On the Fly Read Free Page B

had spent the
whole afternoon there on Saturday, visiting each of the many
floors, following the map to find where all our favorite types of
books would be. When they called it a “city of books,” they weren’t
kidding. It was just as magical a place as I remembered it being.
Sure enough, Maddie and Tuck had both found a stack of books to
explore, and we had holed up in a corner and read for
hours.
    I’d felt bad that we were spending so
much time there and reading so many books, treating it like it was
a library and not a store. So when we left, I’d given in and bought
each of them a book. That just meant I’d be eating ramen noodles
for my lunches instead of something more filling, at least for a
while. It was worth it to be able to buy books for my kids, though.
Maddie had already finished her book and had started reading it
again, and today was only Monday.
    “ Yeah,” I finally said.
“It’s helping.”
    He nodded, but then he stared at me
for so long that it made me squirm.
    Mrs. Alvarez straightened the stack of
papers in front of her and then said to him, “She’s the
one.”
    The one what?
    “ She is,” Mr. Sutter said
without explaining. He got up from behind his desk and came around
it, then sat down in an empty chair between me and Mrs. Alvarez. He
took off his glasses and stared at me. “If you’re going to be my
new assistant and learn how to replace Martha, I can’t have you
living in a hotel with your kids. Why are you?”
    If it hadn’t already been
too personal, now it really was, but I felt oddly comfortable talking to him.
To both of them. “I can’t sign a lease until I have a job, a source
of income. Until I have enough money for a deposit and
rent.”
    “ We’re more of a family
than a company here,” he said, “the Portland Storm organization.
It’s not just a team. We take care of our own.”
    I didn’t have the first clue what he
meant by that.

 

     
     

    The team had almost finished practice by the time I’d gone to
see Drywall Tierney, the team’s head equipment manager. He helped
me to sort out what gear I needed to take with me and what would be
provided in Seattle. They were winding things down on the ice, so I
hung around for a bit. I needed to talk to Jamie
Babcock.
    Babs was an almost-twenty-year-old
hockey phenom and, at least for this season, my roommate. Last
season, he’d lived with Zee so he could adjust to life as a pro
hockey player and to being away from his mom and dad. When I got
called up to finish last season in Portland, I’d lived with them,
too. This year, Babs and I both thought it would be better to give
Zee and Dana some space, some privacy. We got a condo together near
downtown, a nice place not too far from either the arena or the
practice facility.
    I liked Babs. He didn’t need me to
babysit him or anything, but he had still jumped at the idea of us
living together. I was pretty sure it was that he wouldn’t have to
figure out how to cook for himself, more than anything, that
convinced him it was a good idea.
    Babs wasn’t that great in the kitchen.
Actually, he was a holy terror in the kitchen. I’d banned him from
ever touching the stove within a week of us moving into the new
place. Not much later, I’d added the oven, the toaster, and the
coffee maker to the list of off-limit appliances. It was best for
all involved if Babs didn’t attempt to make anything more
complicated than a peanut butter sandwich.
    When the boys came off the ice, I told
him the news about me heading to Seattle for a week.
    He was busy changing out of his gear.
“Damn, Soupy,” he said once I finished talking. “That sucks. I
mean, it’ll be good to get back on the ice, but…”
    He didn’t have to finish that
thought.
    “ Anyway, you’ll have to
find a way to feed yourself for a week,” I said, making a joke
instead of focusing on the fact that, once more, I was on my way
down to the minors. It was easier to laugh off my frustration than
to face