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

to just sit and watch. I should have practiced privately with Jake and the coach before skating with the whole team.
    Lori tosses me the helmet and looks down at my stocking feet. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
    â€œShoot.” The bag with my skates is on the bleachers.
    â€œYou’d be lost without me,” she says, and jogs down the hallway. I do the equivalent of the bathroom shuffle out the door and follow Jake toward what feels like the electric chair. My heart is pounding, and I’m not sure if it’s because of excitement or terror.
    â€œAre you ready?” Jake’s balancing on his blades, looking as comfortable as he would in sneakers. I’ve never figured out how to walk in skates off the ice.
    At the end of the hall, I slide onto the nearest bench. There’s a small crowd watching the guys practice. Lori already has the skates out of my bag. Dad’s old hockey skates look beat, but I’m grateful I never liked the figure skates Mom’s always wanted me to wear. I can’t reach my feet with the bulky gear on, so Lori laces me up.
    â€œWhat are you going to do if I’m not here? I may not always be able to be your personal assistant.” She ties a bow with a flourish.
    â€œBite your tongue.” I can’t think about doing this without her.
    â€œI could always help,” Jake says with a raised eyebrow and a grin.
    Lori smacks his arm as she stands up, but she looks at me with a serious expression. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you about this dude.”
    She pulls me to my feet and sort of pushes me to the opening onto the ice. I wobble as I step out and cringe. I can skate circles around these guys. But the equipment feels like it weighs at least twenty-five pounds. I think of the times I saw Disney on Ice as a Girl Scout, and suddenly I can feel what it’s like to skate around the ice in a Mickey Mouse suit. It certainly can’t be more awkward than this.
    Six of the guys are on the ice and five more are on a bench against the far wall. They all gawk like I’m an alien from planet Venus. Or maybe it’s my imagination, because the next second they are all very busy looking anywhere but in my direction.
    Jake points to the goalie. “You’ve got Carter in net. Johnson and Temple on defense, and Jimmy Flores on right wing. I’ll take left wing, and Coach wants you to start at center.”
    I stare at Jake. I must have heard him wrong. There’s no way I can play center; it’s like the quarterback of hockey. I watch hockey, but that doesn’t make me qualified to play center.
    So of course I say, “Sure, no problem.”
    â€œFake it till you make it,” my new motto.
    I look around and I wonder what Jake and the coach told the team, because it’s almost too obvious they are ignoring me. Coach gives the high sign, and all the guys get out on the ice. They’ve clearly done this drill before—they practically fall over each other to race up and down the ice like they’re being chased by the zombie apocalypse.
    Jake thrusts the stick back in my hand before skating away. I’m left standing alone, not really sure what to do when Coach skates over. “Glad you’re here, Spaulding. I wasn’t sure we were going to see you today.”
    â€œBelieve me. I wasn’t sure you were going to see me today.” I glance at Jake skating toward the net. “But I’m glad I’m here, too.”
    Coach looks me up and down. “My son wore that gear when he was ten,” he says, then nods in approval. “It’s a perfect fit for you.”
    Great. I’m the size of a ten-year-old boy. I look at the other kids skating around the rink. Some of them looked scrawny the other night, like maybe they’re freshmen, but they all look huge in full gear. “Um. Is that going to be a problem? I mean I’ve seen some pretty nasty stuff in the videos