The Hoodie Girl, page 4
“Sure. That’s why you know all the songs off by heart.”
I fight a grin as I watch them bicker, but I can’t help it when my gaze strays to the lower level of the cafeteria where a certain red-hoodied girl is seated. I can’t see her face because she isn’t facing me, but her dark-haired friend must have said something funny, because her shoulders are shaking with unrestrained laughter.
I wonder what it would feel like to make someone like Wren Martin laugh. With the way she guards her name and only offers it to Those Who Are Worthy, I bet it would feel like conquering Everest. I wonder why she’s all clammed up, hiding under that hoodie all the time. But most of all? I’m wondering why the hell I can’t seem to get this girl out of my mind.
~
As Friday rolls around, I find myself charged for the first game of the season. Yeah, it’s a charity game organized by the school board, but I’m looking forward to it nevertheless. We lost against Lynwood last year, and it’s not going to happen again.
I’m primed for the hockey season. I spent the first half of summer break in the rink, the latter in Miami with my uncle Dean, swimming a lot and getting the kind of tan that’s hard to get in Cambridge. This year, I stand a chance of getting scouted. All the injuries, pain, and early mornings could finally be worth it.
I glance at my teammates, who’ve been with me through my high school years. We used to wait for this day—the game that would kick off our final year.
“Guys!” I shout, my voice echoing in the rink. “Gather up.”
They trudge over in their skates. Normally, we wouldn’t be in these before the game, but since it’s a home game today, Coach wanted us to come in extra early and do some warm-ups before the opposing team arrives and, I quote, “Steals our rink and pucks from us.”
Daniels sends me a lazy smile as he heads back into the changing room. I can bet my ass he’ll come back with an excuse for him not making it to the meeting. He finds these things a waste of time.
“Daniels.” I smirk as I see his face fall as he reenters the rink.
He opens his mouth to say something but I interrupt him. “Coach is on his way. Do I need to tell him that you need to sit this game out because you’re not potty trained?”
He ducks his face as it turns red. After the guys round up their equipment and take out the bags of pucks from the storeroom, I start talking.
“So,” I say. “First game of the season.”
The team hoots and whistles in response.
“These are just preseason games, but it’s a good opportunity to see how we all work together with the new skills we have and any game plans you want to try out.” They all nod in agreement. “So, let’s get on the ice and win this!”
I reach for my stick. One by one, we get onto the ice, gliding over to the right side, where Blake sets up the drill. I divide everyone into groups of three: two offensive and one defensive player.
“Everyone knows the drill. Hemmings, you ready?”
Standing in front of the goal, he lifts his stick, signaling that he is. I nod at Zach so that he can start. He and Harvey pass the puck to each other as Brody crouches low, stick in hand, ready to attack.
One of Brody’s best skills is that he can see when the attacker will slip and make a mistake, and that’s when he lunges. The only problem with this kind of tactic? It’s time consuming. On the ice you rarely have time to mull over things, you just have to trust your gut and go for it.
Standing on the side of the play, I watch as Brody’s skates move at a slight angle while he stares intently at the puck and the two controlling it. Then, before Harvey can pass it back to Zach, the puck is in Brody’s possession. His blank expression disappears as he looks up at them with a smile on his face.
“Knight, I need you to be faster with your attacks. That goes for you two as well.” I look at Chandler and Harvey. “If you can’t get past the defense, spread out and use the boards if you need to.”
After multiple drills, and trying to perfect our power plays, Coach arrives. “Reed!”
I break away from the group, skating over to the opposite side where Coach is standing. He gives me a passing look. “Did you go over all the drills?”
I nod. “We’re finishing off the last play.”
He lifts his hand to glance at his watch. “The game’s in twenty minutes. Dale should arrive just now. Round ’em up in five minutes.”
Muttering a lukewarm response, I head back to the boys, the cool air of the rink whipping past me. As soon as we get off the ice, green shirts fill the front of the arena. They watch us shake the ice off our skates and stride to where Coach is sitting.
