Page 28 of Shane
“Do you think any of us feels like doing it? But Coach made it sound like it wasn't optional, especially for you, me, and Bass.”
I wanted the recognition and to prove myself on the ice, but the cost of standing out is that you’re often singled out to do other things. Neo, Bass, and I work so well together in games that we’ve emerged as the team’s new stars. I don’t know who said it first, but they were right when they said to be careful what you wish for.
Begrudgingly, I remove my protective gear and slip on a fresh practice jersey. Then, the coaching staff leads us all to a small conference-style room on the second floor of our sports complex. The only time I’ve been in this room was with my mom and coach when we finalized the terms of my acceptance to VCU, and I had to sign on the dotted line.
I’m surprised to see that they’ve gone all out for whatever this is. There’s a huge spread of hors d'oeuvres and beverages, and I’m almost a hundred percent sure that’s the president of the university standing among a small group of men who look just like him in their office slacks and matching black and gold ties.
“Damn, is that prosciutto?” Bass drools over the food.
“Please help yourself to all the food and drinks you want,” one of the catering staff greets us.
My teammates and I are excited to eat after expending so many calories during the game. Some people don’t understand just how rigorous the sport is, especially at a high level. Normally, we’d eat at the cafeteria after a home game because it’s free for us, but this looks a hell of a lot tastier.
After piling a load of grilled teriyaki chicken breast, veggies, and some sort of fancy pasta salad on my plate, I sit next to Neo and Bass and try to pay attention. However, my consciousness is still on a Kennedy and Lorenzo loop.
“Great game, boys!” A man wearing an alumni sweater says. “I know you all want to celebrate tonight, so I’ll make this brief. I’m Dustin Reynolds, class of ’05. Back when I attended VCU, there was no hockey team at all, so I’m excited to see how the program has grown in just a few short years thanks to President Harmon’s leadership.”
The president nods proudly in recognition of the compliment as Mr. Reynolds continues.
“A few of my classmates and I got together and decided that we wanted to find a unique way to support the team. We like your style of play on the ice; powerful and skilled. And we like who you are off the ice, tough and united. You’re like the conference’s little ice mafia, or at least that’s what we hear some of the students call you on campus.”
Low chuckling fills the room.
“We think you’re going to disrupt the sport in a big way this season, and we want to be a part of that disruption,” he continues.
A few people in the room applaud.
“Having said that, an elite team needs elite housing, and it’s just not in the university’s budget to give you that right now, but as independent donors, we can, so we’d like to purchase you all your own house.”
“Holy shit,” we all excitedly mutter.
“We think it would be an excellent way for you to continue building team community without distractions from other dorm athletes.”
Like the baseball team.
Probably a smart idea.
“Our own house?” someone else says in disbelief.
“Of course, any house we purchase will not be able to accommodate the entire team as you grow unless you double or triple up in the bedrooms, so let me add that living there is optional. If you prefer to stay in the comfort of your dorm room and visit the house for team meetings and such, then that’s up for you all to decide.”
I notice the president is grinning hard. He is clearly proud that an alumnus is donating such a generous gift and that he had some hand in making it happen.
“In addition to the house, my group will be donating ten thousand dollars earmarked specifically for the marketing and promotions department of the hockey program. We want everyone to know who you are and that you’re special. You’ll be household names on campus in less than six weeks.”
My teammates hoot and holler, and even Neo cracks a pleased smile, which isn’t his normal reaction to anything. I understand why, though. This means that the university believes in us, and that’s a great thing—hell, it’s everything. We’ll be unstoppable now.
“This is a generous show of support, Dustin. The boys and I are speechless,” Coach Dixon says. They exchange a handshake.
“You're running a damn good program here, Coach, and raising the profile of the university in such a positive way. It’s a fantastic thing for all of us who love our beloved alma mater.”
“Are there any questions?” Mr. Reynolds asks the group.
“Where will the house be?” someone asks.
“Great question. We're looking at properties that are within walking distance from the rink. We’ve identified a few properties near Waverly Road that are large enough to accommodate most of you.”
The group is more excited about the house’s location. We already know that anything built on Waverly is new, big, and expensive—nicer than any house in my neighborhood back home. Now that I’ve heard the good news and my stomach is full, I’m ready to leave. At this point, I’m anxiously tapping my foot. The more I think about it, the more I can't get Kennedy and Lorenzo out of my mind. I’ve got questions.