After I took my gear off, I heard the assistant coach’s voice through the washroom door. “Kelly, come into the dressing room when you’re done. We’re all decent now.”
Two seasons back, some of the moms decided that I needed privacy, and ever since I had to use the washroom to change. I hated it. I got dressed, shouldered my hockey bag and went down the hall. I knocked on the door but walked in without waiting, since it was so noisy in there that nobody could hear me anyway. The room stank, but the familiar odour of sweat and hockey gear made me smile.
Everyone started yelling at once.
“Tanaka!”
“Here she is!”
“Woooo, Sparky, great goal.”
“She never scores, I guess she was saving it for the big one.”
“You the man!”
Some of the guys started throwing tape balls and squirting water at me. They were decent in that nobody was naked, but some guys hadn’t bothered putting shirts or pants on yet. Nobody cared about me seeing them since we’d known each so long. This was the part I really missed: being in the room after a game, joking around and making fun of each other. Getting changed with only the toilet for company wasn’t exactly the same.
“Okay, calm down, guys,” Coach Jerry said. “Kelly, have a seat.” Phil shoved Marcus over and motioned for me to sit beside him. I sat down, happy to feel like one of team again. Jerry continued, “I wanted to say, congratulations to everyone here. You played like a team, guys. You outworked them and you deserve this. You worked hard all season and here we are. You’re all champions, so relish this moment.”
Then Randy opened up the door, and a guy from the league walked in with this big silver trophy. Everyone started yelling again. I had this stupid grin on my face; I was pretty much wearing it ever since I walked in. Coach was right; you had to enjoy the moment. In all the years I’d played hockey, this was the first time I’d won anything real.
We all shot the shit for a while, but our parents were hovering outside the crowded room, so we had to get going. I grabbed my bag and went to leave.
Phil called out to me, “Wait, Kelly. Want to come out with us? Some of us were thinking of going to Boston Pizza now.”
“I can’t. April and those guys are out there. We’re doing a sleepover at Karen’s.” Some of my girlfriends had come to watch my big game.
“A sleepover? Can I come too? Please,” begged Marcus.
“Don’t be a douche,” I advised him. “Chicks hate desperation.”
“Okay, see ya later,” Phil said. “Are we still getting together tomorrow afternoon?”
I nodded. We’d fixed up a time to go for a run or bike ride. I always felt kind of low the day after the season ended, so we had decided to set up something fun. But after winning, I felt great.
Our parents were out in the hall, all busy reliving the game and bragging. I could hear my dad’s excited voice.
“Kelly loved skating from the moment I put her on the ice. When we lived in Ottawa, she disappeared from the house one day. Molly and I were panicking since she was only five years old. We called all her friends, and nobody had seen her. Just before we called the police, I took a quick drive around the neighbourhood and I found her! She had taken her skates and hockey stick and she was playing hockey on this outdoor rink a block away. The kids there were all older, but they sort of knew her and didn’t think it was a big deal. She didn’t get upset until I made her get off the ice and come home!”
Everyone started laughing, and I walked up to interrupt. “Dad! I can’t believe you’re telling that old story again.”
It was totally embarrassing, but I gave him a hug anyway. He ran his own florist shop and worked long hours, so he didn’t get to come to a lot of games. He had taken this afternoon off specifically to watch my playoff game.
“Kelly, congratulations on your big goal,” said Mrs. Elliott. “You really snapped that shot off quickly.”
She was the team manager and a rabid hockey fan. In fact, most of the parents seemed to take the game more seriously than their kids. Usually I got a ride home with Phil, and his dad would spend the whole time analyzing what happened and which players needed to improve what skills.
My parents knew dick-all about hockey, and that was the way I liked it. I put enough pressure on myself without having extra. In fact, my mom never came to games at all. She said the skating sound put her to sleep. But my dad came whenever he could, and especially on important days like today.
I could see my three girlfriends waiting for me near the doorway. “Dad, thanks so much for coming to the game. I’m going out with my friends now. Can you take my stuff home?”
“Oh Tak, all we are is chauffeurs for these kids,” one of the moms said, giggling.
According to my friends, my dad was kind of good-looking, and he always seemed to be surrounded by all the blonde hockey moms. I could not see it myself; he looked like my dad. He was on the short side, Japanese Canadian, with thick hair and a constant smile. He did look at least ten years younger than everyone else, including my mom, but that was a genetic Asian thing.
