Power Play

Chapter 1-7

Jacoby stops by again after dressing, sits

with Ryan for a little while, neither of them able to find

something to say to fill the space that’s opened between them.

Just go, Ryan prays as he fiddles with the camera. You

don’t want to be here. I don’t really need your company. You’ve

done your good deed for the day so make up some excuse and get the

hell out of here. As if hearing his thoughts, Jacoby stirs

beside him and mumbles, “I have Chem lab in fifteen minutes. You

gonna be okay here by yourself?”

Ryan nods, a little too quickly. “Fine,” he

says, nodding again. “I’ll be fine. You go on.”

“You want me to call your mom or

something?” Below them, a few people have appeared on the ice,

bodies encased in skin-tight spandex. Figure skaters, maybe, or an

ice skating club, one of the two. A handful of girls, a couple

guys, teenagers or older. Probably college kids, Ryan thinks, if

they’re here now. Younger and they’d be in school at this time of

the day. Jacoby watches them stretch on the ice and tells him,

“Speedskaters. They get the rink after us.”

Just what Ryan needs, kids on skates zooming

by him, a painful reminder of his own damaged legs, this confining

chair. Maybe he should call his mom now. “You better get

going,” he tells his friend.

Jacoby nods. “You’ll be—”

“Fine,” Ryan says again. He’ll be

fine.

After Jacoby leaves, more skaters take to

the ice. They stick to small groups, teams of three or four with

yellow helmet covers that stand out bright against the dark

stadium. Each cover has a three digit number on it—the lowest is

152, it belongs to a girl whose hair hangs down her back in one

long, blonde braid. She’s fairly quick, skates a tight circle

around her giggling friends, glances over her shoulder at Ryan and

then skates away. The other girls trail behind her, whispering

together. Ryan’s certain they’re talking about him.

The lower stands start to fill up, mostly

parents and what looks like an elementary school class trip, two

teachers and a gaggle of knee-high munchkins laughing and shrieking

as they throw popcorn at each other. Ryan looks around—is this a

meet? Trials? He wonders if someone will come by and ask him for a

ticket. He’s not paying to watch this.

A loudspeaker crackles to life as a young,

sexless voice calls for silence. No one listens—the skaters don’t

even appear to hear anything, they’re too busy warming up.

Undaunted, the announcer starts to read off a list of events—five

hundred meters, thousand, fifteen hundred, races Ryan has no

concept of, they’re not his sport. As names are called, skaters

start to line up on the ice, and a few cheers rise from the crowd

milling in the stands. “First heat, men’s five hundred.

Johnson—”

Mild applause for the skater with number 234

written on his helmet. “Dietrich.” More applause, a few catcalls

when this guy breaks into an impromptu dance on the ice. He keeps

turning to work the crowd and Ryan can’t read his number.

“Pennock.” Someone actually boos for this one, a tall, lean skater

too big for such a short run, really, almost gangly. He raises both

arms, middle fingers extended, and flicks off the crowd. Ryan rolls

his eyes, disgusted. “Espinosa.”

The crowd goes wild.

Interested in spite of himself, Ryan leans

forward in his chair, trying to get a good look at the last skater,

a short kid with dark hair that curls out of the back of his helmet

and bronze skin, clear and smooth. His eyes are wide in his face

and he looks almost disinterested, despite the fans calling his

name. Dante! Dante! Ryan’s never heard anything like it

before, except maybe during one of their hockey games when the

crowd used to call out his own name.

Finally the shouts taper off, and almost as

an afterthought, the announcer adds, “All others off the ice.”

The four skaters remain, poised at the

starting line. One leg behind them, one skate leading off, arms and

body bent and ready. Waiting. Unconsciously, Ryan holds his breath.

Four skaters, five hundred meters around the ice. He’s not sure

what to expect, but from the crowd’s reaction, it’s going to be

good. The whole rink, the fans, the parents, the kids on their

field trip, the skaters, Ryan, they all wait.

A gunshot, and the skaters are off.