Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Very worried.” I flipped to skate backward. “That event is my best shot at getting my career on track postcollege. I’d be able to get into any reputable club with a quality coaching staff and if the stars aligned, I could maybe, possibly…”
“Go to the Olympics,” Gus supplied.
I pulled a face. “That’s the ultimate dream, but World Championship or ISU Championship would be unbelievable too. I don’t know what I’m thinking anymore, because what I really need is a job that pays the bills, and—”
“Watch where you’re going.” He yanked my arm, guiding me out of the way of the spinning girl gliding by us with one leg in the air.
I got out of her way and ended up sidling closer to Gus. I elbowed him in the stomach playfully and he overreacted, bending at the waist till I snorted at his antics.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe, but I know how to fix your problem.”
I came to an abrupt stop. “You do? How?”
“Easy. Let’s get out here.” Gus jetted to the exit, leaving me staring after him in confusion.
“What? Wh-Where are you going? We’re in the middle of a conversation, and I haven’t had a chance to give you advice.” I stepped onto the rubber mat, furrowing my brow as Gus untied his skates.
“Let’s get real, Rafey. I’ve got one to five games, tops, left in my college career. Would it be sweet to go out a legend? Fuck, yes. But Smithton is the end of my hockey journey as a player…unless I join a club team for fun. That’s life. And I think I’m finally over being bummed about it. Or I’m getting there.” He toed off his skates and straightened. “You probably have some sweet words of wisdom and I’m all for it, but I can help and you need results quick, so get your fuckin’ skates off and follow me.”
I had no clue what Gus was up to, but I didn’t argue.
Fifteen minutes later I found myself on the shore of Lake Ontario, skipping stones.
As one does.
Well, not me, but Gus insisted that conditions were perfect. The water was placid, the wind was minimal, and there was a nice supply of flat rocks on shore.
I flicked a pebble and watched it plop into the water. “What are we doing? And how is this supposed to help?”
“We’re skipping stones. It’s called having fun, and having fun is the cure.”
I should have known.
“Let me get this straight. You’re suggesting that throwing rocks into the lake will solve my very serious dilemma,” I drawled sarcastically.
“Yeah. But listen, we gotta loosen you up. Roll your shoulders. Good…now the other way.” Gus nodded in encouragement. “Bend your knees. A little more. Okay, cool. None of that’s gonna help you, ’cause the secret is all in the wrist.”
“And what am I supposed to do with my wrist?”
“Pretend you’re flinging a Frisbee. Thumb on top, forefinger on the edges, and a quick flick action. Like this.” Gus grabbed a handful of small stones, sifted through them and held one up. “Watch the master at work.”
He crouched slightly, angling his body before tossing the stone. It skidded onto the calm surface—one, two, three, four, five, six. Gus whooped, raising his arms in victory.
I shook my head in mock censure. “This is…ridiculous.”
“Absolutely fucking ridiculous,” he agreed. “Your turn. Remember, don’t throw it. Skip it.”
One, two, three.
“I did it!”
Gus held a hand up for a high five. “Well done. Let’s see if either of us can beat my record.”
“What’s your record?”
“Fifteen. That’s chump change to some people, but I’ve never been able to match it,” he lamented, offering me a handful of stones. “Here. These are for you.”
I narrowed my eyes, studying my…friend. Yes, Gus was my friend. My very peculiar friend. Just when I thought I had him figured out, he threw a curveball at me.
But this was a relatively harmless curveball, so I tried again. And again.
In a twist, I was surprisingly good at skipping stones.
“Nine! Not bad, right? I wish I’d paid more attention in physics, but I think the key is to get a good first bounce. Oh, and to use a flatter stone.” I motioned Gus over to a pile of shale near the shore, having long ago abandoned my earlier skeptical outlook.
I felt my shoulders drop into place as we strolled the lakeside, pausing to gather and skip stones. We egged each other on with silly taunts.
“My ninety-year-old grandma could throw farther than that with one hand tied behind her back,” Gus teased.
“And yet that was still farther than your last throw.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“It was. Watch this.” We counted together, hooting at the twelfth skip.
Gus picked me up, spun me in a circle, and blew a raspberry on my cheek as he set me down. Of course, he laughed at my irritated glower and the muffled, “Gross.”