I gave him a kiss and passed my hockey bag to him. He grinned and put an arm around me. “No problem, Kelly. Congratulations on your championship win. You played really well, and I’m proud of you.”
Marcus had managed to get out of the dressing room ahead of me and was chatting up my girlfriends. Some of my other teammates were hanging around nearby, goofing and showing off. I knew the guys wanted me to invite them along with us, but we had plans that didn’t include boys. The four of us took off for a coffee place on Marine Drive, before we went to Karen’s house.
“Thanks so much for coming to my game,” I told them. April Lachance was my other best friend and not really a hockey fan, so it was really nice of her to come.
“It was actually pretty exciting,” she admitted. Charmaine Leung nodded in agreement. She wasn’t a big hockey fan either, but they were my loyal buddies. We all supported each other, like me going to April’s ballet performance or Charmaine’s piano recital.
“Is it hard being the only girl on the team?” Charmaine wondered.
“Not really. If I keep my ponytail tucked in, sometimes I can get through a whole game without the other team knowing.” But I couldn’t deny that the guys were getting bigger and stronger each year, and I wasn’t—no matter how hard I hit the gym. Stupid testosterone.
“Okay, tell me about the goalie,” Karen said. Karen Leighton was nice, but obsessed with guys. I suspected she came to check out the team, as well as cheer me on. She was a serial dater, but currently single. Not surprisingly, she was the one who told me my own dad was hot.
“Oh, Jim Mendez. He’s actually two years older than us, and in grade twelve.”
“And how does he rank on the Tanaka Scale?”
The Tanaka Scale was something I invented when my friends started dating guys. I believed that you could tell how a guy would be as a boyfriend from how he played hockey.
If a guy played dirty and hit behind the play or when the ref wasn’t looking, then he’d probably lie to you and cheat on you. If a guy was a total hot dog, a look-at-my-moves-type show-off, then he was going to be a selfish egomaniac. If he whined about the ref’s calls and his bad breaks, he’d be like Mr. Excuses. There was good stuff of course, but the key was not to get involved with jerks.
Of course this was all hypothetical for me, because I wasn’t into dating yet. A guy would have to be a pretty amazing hockey player for me to be interested.
“I don’t really know. Goalies are different ’cause they’re separate. I mean, most of them are kinda weird. But Jim’s not like that. If a goal goes in, he usually shrugs it off. But there was this one tournament game, and when this big goal got scored on him, he really went off on the d-man for screening him. Like screaming at him and—”
I stopped because I could see that Karen wasn’t really listening. I talked about hockey way more than my friends liked. I got back to the topic of guys. “Well, as a boyfriend, I think he might be the kind of guy who doesn’t take responsibility. Maybe even a little psycho and unpredictable.”
“Hmmm,” said Karen. “So probably no. Okay, new topic. Last weekend when I was leaving Park Royal, I saw Phil with this really hot guy. He was big and sort of blond, wearing a black jacket. Do you know who I mean?”
“Probably Dave Vanderhauf. He’s one of Phil’s best friends, but he goes to another school. Handsworth, I think.”
“Maybe it’s him. Is he totally cute?” Karen wondered.
“I don’t know. I don’t find him cute.” Dave was okay, but he was definitely full of himself. He played rep hockey, and he always seemed to mention it within five seconds of any conversation.
“Huge surprise,” said April. “Who do you find cute?”
I scrunched up my nose and considered this. If I confessed that my nighttime fantasies usually involved me playing on Team Canada at the Olympics, I would probably get pelted with takeaway cups.
“Um, Brendan Morrison is cute.” For an old guy anyway, he was, like, 24 or 25.
“No.” April scowled at me. “Who do you find cute that doesn’t play hockey for the Canucks? Like a normal guy we know. Do you think Phil is hot?”
“Phil? Phil Davidson? That’s gross, he’s just Phil.”
“And you’re just blind,” said Karen. “Phil is not still your little buddy from grade four. He’s the cutest guy in grade ten. He’s totally hot with that dark hair, that gorgeous face, and that athlete’s body. And he’s into you. But if you don’t jump all over that, he’ll start dating someone else.”
Charmaine piped up. She could see I was getting upset, and she hated conflict. “Kelly, that was a beautiful goal you scored. And the winning goal! You must be so excited.”
I smiled at her. Charmaine was so sweet. I figured she wasn’t interested in guys yet either. I didn’t get why everyone was in this big rush to date and stuff. Life was confusing enough.