“Shit, look at number seven,” Brody whispers to me, his cheeks flushed red from the ice. “He’s hug e.”
“That’s what she said.” Zach grins.
I shake my head, huffing a laugh as I loosen my skates.
Chandler’s a real-life version of Michael from The Office, so naturally, he can’t go a day without saying “That’s what she said,” at least once.
Coach shows us diagrams of what the game plan for tonight is, while some of the guys get distracted by the sounds of pucks being hit across the rink, or the fact that Dale has a collective tendency to shout aggressively when they play.
Soon the stands are filling up, and the noise level in the arena increases. We tug on our skates and place our mouth guards in.
My eyes flicker to the red timer on the wall that’s slowly counting down. My heart rate picks up. I let out a breath. This is it.
I signal the team over. Standing in a circle, I look at Hemmings who starts our chant.
“One, two, three—”
“Eastview!”
The cheers get louder. I crouch, holding my stick while looking at the opposition. The buzzer goes off, and we start.
I kick off the ice, and little remains fly behind me. Almost immediately, Miller slides the puck over to me and I hold it against my stick, carrying it farther up. Driving all the way to the left corner of the rink, I make a turn to cut inward, knowing the defense is in front of me leaving the other side of me open.
As I move to the opposite side of the rink, I pop the puck to Harvey, who’s stationed behind me, part of the defensemen that follow me. He holds the puck, waiting for the perfect moment.
“Now!” I yell.
I drift toward Harvey, drawing the opposition farther away.
Before they can realize their mistake, it’s too late. Zach appears on the outer side as Harvey passes the puck to him. The defense tries to move back but Zach makes a shot into the net. The whistle goes off.
Our side of the crowd goes wild as we laugh and come into the center. I slap their backs. “We need a few more like that.”
Miller salutes me. “You got it, Cap.”
I chuckle and take my position again. This is what hockey is. A game full of twists and turns, where anything’s possible. It’s something I’d never want to leave. I glance up at the timer. We still have a whole hour left.
~
At intermission we get off the rink, instantly reaching for our bottles. The game’s tied at 2–2.
“Boys, you’re playing well out there,” Coach says, “but there’s still a few things I want you to pay attention to. Knight, you don’t have eyes at the back of your head; look up before you make a pass. Right now, all of your passes are going straight into the hands of the other team. Daniels, your grip on your stick needs to get tighter. And Reed, you’re sitting off for the next ten minutes.”
I nod, but a few minutes on the benches and I feel like ripping all my hair out.
“Harvey, stay on your side!” I shout from the sidelines. “You’re pushing Daniels too high up!”
Harvey looks up at me, dazed and confused, and way too slow to react when a player skates past him toward the net. By the time he notices, he’s heading back as he tries to attack.
“Reed,” Coach huffs. “Get back in there.”
I rush by the halfway line, yelling for him to come. Harvey makes his way to me and I tap his stick with mine, as a form of encouragement, before gliding onto the ice.
We’re neck and neck. I gaze at the timer. Five minutes. We need to make one goal. One goal to change the outcome of this game. Their right winger has the puck, and he’s making his way toward me. I don’t waste time. Taking off, I block him from the game, isolating him. Zach’s on the right side of me, covering my back.
Curving my stick, I pull it toward me before stepping to the side and sliding the puck over to Chandler. As soon as it leaves my stick, I skate straight up to the goal. Two minutes.
Collecting the puck, Chandler rounds to the right side, sending it down the line to Brody.
Come on. Come on.
Brody turns his back to the goal, keeping the puck in front of him.
“Brody!” Coach screams from the side. “Pass it!”
I slide in front of Brody just in time for him to make the pass to me. Pushing the puck with full strength, I take a shot at the left corner of the post. I close my eyes as I hear the buzzer go off.
Sweat drips down my face.
I got the shot in.
Several guys jump on top of me, roaring. I fall onto the ice, losing my stick somewhere. Brody and Zach slap me on my shoulder. Grinning widely, I take off my helmet, rake a hand through my hair, and tell them to line up to shake our opponents’
hands.
