Steve sat next to me on the plane, and again in the changing room at the arena, and now on the away bench as we were waiting for the game to begin. He was suited up in a hodgepodge of our old practice gear and had on a pair of rental skates that we had yet to return. His jersey had his name on it, but the print looked cheap and ironed on; that’s because it was.

The man was sweating and bouncing his legs up and down in a way that made our sticks and water bottles rattle. There was sweat trickling down the side of his face and he was shakily holding onto one of Sal’s spare tiny sticks. He was more nervous than I’d ever seen him, including the time Mark had punched him in the face. We were hoping that the Bobcats wouldn’t notice that we weren’t playing him right away because once they sensed our weakness they’d be on us like a shark in bloody water.

Because of Ranger’s absence, our lines were jumbled and all over the place. It was basically a free for all of whoever Hawthorne felt like playing in the moment. Part of me was enjoying the change, but it took some getting used to. Chemistry was an important thing out on the ice, and though we all knew each other’s playing styles really well, it was no picnic adapting to new players every couple of shifts.

I held on as best as I could and so did everyone else, but despite our best efforts, we still ended the first period down by two. Afterwards I spent the entire intermission explaining things to Steve. He wanted to know why one of our attempted goals hadn’t counted while both of the opposing teams had. The puck had bounced off of Vinny’s skate instead of his stick. That was easy enough to explain. But he didn’t end it there.

“Is icing when somebody stops short and sprays the other team with ice?” he asked next.

“It’s when you send the puck all the way across the ice into the other team’s zone without anyone touching it.”

Steve frowned. “That’s dumb. I like my idea better.”

I hid my head in my hands. This was going to be a long game.

The second period went a little bit smoother. The Grizzlies had gotten confident and had taken their feet off of the gas a little. Because of this, I was able to land a short-handed goal on one of their power plays. Steve’s voice filtered through the arena, ear-splittingly loud.

“YEAH! THAT’S MY FUCKING ROOMMATE! BITCH.”

Was it embarrassing? Sure. But the Grizzlies seemed confused and like they didn’t know what to make of our new hype man, so I guess it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

We entered the third period down by one. By this point the Grizzlies had realized that Steve was little more than a bench ornament and were chirping him on the sidelines any time they went for a change. The announcers had gotten in on the fun as well and soon enough the entire arena was shouting, “Make him play! Make him play!” It was deafening, to the point where we could hardly focus on the game. 

Steve, who had been so boisterous at the beginning of the game, had slumped down in embarrassment. Coach was compulsively rubbing the bridge of his nose, but he did not cave. He kept Steve on the bench where he belonged. The crowd booed us and even occasionally threw stuff down onto the ice. It wasn’t until the clock started winding down that those boos turned to cheers as our six-game winning streak came to an end.

We went back to Coronado the next morning feeling hopeless and lousy. Part of me hoped that Ranger hadn’t been watching, but I knew realistically that he had and that made me feel even sicker about the whole situation.

Game four was slightly less of a disaster since it was at home and the crowd was (mostly) on our side, but we still lost, this time by a landslide. Now the series was tied two to two.

Steve and I returned to our room afterwards and sat across from each other feeling miserable.

“This blows,” Steve said. 

“Tell me about it.”

“Yesterday somebody in class recognized me as ‘that one hockey guy everyone’s laughing about.’ How messed up is that?”

“Almost as messed up as getting outed as gay to nineteen people all at once.”

Steve narrowed his eyes.

“I can never tell if you’re joking or not…”

I cracked my neck and then my knuckles, savoring in the temporary relief of pressure.

“Don’t worry about what anyone is saying. Nobody will remember who you are in a few months. They’ll just remember this school as the one with the weird ass hockey team that didn’t even take themselves seriously enough to pad their roster.”

I pushed up off of my desk chair and started getting ready for bed.

“Carter?” Steve said suddenly.

I turned and looked at him with raised brows.

“I know it probably won’t do any good,” he began. “But will you teach me how to skate?”

I smiled. It was one of the most human requests Steve had ever asked of me, and it was one I was more than happy to fill.

“Sure.”