Page 63 of The Do-Over Girl

Our take-no-prisoners defense and Dylan’s speed, prevent the other team from scoring, but we can’t even get the puck near the net. Every shot is wide or right at the goalie’s pads. It’s clear to me that no matter how much I tell them not to let the hoopla distract them, words mean shit.

The horn blows, ending the period with no score and the fans on edge.

The team files off the ice, and as I follow behind them, I turn around to see the cheerleaders take the ice.

I stop the guys and instruct them to turn and watch for a minute. There are a few grumbles, but mostly, they’re puzzled as they do as I say. The cheerleaders do their skating routine with pom-poms and relentless high spirits, and at the end, the crowd applauds. So do I, whistling the old-fashioned way with my fingers in my mouth like a fan.

Kali looks my way, smiling, and gives me a thumbs up.

Then I look over my team, most of whom followed my example and clapped, but they look more confused than before.

“Get into the locker room,” I bark.

Archie whispers to me, “I don’t know what you have up your sleeve, but I know it’s something. Can’t wait to find out what.” He grins, shaking his head.

“I can’t wait either,” I quip. He laughs, and we push into the locker room behind the goalie and shut the door behind us.

“That was not how we wanted to play this game. Anyone here happy with the team’s performance?”

They respond in a chorus of “No, Coach.”

“What was that with making us watch the cheerleaders?” One of the freshmen asks as if he’s not sure that’s normal because he’s new.

“I wanted you to see the support you have and to know we’re all in this together. You’re not alone out there. You have each other; you have me and Coach Rink and all the students and faculty and your families and the community. And the cheerleaders. All with you. Lean on that support. Draw from that energy. Let it motivate you. And let it calm you.”

That’s all I have, and I have no idea if it’s the message they need or if there’s any message that will calm them.

Archie claps my back. “Good message, Coach.”

I guess Archie was right because in the second period, we scored twice—or I should say, Dylan scored twice with some help from his teammates, and outstanding play from the goalie and defensemen prevented the other team from scoring, though they were flying around giving it their best shot.

The third period was decisive, the exclamation point on the game. Whatever rocket fuel had our opponents playing above their weight class ran out, and we ran over them with four more goals. Dylan sped by everyone, getting a break-away goal and his hat-trick.

If he expected a gold star when he hit the bench after that, he didn’t complain when all I gave him was a nod and a smirk.

Because now, I’m worried my job is to keep him from getting a big head, to keep him humble and not let a big ego alienate his teammates. However, they don’t seem to mind his superstar play because they pile onto him as soon as the horn sounds to end the game.

The locker room is crazy when I walk in with Archie, so I blow my whistle.

“Congratulations on your win—but it’s only one fucking win, so don’t pat yourselves on the back like you’re fucking champions yet.” That cools them off quickly.

Before I go back out to talk to the media, I take Dylan aside.

“The press is going to want to talk to you. Get yourself dressed quickly and come out and join me and Coach Rink.”

Standing by Dylan’s side, I dish out glares to anyone who attempts to ask an inappropriate question—which is anything not to do with the game. I don’t want Dylan to feel like he has the weight of APA’s destiny in his hands—despite what I told the team earlier.

The responsibility for Andrews Point Academy’s future lies squarely with me—and our #SaveAPA team, including Nikki, Archie, and Kali.

“Where are you going to college?” The Portland news reporter asks. I toss a glare at him, and I’m about to jump in, but Dylan answers him.

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll work on figuring that out after the season. With coach’s help.” He gives me a smirk.

I say to him under my breath, “Good answer.” Then I tell the reporters, “That’s a wrap for Dylan. Any questions for our esteemed Athletic Director, Archie Rinkowski?”

There’s a murmur and no questions being shouted until I nod in the direction of our intrepid student reporter. She jumps in to save me with a question for Archie.

There’s a peppering of more questions for me, some veering into my future plans before I shut everything down.

“Thank you all for your support of our program. I mean that, ladies and gentlemen. Keep up the good work.”

Someone yells, “Thank you, Coach.” I smirk and start to back away from the crowd and the cameras. I give them a few minutes to disburse with Nikki’s help as she herds them toward the exit.

When I finally escape without personal questions for the most part, because they were all focused, as they should be, squarely on the newly recognized phenom, Dylan Zappola, I look for Kali.