I look around the arena. This is where I want to be. Always.
Chapter 5
Wren
I launch a pillow from my notebook-strewn bed at an annoying Mia. She dodges it from the other side of my room, nearly falling out of the chair she’s stretched across. Her dark hair whips the span of her shoulders as they shake with laughter. “Your aim sucks.”
“Shut it,” I say. “I don’t want to go.”
We were halfway through Clueless when Mia clicked the space bar on my laptop and announced that she wanted to go to Dunkin’ Donuts because, apparently, they’re having this huge two-for-one promotion if you eat in, or something like that. And I’m as enthusiastic about the idea as I sound.
“Come on,” she persists. “Please. You’ve been studying the entire week. You were studying before I showed up today. You’re going to burn yourself out . ”
“Nope.”
“Think about the donuts. The freakin’ donuts, Martin! If I don’t get coffee in two minutes, I’m gonna blow.”
“We have coffee downstairs.”
She scoffs. “Go to hell, it’s gotta be Dunkin’.”
“Yeah . . .” I pretend to think about it. “No.”
“Come on, ” she nags. “You love me, right? You won’t let me slowly descend into darkness because I can’t get my caffeine fix.
Right? Right? ”
I raise a brow. “So this has nothing to do with your fear of missing out on that stupid promotion?”
“Oh come on,” she says. “Don’t act like you’ve never been a victim of blatant advertising schemes.”
She hurls the notorious pillow back at me. And because I have the reflexes of an injured animal, it collides evenly with my face. I place the pillow behind me and offer Mia a sour look.
“Okay.” I sigh. “Fine.”
“Yes, ” she hisses. “Let’s go, bitch!”
“But—” I stuff some money from my drawer into my phone cover. “We get the donuts and leave. I need to get back and start my history assignment. Plus, I want to squeeze some reading in.”
She makes a face. “Isn’t the history assignment due, like, next month?”
“There’s nothing wrong with being prepared.”
Don’t be fooled. I have this nasty habit of starting assignments early but somehow still leaving 80 percent of the work for the night before, and Mia’s well aware of this.
She rolls her eyes. “I literally hate you.”
“Finally,” I say, tightening the ribbon at the end of my French braid before I shove on a pair of Converse. “Something we both have in common.”
When we arrive at Dunkin’, I’m surprised at just how many people are victims of blatant advertising schemes. I recognize a few faces from Eastview, and Zach Chandler’s signature yellow sports car can be seen from a mile away. Mia tenses beside me.
“Guess who’s here,” I tease her.
“Crap.”
I start cracking up. “Well. . . this was nice. Let’s head back, shall we?”
“We shall not.” Mia shakes her head. “I came here for my coffee and donuts and you bet your tiny ass I’m gonna get ’em. So . . .” She glances at me. “I haven’t exactly dressed up for this scenario,”—I raise a brow at her pretty floral dress—“but here’s what we’re gonna do. We are going to walk in there, and for Christ’s sake, Wren, do not look at him.”
“What do you mean ‘don’t look at him’?” I send her an incredulous look. “I’m not gonna look at him.”
“Really,” she says sarcastically, “because who else does a freakin’ one eighty to look at someone like they’ve committed a felony, right after I say ‘don’t look’?”
I burst into laughter. “I don’t do that!”
I do that.
She looks at me with a straight face and then continues. “We’re going to walk in there, order, pick up, then grab a table on the other side of the room. As far away from—”
“He Who Must Not Be Named as possible.” I nod, grinning.
“Right. Sounds like a plan.”
We enter, and Mia’s doing way too much. Clearly, she hasn’t mastered the art of invisibility as well as yours truly, because she literally lifts a hand to her face to block sunlight that just isn’t there.
I gotta admit, it’s pretty funny seeing Mia as the less confident one for once. But it’s a lot less funny when I realize it’s all because of a boy. In my humble opinion, boys are hardly ever worth your time. Or energy. Oh well. One peek won’t hurt, right? I look up as discreetly as possible.
