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call ended. good news. want to tell you in person.
Margo
ON MY WAY
Three words, all caps, no punctuation. Sent so fast I know she typed it before she’d even processed what “good news” meant. Something in my chest does the specific warm thing it does every single time she reacts to me like that — like my news is automatically her priority. No negotiation required.
She shows up at Raven House twenty minutes later, out of breath like she actually ran part of the way. I pull her inside and shut the door before either of us says anything, because this isn’t a hallway conversation. Luckily, we’re alone because everyone else is either still at the athletic complex or in class.
“Okay.” She’s still catching her breath. “Tell me. All of it. Don’t summarize.”
“Pete Kowalski,” I say. “Director of Player Personnel. Bruins.”
“I know who he is.”
I stop. “You know who he is?”
“I looked into their management staff a few weeks ago. After you told me about the scout at Burlington.” She says it like it’s nothing, like it’s not a mildly staggering thing to hear. “Pete Kowalski’s been with the organization for eleven years. Came up through their scouting department before he got the director title. Good reputation — players who’ve worked with him talk about him being straight with them, not just selling them a dream.”
I stare at her.
“What?” she says.
“You researched the Bruins’ front office personnel. For fun.”
“Not for fun. For you.” She shrugs, like this should be obvious. “If it matters to you, it matters to me. I wanted to know who I was potentially about to be annoyed at on your behalf, or grateful to, depending how the call went.”
Something in my chest does the thing it does more and more lately around her — expands, without warning, no permission requested.
“That’s —” I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t have the word for it yet.
“That’s what people do,” she says. Gentler now. “When they care about someone. They learn the names that matter to that person.” She squeezes my hand. “I want this for you, Theo. As much as you want it. Maybe more, some days, because you’re too disciplined to let yourself want anything out loud.”
“I want it out loud right now.”
“Good.” She smiles. “Keep going. Tell me the rest.”
“He’s been watching my tape since October. Burlington specifically — the gap control, the reads.” I hear myself say it and it still doesn’t sound real coming out of my own mouth. “He wouldn’t give me a number. Said nobody honest gives you a number this far out.”
“That’s a good sign, actually.” She’s already doing the thing — processing it like a case, weighing what matters. “A guy who won’t overpromise you is a guy who’s not just being nice on a call.”
“That’s what I thought too.” I look at her. “Second round. That’s where their internal projection has me sitting. Possibly higher.”
Her hand comes up to her mouth. “Theo.”
“There’s more.” I take a breath. “They’ve already built a development plan. Not a guess — an actual plan, assuming I’m there when they’re on the clock in June. And the plan has me finishing here. At Whitmore. Under Coach.”
“Wait.” She drops her hand. “They want you to stay? Not leave early?”
“They want me to stay. Pete said another year in a program like this does more for me than two years buried in their system.” I shake my head, still catching up to it myself. “I thought if this ever happened, it’d mean leaving. Everything. This place, the team, you.” My voice catches slightly on that last word, and I let it. “And instead the plan is I stay exactly where I am.”
“Theo.” She says my name differently this time. Quieter.
“I called my mom first,” I tell her. “Had to. But you’re the first person I wanted to tell in person. Not Beau, not Cash. You.”
She’s quiet for a second, eyes bright, hand pressed against her own chest like she’s trying to keep something in.
“Theo.” Her voice cracks slightly. “That’s — this is real. This is actually real.”
