He takes the puck and then stick handles it better than any kid on the ice. When his hour is over, I call him over and ask him to stay on the ice again with the older kids, and he stands out even with kids who are ten. After three hours, we skate off the ice, and I expect him to complain that he’s tired, but instead, he grabs a water and then looks at me as he takes off his helmet. His blond hair is stuck on his head from sweat. “Are we going to do that every day?” he asks as he drinks the water.

“I can make it happen if you want.” I smile at him, and he just nods and walks back to his locker room. I follow him since he was left back on the ice, and I didn’t know where his group was. I sit down with him while he takes off his equipment, and his elbow pads are too small for him. His shin pads don’t fit properly, and don’t even get me started on the chest protector. He puts everything in the bag and then grabs the shorts and the T-shirt. “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” he says, and I get up from the bench. “Follow me. I have to change my skates, and then we can get some grub.” I turn to walk out of the locker room and run smack into Amy.

“I was looking for you,” she says, and I just turn to walk toward the locker room where my shoes are. “I was thinking we can sit together at lunch and go over a couple of things.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m having lunch with Dylan, but you can bring what you want to talk about,” I say and walk into the locker room. Dylan sits on the bench next to me, swinging his legs. “You can meet us up there.”

“Okay, yeah sure, or if anything, we can do it over dinner.”

I know what she’s doing. “Lunch will be good, Amy,” I say, and she just nods and walks out. I put on my sneakers, and we head up the stairs to the food. There are a couple of kids at the table, and some are watching the other kids play hockey from the viewing windows overlooking the rink. I grab a tray for myself and one for Dylan. “What do you want to eat?” He shrugs his shoulders. “Do you like veggies?”

“No,” he says and then looks at me, “but my mom said I have to eat them to grow.” I try to hide my smile.

“Your mother is right. My mom used to make broccoli every single night,” I say, and he looks at me in shock. “I used to give it to the dog. Don’t tell anyone.”