Sitting in the corner booth is the Pretty Boy Trio: Asher, Brody, and Zach.
I freeze.
This is a code red. In my dictionary, this is the reddest freakin’
code red in the history of code reds. Because I failed to consider that since Zachary Chandler is here, the rest of the trio would be here too. Including Reed. As if he can hear my thoughts, he lifts his head from the opposite side of the café, and his eyes connect unerringly with mine.
All the air in my lungs is sucked out. It’s like he’s a lighthouse.
Constantly exuding and radiating an effortless, confident energy from his spot in the corner. Dazed, I tear my gaze away from him and fumble to catch up with Mia, who’s already in the process of ordering.
After a few minutes, we settle in at the table farthest away from the trio, and Mia starts going on about how she almost broke her phone but I can’t focus. Somehow, my gaze shifts behind her.
Reed’s face is settled into a frown and Zach has stopped stuffing donuts into his face. Brody just looks amused. Mia turns around to see what I’m staring at, and when she realizes, her eyes widen. “I thought I told you not to look!”
“I didn’t look!”
I did.
It isn’t long before we hear screeching chair sounds, and all three of the boys are seated at our tiny table. What the heck? I glance at Mia, whose eyes have widened considerably.
Nevertheless, she manages a smile as her gaze settles on Zach.
“Uh, hi.”
“Hi.” Zach offers her a grin. “Bea, right?”
“Mia, actually.”
Zach’s smile is blinding white. “Did it hurt when you fell from h—”
“Bro, shut the hell up,” Brody says, proceeding to smack Zach upside his head. Zach responds by shoving Brody so hard that he nearly falls off his chair and on top of me. Now they’re both grumbling and our table’s attracting attention. I take in a slow breath.
Asher ignores the two as his eyes land on me. “Wren,” he says, like he’s testing the waters.
Suddenly, the other two stop fighting to look at me, and Mia joins them. I glare at Reed. I was hoping I’d come out of this situation unnoticed, but it seems like the universe enjoys sprinkling bad luck all over me.
“You two know each other?” Brody asks.
I’m quick to answer. “No.”
Reed grins. “Yeah.”
I shut my eyes and sigh. When I open them, Zach’s brows are furrowed. “How?”
Reed’s gaze slides languidly to his friend. “She’s babysitting Ev.”
“Ooh. ” Zach winks. “Good with kids, huh?”
Reed and Brody offer Zach blank, unimpressed stares but he just sits back in his chair and kicks back his long legs, his grin intact.
I shrug. “Uh . . . I guess?”
“You go to Eastview?” Brody asks, his gaze settling on me.
I know I said I like being invisible, but damn, I must’ve gotten really good at it. I’ve been in at least one of Brody Knight’s classes since freshman year. But I can’t really blame him, so I just settle with a clipped, “Yeah.”
“Oh.” Brody draws back a hand to rub the nape of his neck.
“Haven’t noticed you around.”
I sip on my frozen chocolate drink, glancing at Mia, who’s enamored by Zach’s smile as he talks to her. She’s clearly handling this well. Me? I’m feeling what Leo DiCaprio probably felt when he was slowly dying in Titanic.
“You don’t like coffee?” Brody asks, eyeing the drink in my hand and snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Not really,” I mumble. “It has a weird aftertaste.”
Immediately, Zach faces me with a mischievous smile. “That’s what she said.”
Brody rolls his eyes with a grin tearing his lips apart. “You’re sick, man.”
Zach winks. “You know it.”
Brody lets out a chuckle. I risk a glance at Reed, who’s sporting a small smile. Up close, his features are striking. Strong bone structure, deep-blue eyes, and the faintest trail of freckles that stretch across the plane of his cheeks and nose, which is slightly sunburned from summer. His gold hair falls over his forehead, brushing his brows, and he has a tan that makes his skin glow. It’s no wonder he has half of our school’s population swooning.
