Page 21 of The Do-Over Girl
He widens his eyes. “You think so?”
“I know it. I can work with him. He’s this good now, and we haven’t even worked on his rough edges. Some stick handling practice and extra shooting drills—I’m talking every day, including weekends, and this kid will rival anyone I’ve seen in high school or junior hockey. And believe me, I’ve done my homework.”
Archie blows out a whistle. I’m about to go into the locker room, but I’m stopped by a couple of journalist types. I can tell by the way they’re holding their phones like they’re microphones in front of my face.
“Great game, Coach. Is this the beginning of a coaching career in the NHL for you?”
“One step at a time. I’m excited about the here and now and this team.”
“What do you expect for a season record?” Another guy asks.
“All wins, no losses.” The guys laugh, but I don’t. Just so they know I’m serious.
A news camera shows up from Portland. The man says Steve Oliver told him he should take in the game with the new coach, and he’s glad he took him up on his advice.
Looks like I owe Steve. He’s done me and the school a solid by sending his reporter friend. Something I won’t forget. I get my few minutes of on-air time answering more of the same questions before the Portland broadcaster wraps it up.
A young girl approaches from the school paper. I smile and wave her forward.
“You have a question for me, DeeDee?” I ask, reading her media pass.
“Sure do. What are you going to do when Dylan Zappola breaks your old APA records?” The small crowd of reporters and others chuckle, but I notice they’re waiting to hear my answer.
“I’ll be the first to shake his hand and celebrate with him. I predict it’ll happen by Christmas break.”
“You want to take bets on that?” the girl asks, losing whatever shyness she started with. This time, I join in everyone’s laughter.
“No betting, young lady. Not for me, anyway. But if I were a betting man, I’d put my house on Dylan Zappola smashing records.”
After a couple more questions, I look pointedly at my watch. It was a retirement gift from my teammates at the Brawlers and means something to me besides the fact that it’s a Rolex.
“Nice watch. Must be nice to have money,” one of the reporters quips as we’re walking away. “Is the rumor true that you paid for sprucing this place up? It looks good—except for the tarp covering the arena’s marquis out front. What’s with that?”
Evading the man’s first question, I’m happy to answer the latter. “Hang around a few minutes and find out.
* * *
In the locker room,I rally the team and tell them we’re all meeting out front for the unveiling of the arena’s new marquis. When we get outside, Archie and Nikki and their families are waiting with a smattering of parents and staff, and all the cheerleaders who break out into a cheer when the players appear. Kali quiets them down, and though I promised I wouldn’t, I can’t help looking over at her.
Nikki hands me the portable mic. “I wish you’d let me make an announcement after the game to invite everyone to commemorate the unveiling.”
“Don’t worry. We have a few members of the media still around. Plus, there’ll be plenty of social media. I appreciate you keeping this low key.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Sure. Whatever this is.”
I stand at the corner of the tarp where there’s a rope, and Archie stands at the other end.
“Thank you to the team for a great game and to the faculty, students, and the entire community who’ve kept this place going even in tough times. You all deserve recognition, and this place, Andrews Point Academy, deserves recognition and our attention.
“To that end, I thought we ought to change the name of the arena to reflect what it’s really about, to represent all of us who’ve studied here and worked here.” I nod to Archie, and we pull the cords. The tarp falls, and I look up at the new name—which is really the old name—of the arena, satisfaction humming. I catch Zappola Senior’s eye in the crowd and send him a nod of thanks for working in the dark to keep it a secret.
The arena’s new marquis in giant block letters says, ANDREWS POINT ARENA.
The crowd murmurs in what I hope is amazement and reverence, but it looks a little bit like confusion. Not that I care. Nikki starts clapping. Vigorously. I glance at her to see her swipe at a tear in her eyes while everyone else in the small crowd follows suit.
I was prepared for some controversy, though I can’t imagine how anyone could spin this as me being terrible. Ungrateful, maybe, except that here I am coaching, so that wouldn’t fly.
Camera flashes come from everywhere. As many of them are aimed at me as at the new signage. My mistake was in not going back into the building and out the back door to get home because I’m dead tired. But I’m not one to run and hide, exhausted or not, so I stay and answer questions until there are only three people left with me. Nikki, Archie, and Kali.
