Page 173 of Fake it ’Til Fall

We need infrastructure.

I look up.

Daisy is watching me like she expects me to laugh.

I don’t.

“This is good.”

Her face changes so fast I almost miss it.

Relief.

Then fear of the relief.

Then the joke, arriving late.

“Well, yes, obviously. I’m very competent when spiraling. It’s practically a boutique service.”

“Day.”

Her name stops her.

“I saw Evan’s shoes,” she murmurs. “And the way he shrugged when I asked about homework support. I know that shrug. I work with that shrug every week. It means, ‘I need help, but I’ve learned asking makes everyone uncomfortable.’”

Her fingers press into the edge of the notebook.

“I hate that the adults don’t know what they need,” she whispers. “They keep thinking about the season. The numbers. The event. Like the goal is getting kids through a few months of hockey until their parents can afford it, or until they’re in college, or until someone else becomes responsible for them.”

I feel that hit.

Not like an idea.

Like a memory.

A kid standing in a locker room pretending worn gear is fine. A boy learning not to ask because asking gives people a chance to say no. A team built around talent but not the life surrounding it.

“They need adults who don’t make access feel temporary,” I say.

Daisy’s eyes lift.

I keep going, because now I can see it too. Not fully. Enough.

“They need someone who plans like they’ll still matter after the fundraiser ends. Gear that fits. Food before practice. Rides home. Tutoring that isn’t a punishment. People who notice before the kid has to beg.”

Daisy looks at me like I have reached into the notebook and found the part she was afraid to name.

“I want that too,” I say.

I take the notebook from her slowly, giving her time to stop me.

She doesn’t.

I look over the list again.

“I know former players,” I say. “Some with money. Some with guilt. Both spend if you aim them right.”

Her mouth parts.