Page 22 of Offside

Anna: I’m watching the broadcast. The arena looks half empty

Ryan: Thanks for that

Anna: I’m just saying. Also the uniforms are very orange

Ryan: It’s burnt orange. It’s the brand

Anna: It’s very orange, Ryan. You look like a traffic cone

Ryan: Are you texting to be supportive or…

Anna: I’m texting to tell you I’m watching my little brother play his first game as captain of a desert hockey team which is a weird sentence I never thought I would say. I am being extremely supportive. Also Mom is here and she’s crying

Ryan: Tell her to wait until after the game

Anna: You know her, she doesn’t take requests

I put the phone down and stared at the Sidewinders logo on my jersey. Burnt orange and black, the rattlesnake coiled and ready. It was, admittedly, very orange.

Across the room, Cole was holding court, doing an impression of the opposing team’s goalie. Full body, the guy’s hitch on the left side, his habit of talking to the post between whistles. He had three of the younger guys doubled over and Danny Hart literally sliding off his stall. Eli was at his stall with his headphones on, eyes closed, present and absent at the same time. Theo was taping his stick with focused efficiency, much like me.

“The post,” Cole was saying, in a dead-on recreation of the goalie’s muttered cadence. “We’ve talked about this. You have to hold the angle⁠—”

“That’s not what he sounds like,” Kasperi said.

“You don’t know what he sounds like.”

“I played against him in the World Juniors.”

Cole gestured at the room. “Who’s seen the tape? He literally talks to the post. Every stoppage. Full conversation.”

“My cousin does that,” Danny said.

“With a hockey net?”

“With his car.”

“Your cousin,” Cole said, “is living his best life and I respect that completely.”

Novak, who had said maybe fourteen words since training camp began, kept his eyes on his gear. “The post thing is real. I scored on him twice in juniors. He reprimanded me both times.”

The locker room was briefly delighted.

“Novak speaks,” Cole announced. “Mark the date.”

“I speak when there’s something worth saying,” Novak said, and went back to his laces.

Cole wrapped up his impression, took a bow, and turned to Griffin with three weeks of something banked behind his eyes. “Hey. Your sister’s coming out tonight, right?”

Griffin looked up slowly and glared at Cole. “Why?”

“Just asking.”

“Cole.”

“I’m making conversation.”

“I will put you through that wall.”