David smiled when he realized that he’d totally forgotten about dinner with everybody at Man Ray. That was cool. He felt his cheeks glow. He never, never forgot things, and always envied Patch Flood for being so mellow that he could never be counted on to show up for anything. And now here David was, casually at a Rangers game with his parents, which was pretty cool if you looked at it from a certain laid-back perspective that David knew he didn’t have himself but that some of his friends did.
“They scored!” Sam Grobart yelled. He grabbed David and they stood up and threw their hands in the air.
“What led up to that?” David’s mom asked. Sam sat down to explain.
So now the Rangers were one goal ahead and David felt happy. It was the beginning of the third period and all they needed to do was hold on. The smell of sweat and beer hung heavy in the cold Madison Square Garden air. And always, always he had Amanda in his head. And he thought, maybe she’s just busy with her parents, at one of those five-hour, seven-course dinners.
Then his phone rang and he grabbed it so hard that for a moment he flashed on a fear that it would squeeze out of his hand and fly onto the ice and be sliced in neat halves by one of the player’s skates. But he got ahold of it. Saw it was Amanda.
“Hey, where’ve you been?” David asked.
“David, where are you?”
“That doesn’t matter, at the Rangers game. What’s going on? I’ve been trying—”
“I know you have,” Amanda said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What?” David asked. He scooted his head down between his legs so he could concentrate. The concrete steps were close to his face, and the air was dank.
“I don’t know if we should be together anymore.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t want to tell you. It’ll make things terrible for everyone.”
“What will? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t push me, David.”
“Push you?” David looked around—something was going wrong on the ice, too.
“You’re forcing me to say it—I fooled around with someone else. You sort of know who the person is and I’m not sure I even wanted to, and now I’m sick about it.”
“What? Who was it? No!”
David dropped the phone. A cry escaped from his lips. Since he’d been in fifth grade and Arno French-kissed Molly, the girl David had been passing notes to, he’d been afraid a girl would cheat on him. And because of it, he’d been unable to have a girlfriend for all of middle school and high school all the way up to now. The shock of betrayal shot through him and he felt a slackening, as if he’d lost control of his body. He couldn’t even begin to wonder who she’d fooled around with.
Then he was yanked to his feet. A massive, collective no erupted from the crowd. And David’s dad wanted his son standing with him. Meanwhile, David was crying in pain. A moment earlier, a defenseman had checked a Flyer into the glass in front of the Grobarts. The guy pawed at the glass for a second before sinking to the floor.
Penalty! A power play!
A camera zoomed in on the fallen player, the screaming fans, the probability that now the Rangers would blow the win. Then the cameraman panned up a foot to David, who looked just like the sort of fan who equated a loss for his beloved team with something like getting a call from your beloved girlfriend, who says that she fooled around with someone you know. David had the face that said it all. No!