Okay, I know Matthew and I had our little chat yesterday. But that's not really on my mind as he grabs the back of my jersey and I swing at him.

"Hey! Hey! Break it up!" The ref is tweeting his whistle like crazy and trying to squirm in between us, and our teammates are surrounding us, pulling us apart. Everything is jerseys and flesh and sweat.

Matthew swings at my helmet, but before I can hit back, someone grabs my arm. Another player pulls Matthew away. 

"Dude, stop," says the person at my side, shouting over the noise. It's Ethan. I chew on my mouthguard and shake his tight grip off of me, the ref's whistle still ringing in my ear.

The Knights fans in the stands look pissed, or confused. I guess they're not used to seeing players on the same team fighting. 

It's the end of the second period, and we're tied. Coach benches both of us for the rest of the game. We lose.

~

"Can somebody tell me what the hell happened out there?" Coach is screaming, spit flying out of his mouth, and Matthew and I are sitting on the bench in front of him like four year olds. The rest of the locker room is cleared out, everyone waiting for us on the bus.

I look at my hands, and Matthew sniffs beside me.

"Somebody better tell me right now." Oh no. His voice is turned dangerously quiet. 

"We just got in a disagreement, Coach," says Matthew, a half-mumble. 

Coach scoffs. "About what?"

Neither of us say anything. 

"I swear to god -"

"Beckett wasn't passing to me all game," says Matthew.

I want to roll my eyes. "Coach, you know that's not true! I was passing -"

"We lost multiple opportunities to score -"

"You having the puck does not equal scoring -"

"You knew I was open and you didn't pass it to me because you -"

"I know how to play hockey, I pass the puck when -"

"Enough!" Coach holds up a hand and we fall silent, our voices echoing off the lockers. "That's enough. You're acting like children when you're the captains of this team. I'm disappointed in you both."

I crack my knuckles and keep my eyes on my sneakers. Coach takes a deep breath through his nose. 

"I don't tolerate this," Coach says slowly. "You two cost us this win tonight. You fight like that against each other, you get benched. No excuses. No exceptions. We needed this win, and if you two worked together, we would have gotten it."

Matthew rubs his ear. "I know."

"Me too," I say.

Coach opens his mouth, but nothing comes out and he closes it. "I don't even know what to say," he says. "I'm extremely disappointed. Gonzalez, get out. Beckett, stay."

I can't tell if this is good or bad. I think bad. Okay, this is really bad. Gonzalez leaves the locker room and I'm left alone with Coach. The silence hurts my ears. 

"You think the NHL is a joke?" His voice is even quieter than before, rough like sandpaper.

"No."

"You really think an NHL wants a player that fights against his own teammates?"

"N-no."

"Your grades are slipping, you're fighting with Matthew, you really think you'll be first pick come draft time if you keep this up?"

"No."

"Yeah, me neither." His words are cold and I feel like crawling into a hole. God, this is the worst. This is the absolute worst. 

He leans against the locker and rubs his tired face. When he speaks again, his words are a bit softer. "Is anything going on at home I should know about?"

"No," I say. 

"Cameron, you're a good kid. I know you're under a lot of pressure. But you're better than this."

"I know," I say, my voice small. "I'm really sorry. I won't let this happen again."

"Go get on the bus," Coach says, jutting his head towards the door, and I do. I sit alone in the back and turn up the volume on my headphones, watching the darkened silhouettes of trees fly by the window.

~

The next day after school, Coach texts the team and tells us we have the practice off. I'm relieved. I know I have to apologize to Matthew, and that's really not something I'm looking forward to.

I pack my hockey bag and head outside, shivering underneath my sweatshirt in the cool breeze. Brown leaves scatter across small front yards and the railroad tracks, and the sky is a pale blue. Birds squawk on top of crisscrossed power lines. 

In a couple minutes I'm at the neighborhood rink, which is old and run-down. The heating is pretty crap, and it's small and dark on the inside - nothing compared to the Parkview Arena the Lions play at. Still, this is where I grew up playing hockey. There are rinks on almost every block in St. Anne, and every one means something special. And this one is special to me.

"Hey, George," I say, stepping through the front doors. George, the manager, is sweeping up the floor.

"Hello, Cameron!" he says, his wrinkled face beaming. He reaches for my arm and grabs it tight. "How are you doing? How is hockey going? I haven't seen you in awhile!"

