“What is this?” she asked, her voice sharp. All but Saoirse seemed to slink away. “O’Doherty?”

“We were just—”

“You’ve already made the team. What are you doing hanging around my locker? You don’t need to be here.”

“Well, we—”

“I’m not deaf. I thought I just heard you telling this girl—” she motioned dismissively to the blonde girl next to her, “Not to sign up. Why?”

O’Doherty refused to cower under the heat of Connie’s stare, and instead straightened up. “Because we don’t want a lesbian joining the team,” she replied. There was a hint of pride, or smugness, clinging to her words. I inhaled sharply.

“Who the fuck are we?”

“The rest of the girls and I.”

“You don’t get to decide who joins the team. You don’t get to decide jack shit.”

“We weren’t telling her she couldn’t join. We were simply—”

“Advising her not to. For all you know she could be bleedin’ Wonder Woman on the pitch. You have no fucking right to tell anybody—”

“Are you trying to tell me you want her on the team?” O’Doherty wrinkled her nose. “Why are you standing up for her?”

“Because—” Connie rolled her eyes, “If Mr. Andrews or anyone else thought someone on the team was being bullied I’d end up in shit as captain. And like I said, she might actually be good. Certainly, better than you, anyway. We need all the good players we can get.” She turned to the stout girl and narrowed her eyes. “What’s your name?”

Her cheeks somehow seemed to darken even further. “Abby. Abby Wheeler.”

“So. Are you a lesbian?”

The girl’s jaw dropped slightly, and I felt a ripple of excitement wash over the crowd gathered around us. Connie raised an eyebrow, daring her to speak. Christ, I realized. She was actually asking her. “Um—well—does it matter?”

“Are you good at hockey?”

“Well—I think so?”

“Does being a lesbian impede upon your ability to play hockey?”

“No?” she replied hesitantly, and Connie smiled smugly.

“Well, there we have it.” She nodded at the sign-up sheet on her locker, crossing her arms. “You may proceed to sign up.”

Saoirse O’Doherty spluttered out an indignant response. “But that’s—”

“That’s what?”

“You’re only captain because we made you captain, O’Reilly. We can just as easily take that away! This is just like that thing with McMahon from Holy Faith all over again.”

“Grow up O’Doherty. Who cares if she’s gay? Not as if she’d go after you, anyway.”

The other girl glowered at her. I rarely saw anybody look at Connie with anything other than pure adoration, and it frightened me. I had a good mind to step forward, to step closer to Connie, but I stayed planted where I was. “You’d rather it was you, wouldn’t you? Actually…That might add up. I mean. It’d make sense, wouldn’t it? Why you always defend McMahon? Why you want her on the team?” Her eyes flickered over toward me. I thought I could sense where this was going and felt my stomach clench. A couple of the girls behind me began to whisper.