Page 46 of Patrick

CHAPTER 11

TRICK

Between a light skate, classes, the team lunch, then study hall, then practice, I have no time to get to the UNH Coop. We file from the team study hall in the facility to the locker rooms for practice.

Checking my phone, I re-read the text from Fifi. ILYF, S. Then I run into Bog’s back.

“What the hell?” Bog laughs at me. “Put that phone away before coach sees you. He’ll make you do 50 red-line blue-line sprints and enjoy watching you sweat until you’re nothing but a puddle.”

“Thanks for the image.” I punch his shoulder, wishing he wasn’t right about coach’s proclivity to punish me.

I hurry ahead of the line and grab a practice jersey from the pile, then head to my locker.

“You in a hurry?” Bog asks as I strip off my clothes.

“Yeah. First on the ice, first off. Assistant Coach Winnick is running practice today.” I nod in the direction of Winnick at the other end of the room talking to the equipment manager.

“I thought you wanted to be the first on and last off the ice?”

“I need to go to the Coop and get a team jersey.” He looks at me like I’m speaking Swahili, so I add, “It’s for Kathleen to wear at the BC game tomorrow night.” It’s for Fifi, but I’m not telling him that. More fucking lies, though this one is more for my ego than any worry about Bog leaking the info to my family. I’m not ready to give up my free and easy man-about-campus reputation.

“You should get an extra team jersey from the equipment guy.”

“I can’t do that.” I dart my eyes in the guy’s direction like he’s going to overhear us plotting grand theft.

Bog shrugs. “Why not? Sully got one for his gf.”

Sully stops on his way past us.

“Isn’t that right, Sully?”

“Whatever you say, Bog.”

I whisper, “You got your girlfriend a jersey from the equipment manager?”

Sully nods. “Tell him you ripped your jersey. Don’t tell him it’s for your gf.”

“He’ll give me an XL and it’ll be way extra big for her—I mean for my sister Kathleen.”

Sully shrugs and moves on.

Bog smirks. “That’s what you get for being a big guy.”

I flash him my middle finger and he laughs while I finish dressing.

“Who is she? Is it that hot girl who visited the rink?”

I snap my head up and frown. “I told you—it’s for Kathleen.” Tension clamps my jaw tight.

“You’re giving big secret vibes. Must be a special girl. Not your usual thing.” He nods like he knows something I don’t know. Probably does, which is not a comforting thought.

I should just tell him. “Look, Bog, I know you won’t make a big deal⁠—”

The locker room door bangs open, interrupting me. There’s only one person who enters this room that way. Coach Zabra.

“Listen up. Today is press day. There’ll be a few reporters and photographers and the school’s TV station who want to get some good footage. Play nice. It’s mandatory.” He turns to me. “And no grandstanding. The press wants to talk to everyone.”

“You sure about that, coach?” one of the freshmen yells, followed by snickering. I don’t turn my head to see who the ballsy guy is, but I hope coach doesn’t take it out on all of us.