Chapter Six

Jordan 

The thing about getting the A is that it doesn’t feel like you think it will. In my head it was supposed to be this big moment... fireworks, maybe a slow-motion skate under the lights, Coach clapping me on the shoulder while the guys cheered. Reality was quieter. Just Coach’s flat voice in an empty locker room and the sudden weight of responsibility I wasn’t sure I was ready to carry.

I drove home with the text thread to Nora still open on my phone. Her excitement had been loud and immediate, the way she gets when something good happens to someone she cares about. It made the whole thing feel more real.

But now it was Thursday night, two days later, and the season was starting to feel like more than just hockey. Practices were ramping up. Schedules were tightening. And Nora had been… distant. Not in a way anyone else would notice. Just small things. She stayed later after our joint sessions. Her texts took longer to come back. That thing we do where we can read each other’s silences like they were spoken out loud? It was getting harder.

I was in the driveway again, engine off, staring at the house lights. Mom was probably inside grading papers or pretending she wasn’t waiting for me to come in and tell her about practice. Dad had texted earlier, something generic about being proud. The usual.

My phone buzzed.

Nora: you still at the rink?

I typed back quickly.

[Jordan]: just got home. you?

The dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. That wasn’t like her.

Nora: yeah. extra drills. goalie coach sent me some new stuff to work on.

I sat there for a minute, thumb hovering. I wanted to ask if she was okay. I wanted to drive back and sit on the bench with her like we had a hundred times before. Instead I wrote:

[Jordan]: don’t stay too late. ice gets soft after 9

Nora: i know

Nora: congrats again on the A, A-minus

I smiled despite myself. But the smile didn’t last. There was something underneath her words tonight, like she was skating backward while pretending everything was forward motion.

I went inside. Mom had left dinner in the fridge, leftover stir fry that I reheated without really tasting. I ate standing up at the counter, scrolling through old game footage on my laptop like that would fix whatever was shifting between me and Nora.

It was around ten when my phone went off again. This time it was Danny.

[Danny]: bro you seeing this group chat? coach sent the opener lineup

I wasn’t. I opened it and there it was my name with the little A next to it in the official roster. The guys had already started spamming fire emojis and bad jokes. Cho said something about me finally growing up. Webb sent a meme.

But Nora hadn’t replied in the group.

That shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did.

I went upstairs, changed into sweats, and lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. The Mites jersey was still on my desk from the other day. Ten years. Ten years of Nora being the first person I wanted to tell everything to. And now there was this scholarship-shaped shadow hanging over all of it, and neither of us was saying the quiet part out loud.

My phone lit up one more time.

Nora: the new drills are hard. like, really hard. i think i’m scared

I sat up.

[Jordan]: of what

Nora: fucking up the one real chance i have

I stared at the screen for a long time. The cursor blinked. I wanted to type you won’t. I wanted to type stay. I wanted to type a hundred things that would change the shape of what we were.

Instead I wrote:

[Jordan]: you’re the best goalie i’ve ever seen. including pros on tv. you’ll be ready

Nora: thanks jordan

The conversation ended there. Clean. Careful. Like we were both afraid of stepping on thin ice and hearing it crack.

I turned off my light but sleep didn’t come easy. The season was just beginning, and already it felt like we were playing two different games on the same rink.