I just benched myself. Because a guy was being an asshole to Cauler. Not even because he crosschecked me. Because of Cauler.
Cauler, my rival. Cauler, who I probably just handed the top pick.
* * *
I’VE GOT STITCHES above my eyebrow and a wicked bruise on my jaw, but neither of them hurts as much as my head after dealing with Coach’s close-proximity meltdown after the game. That man can yell.
I get a message from Nova once I’m back in my dorm.
Nova: That was almost sexy
Mickey: You saying you liked watching me get my ass beat?
Nova: Mickey
You’ve seen the fanfic i read
I can’t help but snort at that. Nova strictly reads hurt fic involving her favorite fictional guys. If there’s any hint of comfort in it, she’s not about it. Sometimes I worry about her.
I’m trying to figure out what to send back when the group chat with my sisters pops up.
Nicolette: Dude that was BAD. ASS.
I smile and lie back on my bed, holding the phone over my face.
Mickey: Wouldve been better if i won
Bailey: If you could’ve won your first fight ever against a
guy 20x your size you’re in the wrong sport
Madison: Wait what? Fight?
What did I miss?
Nicolette: Have you not checked twitter tonight?
Lil bro’s a brawler
Mickey: My face hurts
Delilah: don’t challenge guys a foot taller than you dumbass
Mickey: 11 inches at most.
Mikayla: An important distinction
Madison: Explains why dad’s complaining about you not answering your phone
Mickey: Oops phones dead
Bailey: You’re literally using it
Right now
Mickey: Oops no service
Bailey: Just call him
He’s probably worried
Mickey: Yeah about my draft stock
Bailey: You know it’s starting to get real old how you whine about him only caring about the draft
Seriously, I would throw myself in front of a Zamboni right now if it didn’t feel like I already got hit by one.
Mickey: What’s annoying is its true
Bailey: No it’s literally not
Mickey: Right.
Sure.
K.
Mikayla: HEY LET’S TALK BABY NAMES
Spence suggested Keith.
KEITH.
Can you imagine a newborn named Keith?
That’s the name of a grown man working in a cubicle
And don’t get me started on his girl names
I WANT GENDER NEUTRAL
I let my phone fall to the floor next to my bed. I don’t know why Bailey always feels the need to defend Dad’s honor like that. She makes me out to be the bad guy in that relationship and I don’t get it.
Maybe because he defended her and Sid and Karim?
Maybe because she’s right.
Deep down, I know she is. But I’m not ready to let go of seven years of abandonment issues.
I heave a sigh and reach above me for my planner. Yes, an actual real planner where I write in my homework and due dates. I gotta do something to salvage my midterm grade. I’ve got readings to do for biology and college writing, and a journal entry to write for Italian.
My phone vibrates on the floor.
I roll off my bed and toss the planner aside, sit down at my desk and open my laptop. But I don’t log into my Hartland account and I don’t start any readings. Instead, I go to Twitter to read what random strangers have to say about me.
I’m expecting to see things about how I finally showed some team spirit in the form of violent rage and how that’s a liability and how maybe I need help off the ice for starters. How I pick fights I have no chance of winning.
But the first thing I see is a tweet saying, Mickey James III could be named John Doe and he’d still be a #1 pick. He could be 4’11” and still be a #1 pick. It links to an article talking about why my height shouldn’t scare teams away.
My phone keeps going off.
Another tweet says that getting in that fight was exactly what I needed to solidify my hold on the number one spot.
There’s hundreds of people talking about how guys will know I won’t take their shit now, even if I didn’t win. I could’ve scored six goals in that game and getting beat in a fight still would’ve been the most badass thing I’ve ever done.
I poke at the bruise on my jaw and barely feel it. I’m imagining all this, right? I got a concussion and now my brain is seeing what it wants to see. There’s even more of it when I refresh the page.
I smile. Small and painful, but still, a smile.
Someone pounds on my floor from below and I almost fall out of my chair, heart jumping into my throat. A girl’s muffled yelling tells me to answer my goddamn phone. I practically tiptoe over to it so I don’t bother her even more and go to mute the group chat. And yeah, there’s dozens of messages from my sisters. But also five from Cauler.