Gregg catches my gaze, holds it. “The only goal, eh Five?” He reaches behind Lani, pulls a folded copy of the Sudbury Sentinel from the windowsill.
“My article! Zee, have you even seen this?” Lizzie doesn’t wait for my answer, but points to the picture of my team on the front page. We are a heap of bodies and grins and mouth guards and victory. I am just off center, my smile larger than my face, my hands clutching my stick, the game ball.
I am sucked back into that moment and can feel the sweat on my skin again, taste the high of that collective win. Gregg waves his red Sharpie over the article, a request.
I throw an uncomfortable laugh that comes out louder than intended. “I’m not signing it.” I’m not even sure he’s serious.
Gregg dangles the pen. “Come on, Five, you’ll never be as famous as you are now. Sign it. For me.” It’s his two final words that get me. What wouldn’t I do for Gregg? And if this one small gesture starts us back on the road to normalcy, then I will sign a thousand signatures.
I take the pen and pop its top. The thick scent of ink overpowers even the sausage. I feel too much pressure to think of something witty or meaningful to write, so I just sign my full name. Zephyr Marie Doyle. The red looping ink bleeds into the newsprint, making my signature thicker.
“I don’t want to see this on eBay,” I tell Gregg as I pass the pen and article back to him. He gives me a wink and I don’t know what it means. Are we okay now? He’s dating Lani so now I can have Alec guilt-free?
“You should have been there,” Lizzie tells him. “Zee’s goal rocked.”
I pop a cube of cantaloupe into my mouth, force my teeth to chew. I want to ask Gregg why he couldn’t put all this stuff between us aside and watch me compete in the playoffs. A month ago I could have asked him anything.
“Gregg was with me,” Lani says, squeezing Gregg’s biceps in a way that makes the fruit in my mouth hard to swallow. “Cheerleader party. You know, to celebrate the start of hockey season.”
I want to gag, but Gregg lifts his orange juice and pins his stare on me. It seems impossible that he can be three feet away when a universe wedges between us. A canyon crammed with all the things we aren’t saying.
“Sounds like it was a blast.” Lizzie’s tone tells me she’s aware of the tension sharing a place at our table.
The waitress appears and I recognize her as Steph DeLuca, a sophomore girl on the JV field hockey team. She barely registers my presence; her gaze is glued on Gregg’s face. I watch her carefully. Her eyes flicker over Gregg’s broad shoulders, the number on his sleeve.
“C-can I get you anything else?”
“A refill of OJ?” Gregg raises his empty glass.
“Sure thing, Slice. It’ll be on the house.” Steph flirts the cup from his hand and retreats.
“You’ve got fans everywhere,” Lani says.
Gregg laughs it off. He’s used to it, after all. “Hey, we’re going go-cart racing after breakfast. You guys wanna join?”
“Go-carts?” Lizzie says.
“What, too childish for you?” Gregg teases.
“Um, no. Go-carts are the ultimate level playing field. I can kick your all-star ass,” Lizzie says.
“Challenge accepted,” Gregg says.
Am I the only one who thinks this is completely surreal?
“It’d be great if you guys came,” Lani directs her words at me.
“We’re so there,” Lizzie says.
“Sounds fun.” The lie grates over my tongue.
“Great,” Lani says, though her tone makes me question if I’m totally welcome.
Steph brings Gregg’s orange juice, along with the bill. Lizzie and I reach for cash, but Gregg waves us off. He sets a generous tip onto his overturned paper placemat and pulls out his trusty red Sharpie to write: “Steph, stay fierce. —Slice/17.”
Lizzie and I slip into her car. She turns over the engine, cranks the heat. I watch Gregg open the passenger door for Lani, hold out his arm to help her into his giant truck.
“There is a good chance I will slip into a food coma, so be prepared to take the wheel,” Lizzie tells me as she searches the radio stations.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go, then.”
She cuts me a look. “Why?”
“If you’re not feeling well . . .”
“Don’t put this on me, Zee. If it’s too weird for you, you’re gonna have to name it.” Lizzie backs out of the parking lot. Gregg waits for us before pulling onto the main road.
“You don’t think this is a little weird?”
“Gregg and Lani? Yeah, it’s odd. I mean, she’s not exactly known as a brilliant conversationalist, but whatever. He’s moved on. So have you.” She merges onto the road, the rear chrome bumper of Gregg’s truck reflecting the bright sunlight. “You have moved on, right?”