Read Online Twenty Miles by Cara Hedley - Free Book Online Page B

as we walked out the door.
    ‘Wow. Boy can giggle,’ Toad said.
    It had rained at some point during Tipsy Cups. The asphalt gleamed darkly, air thick with the smell of wet gravel.
    ‘Isabel, eh?’ Toad kicked a rock like it was a soccer ball. Followed through. ‘You guys are all Victorian with each other or something, eh? Can’t imagine that translates well in the bedroom.’ She stopped suddenly and swung the plastic bag, hitting me on the hip. I stopped and waited while she opened the All-Dressed chips, the bag wafting a smell of vinegar and socks. She stuffed a handful in her mouth, sighing dreamily, shoulders sinking like a heroin addict finally getting a hit. ‘You sitting on it yet?’ she said thickly, mouth full.
    I felt like I’d been spinning around and around and was now trying to walk a straight line.
    ‘Sitting on what?’ I said.
    ‘That’s what I thought.’ Toad nodded sagely and we kept walking. ‘Watch out for those dudes, though. Seriously. The guys’ team.Know what they started calling us last year? The Scarlet-ettes. First of all, what? Second of all, they have their panties all tied up in knots ’cause they think our team’s going to end up taking away their money from the program. Um, have you seen their dressing room compared to ours? Have you seen their equipment compared to ours? I say lick my bone, princesses. They’re the Scarlet-ettes.’
    She chewed the chips angrily for a bit.
    ‘That sucks,’ I said. ‘But Jacob and I – ’
    ‘Keepin’ it in the Scarlet family though, eh Barb? Classic tale of incest. Not that our team’s never dabbled in theirs if you know what I mean. I won’t tell on you, though. Secret’s safe with me.’
    ‘Well, it’s not a secret,’ I said. ‘It’s nothing.’
    ‘Fuck, it’s cold out. Chips?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    We could hear them laughing from down the street.
    About three minutes after we walked through Boz’s door, Toad announced, ‘Well, you know what they say. You learn something new every trip to Sev. I’d like to announce that Barbie’s a slut – in the best sense of the term, of course. But I can’t reveal who the lucky guy is at this juncture – yeah, sorry, it’s a guy, Tillsy. I’m not at liberty to say. Although it’s fascinating.’
    A t the Rec Centre back home I had dressing room number three every game. Buck used to carry my bag for me when I was young. On his big shoulder, it looked like an oversized purse and echoed a thick clatter when he dropped it on the floor from up there. When he and Sig left the room for the social mixer around the canteen, the door sucked closed behind them and sealed me into the staleness of the room. As though the dark breath from the inside of every hockey bag opened in there had escaped and been trapped between the walls. As I dressed, I listened to the sound next door, tried to pull words from the dulled jumble of boys’ voices. This was my team, this mess of laughter and words thickened by the wall, the timbre of their voices taking on weight, as though they were speaking through water.
    I could remember a period as a kid when I absorbed all the intimacies of my private dressing rooms – crushed beer cans from rec league the night before, tape balls, empty shampoo bottles, small graffiti scattered over the benches and walls – with archaeological pleasure. My teammates’ voices inflating my anticipation. I’d perfected the seven-minute change over the years, though, so by the end of Midget, I arrived before each game with just enough time. Then the coach would poke his head in before he went to talk to the boys and I’d walk over to their room and sit in for the two-minute speech and then we’d play.
    O nce we were all dressed for the Home Opener, Hal began to pound her thighs with her gloves. I felt this beat in my stomach. On one side of me, Clare Segal had a sneeze attack. On the other side, Pelly tilted her grin toward me, nervous, expectant. Hal leaned over.
    ‘Twenty