Any Way You Slice It by Kristine Carlson Asselin Read Free Book Online Page A

pads in the equipment room. We left it all in the women’s locker room for you.” He points down the hall. “Last door on the right. Shout if you need any help.”
    Lori snickers, but I think he’s serious. I remember that old box of my dad’s gear; there’s a lot of stuff. I pull her arm and drag her down the long hallway toward the locker room. There are only a few people milling around: a couple of rink employees, a few parents in the stands watching their kids practice. It’s more crowded during open skate. The building feels different when it’s half empty like this, almost ominous.
    I push open the door to the locker room. There’s a vague smell of baby powder and an undercurrent of bleach. I hadn’t really considered the whole changing-and-showering thing when I thought about taking the coach and Jake up on their offer to play on the team. I look at the gear laid out on the bench.
    â€œYou have got to be kidding me.” I pick up something plastic, and look at Lori. “Shin guard?”
    She giggles uncontrollably as she picks up something that looks like a cross between a thong and a Speedo. “I think this is to protect your junk.”
    I have the good sense to duck as she flings it at my face. “No way I’m wearing that.” I reach under the bench and pick up the jockstrap between my forefinger and my thumb and lay it across the counter next to the sink. Why on earth would they leave me someone’s secondhand jockstrap?
    Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.
    Lori’s still laughing, but she’s already on her phone, Googling “how to put on hockey equipment." This is why I love her. She grumbles about it, but she’s right there next to me when it counts. She’s totally going to help me pull this off.
    â€œHey, here’s a link to a quiz on how much you know about hockey,” she says.
    I peer over her shoulder. “Just play the video. Let’s not make this more embarrassing than it needs to be.”
    She elbows me in the ribs, but continues to scroll through video options before we find one that looks good.
    We struggle with the equipment for twenty minutes. Long socks first. Combination kneepads and shin pads next. Enormous shorts that go over both. Lori’s holding the chest protector shoulder pads and she lifts them over my head and helps me strap on the elbow pads. She glances at the instructional video one more time. “You just need the jersey.”
    â€œOh, is that all?” I say, trying to smooth down the wrinkled … pants?
    What the hell am I doing?
    There’s a knock on the door. “You okay in there?” I hear Jake’s muffled voice. “We’ve only got thirty more minutes of ice time.”
    Lori walks toward the door and I shuffle behind her, not able to take a complete step in my getup. “
Voila!
” she says, pulling the door open for the big reveal.
    â€œYou look great.” He glances up and down. “Looks like a perfect fit.” He tosses a shirt at me.
    My reflexes are slow, so it bounces off my chest and lands on the floor. But I’m still staring at Jake. He can’t possibly think I look great in this getup. I’m a giant doofus. I can’t lean over and pick it up, so Lori (rolling her eyes as she does) grabs it and pulls it over my head. I feel like a toddler being dressed for school in the morning.
    The words “Tim’s House of Pizza” are printed across the front. The sponsor. I’d forgotten.
    â€œOh no.” I look at Lori, panic taking over. “Now Dad’s really going to kill me. I’m advertising for the competition.”
    â€œC’mon,” Jake says with a chuckle, grabbing my hand, “We need you on the ice.”

Chapter Seven
    Of course my debut on the ice is in front of the whole team and I’m clueless on how to keep my balance with all this weight on me. I’d give my left arm