The only hope he has, then, is to get overlooked again, for Samuelsson to go for goaltending or defence next, but Samuelsson is picking smart, unfortunately. He says David’s name, giving Petersen a triumphant look as he does, and David goes up to the front, jaw tight, tighter when Lourdes slaps him on the back, hard, like he’s trying to prove his strength. It rattles through David, burns when he keeps his hand between David’s shoulder blades, like he has any right to touch him.

“We got this easy, huh, Chapman?” Lourdes says, and very aware of the cameras on him, David doesn’t shrug his hand away, just says, “Sure,” and keeps his eyes forward.

There’s a loose practice once the teams are established. Not even a practice, really, just everyone strapping on their skates and grabbing a stick, both teams on the ice. You’d never know there were two teams from the way everyone is mixed up, players sticking with people they were teammates with in the NHL or in Juniors, nothing holding the current teams together other than a stupid, theatrical arm-wrestling match’s result.

David tries to do something productive with his time, even if no one else seems interested, more excited about socialising, talking about their weekend off and plans for partying rather than actually playing hockey. Lourdes is no exception, leaning against the boards at centre-ice and talking to Markson and Petersen, whom David would like to point out aren’t even on their team.

When David skates past them, wondering if the opposing goalie cares so little that he’ll let David practice getting a few shots off on him, give him something to work from tomorrow — the fact he’s currently sitting sideways in his net gives David some hope — Lourdes gestures him over, and David reluctantly stops.

“This is Gabe,” he says, gesturing at Markson, then, apparently not dissuaded by David’s best ‘and I care why?’ look, “He was my road roomie on the Knights. Petersen’s his little lady.”

Petersen gives Lourdes the finger without taking his hand off his stick.

“Okay,” David says slowly.

“Gabe’s awesome,” Lourdes says, and slings an arm around Markson’s shoulder. “You better look out for him tomorrow. We’re going to go out tonight before we’re enemies, though, if you want to come.”

Markson rolls his eyes, grinning at David like they’re sharing a joke. Or maybe more like the joke is on David.

“Right,” David says. “No, because I actually want to play well tomorrow. Maybe it’s different for guys who are only rookies because they weren’t good enough to play the year they were drafted.”

Markson’s smile drops, as does Petersen’s, and probably Lourdes’, not that David’s looking at him. David feels dimly guilty, because Markson’s never done anything to him. And besides, David and Lourdes are the only rookie players from the last draft. Markson’s far from the only player to spend post-draft time in Juniors. If the Islanders were a better team, David probably would have too.