The Penalty Box by Deirdre Martin

parent going after at me at tryouts? Nuts, huh?”
    â€œWhat a lunatic that guy was!”
    â€œYou didn’t recognize him?”
    â€œNo. Should I have?”
    â€œThat was Cheech Mahoney’s little brother, Des. Used to turn his eyelids inside out for fun?”
    Katie sighed. “Now I remember. This town is too small.”
    â€œNothing wrong with that,” said Paul, negotiating an extremely sharp curve that had Katie swearing the car had just gone up on two wheels. “These sports parents are nuts.”
    â€œWeren’t they always?” Katie asked, gripping the door handle, hard.
    â€œNot the way they are now.”
    â€œI meant to ask you something about practice.” If we don’t die in a fiery wreck first.
    â€œMmm?”
    Dusk was falling outside, the sky a muted gray streaked with soft bands of pink. Perhaps it was the way the light hit the planes of Paul’s face, but all Katie could think as she looked at him was: This guy is breathtakingly perfect. It was a disconcerting thought.
    â€œWould you mind if I occasionally attended practice? To observe for the book?”
    â€œNo problem,” Paul said easily, “but I’d check with Tuck if I were you. He might feel a bit self-conscious with you there.”
    â€œAh. Hadn’t thought of that.”
    â€œI saw you signed up to be home game penalty box official.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Paul chuckled. “Let me rephrase that: I see Tuck signed you up to be home game penalty box official.”
    â€œThat little—! I know nothing about hockey!”
    Paul leaned over, patting her knee. “You’ll learn.”
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    Katie had never been to Nesmith’s Creek, but she’d always wondered about it, having heard from Mina it was lovely. In high school, it was known as a big make-out spot. She’d often contemplated taking a walk there on a weekend afternoon, but the threat of people sniggering, “There goes Orca” or “Beached whale” as she strolled along the mossy embankment had always kept her away. Now, sitting with her feet tucked up beneath her on a plaid blanket beside Paul van Dorn, she knew it was a place she’d return to, especially the gorgeous weeping willow he’d chosen for their picnic spot. It seemed the perfect place to just relax and let her thoughts drift by.
    â€œWhat can I get you?” Paul asked, looking pleased with himself as he surveyed the array of foods he’d set out.
    â€œSome Brie on a cracker with a slice of apple would be nice,” said Katie, coughing loudly to cover her rumbling stomach.
    â€œYou okay?” Paul looked concerned as he sliced into the Brie.
    â€œBug flew down my throat,” Katie fibbed. She was so hungry her ribs ached. And yet, taking the hors d’oeuvre Paul made for her, she could feel her throat closing up from anxiety. Awful, what nerves could do to the body. She forced herself to take a nibble of the cracker, washing it down with a hearty gulp of wine. The wine seemed to help. Tipping her head back, she drank more.
    â€œYou know, this reminds me of one time when the Blades were playing down in Florida . . .” Paul began.
    An hour later, Katie realized two things: One, that Paul had spoken almost entirely about the past, and, two, that she was drunk, having downed three glasses of wine very quickly on an empty stomach.
    â€œYou haven’t eaten very much,” Paul pointed out.
    â€œNo.” Looking at the food now, the last thing Katie felt was ravenous hunger. Instead it brought bile to her throat.
    â€œAre you afraid of getting fat again?” Paul asked bluntly.
    Katie turned her head so sharply to look at him the world went reeling. Oh, this was not good. She put down her wineglass, placing both palms on the blanket for support.
    â€œNo,” she said faintly. “Well, maybe. A little.”
    â€œYou can always run it off tomorrow.” He held out