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“My aunt has POTS, Noor. It’s rough. Personally, I don’t know that you’re the best person for this, but the principal has a wild hair up his ass about it.”
“I noticed after the fifteen page email,” I say dryly.
“Fun stuff,” he mutters. “Look, this is going to be high intensity and energy. People who come to these games are pumped for the team to play. Help them ride that energy. If we fuck up, toss your arms up in the air and kick at the air. They’ll tell you to chill and start yelling cheers. People fucking love Asmodeus. Which is a weird name for a mascot, but we’ll roll with it.
“Ready?”
I nod, holding onto all of the nuggets of advice that he just shot rapid fucking fire at me as I put my costume head back on.
“Oh,” he says, stopping at the locker room door. “We haven’t had a female mascot ever, so I apologize for having to change in here. You can wait until the guys clear out, but they generally have this ritual where the mascot stays in the locker room while I give the rundown of the game after. I hope dicks and asses aren’t going to bother you.”
He’s opening the door and goes striding out as my hidden mouth hangs open in shock.
“Get the lead out!” he yells, making me catch the door and run after him as it begins to swing shut.
Well that’s a mic drop if I’ve ever fucking heard one!
Coach Helm points to a door as he continues down the hall, saying, “That’s where you’ll make your entrance. No one will fuck with you in that get up.”
Yeah, it’s later I’ll probably have an issue. Thanks for the vote of confidence, I guess?
Jogging up the ramp, I step out into the darkened arena. I walk slowly down into the middle area, finding a place where I can stand to watch as the players skate out. I have to admit it’s exciting. Somehow, they have someone working a light machine, there’s a paper devil hanging over the opening at the ice for players to skate out, and people are cheering.
I can see the allure of this, even if I do dislike some of the players. For all I know, they’re all douche canoes.
“It’s Asmos!” someone yells. Huh, I do have a nickname. Cool.
I raise my arms up in the air and wiggle like I’m dancing, and everyone cheers some more. It seems as long as I’m moving, they’re happy. However, while I’m glad it’s working, I’m also beginning to sweat as well.
It’s not enough to cause an issue since it’s freezing in the arena and my costume head is blowing cool air at my face, but I still take it into consideration. The Devils play well in the first period, and I can see from here that Draven is playing for his life as goalie.
We’re playing a rival team from Goleta, and they’re fierce as fuck. For some reason, I thought the Chesterfield Prep Devils would play another academy school, but they’re not. I suppose it makes sense if there aren’t many hockey teams at other prep schools.
Based on how fierce the Devils I’ve met are, I think Chesterfield Prep can handle these guys.
After the first period, I rush off to the locker room to tear off the Devil head and guzzle down the water. My almost black eyes sparkle like obsidian, and I find I’m actually having fun.
It’s a forced situation, but I may as well make the best of it. I’ve learned to enjoy every good moment, because they rarely last.
Not for me anyway.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
CIARAN
The Goleta Bears came for blood.
Shoving the guy next to me, I glance at my teammate beside me with a feral grin. Together, we steal the puck and send it to Alastair before driving two Bears into the boards.
“I bet your mama could play better than this,” I chirp, blocking a punch. “Ha! So I’m right. Good to know.”
“There’s nothing better than a mama’s boy,” Royal crows as he kicks at the guy he has pinned. “They’re the easiest to distract.”
The buzzer screams as Alastair sinks the puck past the Bears’ goalie and I grin as the ref comes to break us up. Miraculously, no one has to spend any time in the Sin Bin and we move into the next play. My elbows and stick are getting a workout today.
The Devils know just how far to take things without getting called. We’re also on home turf and the refs always seem to miss things that could work against us. I don’t know how it happens, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
