through her face shield.
“Again, you surprise me, Goody. You’re certainly no player. Well, you still spend a lot of time with Zoe. Anything you can do for me would be greatly appreciated.”
“You play Moo U hockey. Isn’t that enough?” I ask.
“Marie Josée has a thing against hockey players. In her freshman year, her boyfriend cheated on her, and he played for us.”
“Who was it?” Whoever it is, my opinion of him just went down.
“Oh, he’s long gone. He got cut for not training hard enough and fucking around too much.” That would be a big temptation at Moo U where hockey players are a big fucking deal. People treat me a lot differently here than they did at ASU.
Practice finishes, and everyone skates off. Wags leaves for his class.
Zoe looks up at me, and I motion her over. We meet at the visitor bench.
“Thanks for coming,” she says.
“Do you want to talk now or later?” I ask.
“I don’t have a class right away, so now is fine.” Zoe takes off her helmet and towels her wet hair. At least she’s working hard. Maybe not working smart though.
“Well, first off, you’ve got to work on your skating.” I look around the empty rink and frown. “This would take me all of five minutes to show you on the ice. Maybe we can figure out a time to do that.”
“Meyers. Goodwin. Now is not the time to socialize.” The assistant coach skates over to us. “What’s going on? Why are you watching our practices?”
“It’s all my fault, Coach Dubé,” Zoe says. “When we played together at the mixed squad game, Noah really helped me a lot. So I asked him if he had more advice for me.”
“Ah, interesting.” The coach cranes her neck to see my clipboard scribblings. “What is your coaching experience?”
“Not so much coaching, but I’ve been working at my dad’s hockey school since I was a teenager.”
“Gary Goodwin, right?” she asks.
Why can’t I even hear his name without feeling like shit? “Yeah. That’s him.”
“Okay. Well, Zoe needs to get off the ice and cool down. Maybe you two can finish your lesson later.”
“Sure.” I hop over the barrier and make my way out. But I can still hear Zoe and her coach talking.
“How did he help you on Friday?” the coach asks.
Zoe laughs. “To be honest, he started by making me angry, so I played harder. But once I listened to him on the ice, I felt more confident. He’s amazing. He sees the ice really well.”
That compliment feels good to hear. Zoe’s funny. She insults me when I’m up and compliments me when I’m down. But I guess that’s the way things should be.
That evening, I sit down at the kitchen table and go through my notes with Zoe as she makes dinner.
“Time is the key for defensemen. Time to see the ice and make the right decisions.”
“But how can I get more time?” she asks.
“You have to do a bunch of little things. Anticipation and getting to the right spot faster. Working on your skating. Puck-carrying drills so you can keep your head up. Knowing your opponent.”
I pull out a notebook. “I keep notes on all my opponents. Unfortunately, I’m not going to see most of these guys this year.”
Zoe puts down her chef’s knife and sits down beside me, close enough that I can feel her warmth through my hoodie.
“This is incredible. So much preparation. No wonder you’re so good,” she says.
“It’s not a big deal. When you get to the NHL, the video coach shows you all this stuff before games, which would be way better. Our coaches do it too, usually if there’s someone they want to shut down. But let’s say you play New Hampshire Friday, why not jot down the things you notice and remember them for Saturday’s game? The really good players can do it in their heads.”
She thumbs through the book, squinting at my tiny notes and drawings. “Did someone teach you to do this?”
“No. It’s just notes.” I began when my dad got mad at me for not remembering players, something that came easily to him. Now that I’m removed from the pressure of making pro hockey, it’s easier for me to see why I didn’t make the cut. A great player has to have it all—like Adam does. He can remember plays that happened back in Bantam.
“Wow. It’s going to take a lot of time.” Zoe jumps up and immediately I miss her warmth. She goes back to chopping potatoes.
“Which I told you that you don’t have in the first place.” Then I ask something I’ve been wondering about, “How come you do all the cooking here?” Denise produces the occasional meal but it’s mainly Zoe.
“Oh. Well, I like cooking.” There’s a long pause as she seasons the potatoes and puts them in the oven. “Having you live here was my idea. My mother said that a boarder would be too much work, so I offered to do all the cooking.”
“Oh, sorry. I should be helping.” Although I don’t know the first thing about cooking. To keep us on our diets, my dad arranged for meal deliveries. My life was optimized so I could focus on hockey.
“It’s fine, Noah. As long as you handle the chores while I’m away, it’s all worthwhile.”
Once again, I wonder why the farm is so important to Zoe. Then I turn back to my notebook.
“After dinner, let’s go to that little gym in the barn, and I can show you some dynamic stretching.” Working out in the barn will be like those yoga with goats classes.
“Sure, great.”
“Has your play changed over the years?” I ask. Because if she’s always played like she does now, I’m surprised she hasn’t been cut to make room for promising freshmen or sophomores.
Zoe’s back stiffens. “I’m one of Coach Cray’s mysteries. I showed great potential in my freshman year, but my game has gone downhill ever since.”
“What happened?”
She still doesn’t turn around. “Well, in my sophomore year, my father had a stroke and needed a lot of care. Three months later he died. So Coach Cray cut me a lot of slack. But I don’t know why my playing still sucks.”
Zoe continues to make dinner, but now there’s a tension in the room. I get up and stand beside her. Now, instead of her warmth, I sense a void. It’s like all her energy dissipated once the subject of her dad arose. I regret bringing this whole thing up and making her feel unhappy. My hand jerks up instinctively to comfort her, but it seems like bad timing, and I pull away.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize he had passed so recently.”
“You say recently, but most people think that two years is too long to mourn.” I’ve never heard Zoe sound so cold.
“You can’t put a timetable on your feelings.” I reach out and rub Zoe’s arm. Underneath her sweatshirt, I can feel tensed muscle. She’s so determined and yet so alone. Almost like a key clicking in a lock, I feel something shift inside me. I do like Zoe—in an authentic way that keeps growing.
I immediately tamp that feeling down. There’s no way. If we go out and something goes wrong, I’d have to move out, and I can’t afford that.