Page 145 of Wild Card 13

Iwrote the L on my tape before warmups because I was an idiot.

Not a regular idiot either. A committed one. A full-contact idiot with a Sharpie, two minutes of unsupervised locker room time, and absolutely no plan for what I was supposed to do if one of the guys noticed.

Which, obviously, Mase did. He saw it while I was pulling my glove over my left hand and immediately leaned across the bench like I had personally handed him evidence for trial.

I yanked my wrist away. “Mind your business.”

“That is the letter L written on your tape.”

“You pass English? Good for you.”

Mase’s grin spread slowly across his face. “Lucy?”

“Lactose.” I looked him dead in the eye. “I’m raising awareness.”

He stared at me. “You are deeply unwell.”

Simon’s face lit up. “Buzz has a love talisman.”

“I will throw you into a locker.”

The room erupted around us, guys laughing too loud, shoulder pads half on, skates clattering against rubber floors. Someone started chanting Lucy’s name under his breath until I launched a balled-up sock at his helmet hard enough to knock it sideways.

Coach Whittaker walked in at exactly the wrong moment. Hestopped just inside the door, clipboard tucked beneath one arm, expression flat. “Everybody dressed in five,” he said. “Helmets on. No hero routines in warmups. No shooting from the red line to impress your girlfriends.”

A few guys made extremely subtle noises. I looked at the ceiling.

“Burns.” Coach’s gaze sharpened, but his mouth twitched. “Stop making whatever face that is.”

“This is just my face.”

“Tragic for all of us.”

The guys laughed harder that time.

I loved it.

The noise. The heat. The smell of sweat and tape and damp gear. The way the room bounced before a big game, like everybody in it was trying to move in six directions at once.

Usually, that feeling settled my blood.

Tonight, it kept missing the mark.

Because under the locker room noise, under Mase chirping me about romance tape and Simon accusing me of witchcraft, under Coach barking at everybody to finish taping sticks and stop acting like we had never played a playoff game before, I knew there were people here for me. People in jackets that meant things. People who wrote things down. People who could call other people and suddenly a kid from Northbend had a future outside Northbend.

Coach had told me there might be interest. Dad had told me to handle my business.

Thane had texted me that morning from somewhere near Chicago:

Don’t embarrass the family.

Or do. Easier for me.

You coming to watch me become the favorite son?

Already bought popcorn for when you trip over the blue line.

That was basicallyI love youin Burns.