Page 16 of Taking Sides

“Thank you.”

She starts toward the door. “Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks. I feel like I’m going to need it.” As I glance at my brother’s name on the screen, I catch the time. Crap. I silence the call and grab my hockey bag.

I hurry out of my classroom and down the hall, then out the side door. The school’s hockey rink is two buildings over. Two players are already waiting when I arrive. A freshman, Jonathon Pepperdene, better known as Pepper on the team, and a sophomore, Landon Wolf.

“Good afternoon,” I say as I pull out my keys to unlock the door and let them in.

“Hi,” Pepper replies in a rough voice that indicates he might have just woken up. That and the magnificent bedhead. His shaggy red hair is flat in the back and sticks up in the front. He files into the building first and then Landon steps up.

“Hey, Coach Whitney.” He gives me a nod and then waves his hand to the door for me to go ahead of him.

I know I’m not supposed to have favorites, but there’s something about Landon. Part of it is how talented he is. He’s one of our fastest skaters. He’s really smart on both offense and defense, and he takes feedback well. He also happens to be the politest kid I’ve ever met. He’s quick to say please and thank you and just has this air of gratitude about him.

He should make varsity, but we have so many talented players, we’ll likely keep it split with freshman and sophomores on JV and upperclassmen on varsity. Still, I won’t be surprised if Grady pulls him up at the end of the season if we make it past regionals.

The boys head for the locker room, and I turn on all the lights and walk down to the ice. I love the chill in the air and the way the rink looks when it’s been freshly resurfaced.

By the time I change into my skates and set the nets up on either end, more boys have arrived, and they’re all geared up and skating out.

They’re quiet, probably half asleep still, but they’re here and that has me feeling great about the season. I watch them for a few minutes. As more upperclassmen join in, the rink gets noisier, and soon, they’re organizing themselves. Our goalies take turns in the net, defending shots, and others work on stickhandling and skating drills. Coach Grady is on vacation with his wife this week. The boys are different when he isn’t here. Not a good or bad different just . . . different. More in the moment and less worrying about their every move being judged.

My phone pings in my jeans pocket and I remember my brother’s missed calls as I pull it out. Unsurprising, he’s resorted to texting.

Brother

Call me.

Short. To the point. Bossy. That’s my brother.

Victor answers on the first ring, like he was holding the phone waiting for me.

“Hey, finally,” he says. “Do you know where the title is for the X5?”

“It’s in the file cabinet in your office.”

I can hear him moving through his house, up the stairs and down the hallway to the second-floor office he rarely uses. The office chair creaks.

“Bottom drawer. There’s a folder labeled ‘Vehicles.’ It should be in there.”

“Found it,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome. How’s everything?”

“Fine.”

There’s an awkwardness between us now that hasn’t always existed. A year ago, we were close. We spent time together, and I knew what was going on in his life. Now it’s strained phone calls when he needs help locating something.

“Sorry I missed your call earlier. I lost my phone in my classroom and then had to hurry over to open the rink for open ice.”

“Your classroom, huh?”

I can hear the familiar click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It’s a habit he’s had since we were kids, clicking his tongue when he’s nervous or annoyed. In this case I think it’s the latter.

“Yeah, it looks pretty good. Or, you know, as good as a high school classroom can look on a shoestring budget.”

“I guess that answers my question on whether or not you’ve changed your mind about coming back to Houston,” he says.