"Things are pretty good," I say, smiling. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine, just fine!" George nods towards the rink, which is empty. Old posters flutter in the darkened rafters. "Are you here to skate?"

"Just for a bit, if that's okay," I say. 

"Of course it's okay!" George says. "There's a youth figure skating lesson in a couple hours, but besides that, the ice is all yours."

"Awesome, thanks so much," I say. George nods and reaches up to pat my shoulder before moving on to sweep the bathrooms. 

I lace up in my skates and step on the rink, pulling out a few pucks from my bag and tossing them on the ice. The net at the end is a little smaller than regulation, but it'll do. I shoot pucks until my fingers hurt. 

Like I said, the neighborhood rink is nothing compared to Parkview Arena. But there's almost nothing better than the echo of the pucks against the boards and the sound of the ice against my blades. 

~

There's laughter in the house and something sizzling on the stove when I step through the front door. I dump my hockey bag near the front door and walk in the kitchen, scratching the back of my neck.

"Finally, he's here!" says Mom. She's chopping cherry tomatoes on the kitchen counter, and Veronica, Sam, and Hailey are laughing together at the crammed table. Sam?

"Hey, everyone," I say slowly, popping a tomato slice in my mouth. Mom swats my hand away. 

Sam is still laughing as he flashes a grin at me. "So, you finally get out of math tutoring today."

"Oh - oh, shit!" 

"Language, Cameron," Mom says, pointing her knife at me. Hailey giggles, swinging her legs. 

"I mean, shoot. I totally forgot we planned to go over math today. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," says Sam.

Veronica squints at me. "Where were you? The rink?"

"Yeah, just messing around. Practice was cancelled today."

"You were gone for awhile."

I shrug. Sue me, okay? It's easy to lose track of time at the rink. I sit in between Veronica and Hailey and across from Sam.

"Sam is staying for dinner," Mom announces loudly, placing a bowl of salad in the middle of the table. "Right, Sam?"

"If you don't mind," says Sam, blushing and looking down at his hands. His eyelashes are long.

"Of course not!" says Mom. She unties her apron and throws it over the back of a chair and sits beside Hailey. "Let's say prayer."

We all take hands and shut our eyes, but I don't focus on what Mom's saying since my stomach is growling loudly. When she's finally done, we dig in.

"So, Sam," Mom says. "Do you play any sports?"

"No, I used to play soccer but I quit a couple years ago," Sam says. "Sports aren't really my thing anymore."

"I play soccer!" says Hailey. She's grinning widely at Sam and - oh, is she fluttering her eyelashes? Oh, no. "I'm good at soccer, right Mum?"

Mom raises her eyebrows and nods, taking a sip of her water. "Very good," she says. "Sam, is math your favorite subject?"

"Mom, enough with the interrogation," says Veronica. 

"It's okay," says Sam. "My favorite is probably science, but I like math, too."

"I like science!" says Hailey. Sam gives her a high five and she giggles. 

"Do you know where you want to go to university, Sam?" My mom takes a bite of her salad and watches Sam with her full attention. Is everyone in my family in love with him?

"Not yet," says Sam, smiling. "I'm hoping to get a few scholarships. How about you, Veronica?"

"Probably the local college," says Veronica. 

It's hard to tell when she says it, but I know she's mad about it. She wants to move away from St. Anne, to a city like Toronto or Montreal or something. But we just don't have the money. Sometimes, I think she hates me. I'll make good money in the NHL, though, and I told her I'd help her pay for university once I can. 

When we're done with dinner, Sam, Veronica, and I wash the dishes. I mean, we usually don't. But Sam offered and so Veronica and I had to jump in too. I wash, Sam dries, and Veronica puts them away. Hailey sits on Mom's lap on the couch, watching a hockey game. I smile a little.

When Sam leaves, Mom turns to us when a look on her face. 

"That is a very nice boy," she says. "A very nice boy."

"We've heard that," says Veronica, pulling a cereal box down from the cabinet. Honestly, she could eat cereal wherever, whenever. 

"A very nice boy, Cameron."

"Yeah, yeah, I know!" Why is she targeting me now? I'm nice, too. But I'll admit, Sam Hughes wouldn't fight Matthew Gonzalez.