Max loved hockey.
The game was scheduled for seven on Friday evening. At ten that morning, they gathered to sort out teams and for what would count as practice. They had two goalies, but the skaters were biased heavily in the forward direction; somebody was going to have to pretend they knew how to play defense.
“Old-fashioned All-Star style?” Max suggested. “Two captains, winner of rock-paper-scissors picks first.”
“I’m not being captain,” Grady said immediately, causing everyone who didn’t know him to look at him in disbelief. Clearly the idea of Grady not wanting to be in charge made their brains hurt. He shrugged under the scrutiny. “It should be Max and somebody else from around here. Give the locals two teams to root for.”
“He’s right,” Amelie agreed. “Me or Jeremy? Or one of you guys.” She nodded to a trio of veterans.
Jeremy blanched. “Goalie’s funnier,” he said quickly. “Everybody loves a goalie captain.”
“Aww, c’mon, Jer. You’re not afraid of losing, are you?”
Grady elbowed Max. Max shoved him back.
“If we’re going to do a draft, we should do it in front of the crowd,” Amelie said. “They’ll love it.”
“You’re just saying that ’cause if I draft Grady first, you get to pick Tony”—Tony was the other goalie—“and if I don’t, you get him.”
“Yes,” Amelie agreed. “Like I said, the crowd will love it.”
Max made a face. “Fine. Sorry, Grades. I know you always dreamed of playing on a team with me—”
Jeremy coughed.
“On the same team,” Max went on, “the men’s team, who we bat for. Because we like to score by putting the projectile in the hole—”
“You play both sides,” Grady pointed out. “Are we going to practice or what?”
Amelie gave him a speculative look. “When I draft you,” she said, “I’m making you the coach.”
Max was pretty sure the granny league had finagled them coaches too. They’d even rounded up a handful of zebras, who were here now to get some reffing practice in before the game. But never mind. Coach Grady would be pretty funny.
He and Amelie did a mock draft. Her rock beat his scissors. True to her word, she picked Grady first, but at least she didn’t leave Max without a goalie.
It wasn’t good hockey. No one wanted to block a shot, and no goalie was going to risk injury to make a flashy save. Max figured that Tony would probably let in at least ten goals tonight, and he didn’t blame him. It didn’t have to be good to be exciting.
But Max should’ve realized his generalization would have exceptions.
Jeremy and the other juniors hadn’t learned the meaning of the wordmoderation. They knew only balls-out competition, which Max respected and admired even if it made him feel old and tired. He couldn’t say that he wouldn’t have done the same at their age, given the chance to pit himself against some of the best players in the game. As long as they followed the no-checking rule, he wouldn’t have to break any of their teeth.
And then, of course, there was Grady.
Someonedidn’t get the memo that nobody was putting any effort into playing defensive hockey, because Grady was all over Max anytime he was on the ice. Down in the corner by Amelie’s net, as Max worked to get the puck out to Jeremy, Grady plastered himself against his back. Then Max deked around what passed for defensemen, only to find the guy who was supposed to be playing forward on the other side in his way.
Grady was even behind the netafter Max scored, interrupting what should have been a team celly.
“This jealousy is a bad look for you,” Max told him.
Grady used the blade of his stick to flip snow in Max’s face, then finished off a hat trick twenty seconds later. Competitive asshole.
“I’m starting to take this personally!” Max shouted.
“Oh my God, stop flirting,” Jeremy moaned. “Old people are so gross.”
Grady laughed so hard he was helpless to stop it when Max’s team got the goal right back.
Max hadn’t forgotten how much he loved toplaylike this—like it was really play and not his job. It reminded him of the World Cup last September—all the dumb shit he’d said to rile Grady up, to see what he could get away with. He wasn’t worried about Grady slashing him now, but if he could incapacitate him with laughter, that was just as effective as a penalty.
