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Adam was attacking the puck during the scrimmage, throwing himself into every pass, catch, and goal. He soared across the ice, making everyone else push their limits to catch up. He moved forcefully. Anyone who didn’t know him might’ve thought he was angry, but the team knew he was just locked in—he always was on the ice.
He saw Charlie coming up on his side, between him and the goal. He didn’t have a good angle, and going around the goal line would only open up the possibility of the puck being stolen from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Luis close behind him and passed the puck back. Luis caught it delicately and carried it around Adam and Charlie before launching it toward the net.
It hit the post, and Luis stopped himself a couple inches before he slammed into it himself. The puck landed back on the ice, and Julie got control of it. Adam skated around the net, going on the defensive. He could tell that Julie was planning to pass to Dwayne, so he got himself in a position to intercept.
Before he could, Charlie checked him into the boards. He didn’t ignore the way Adam flinched and shook his arm slightly.
“You okay?” he asked, hovering. “Is it your wrist?”
Adam shook his head and tightened his grip on his stick. “I’m fine.” He started skating away to rejoin the practice, and Charlie followed.
“You sure? It looked like I hurt you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Adam muttered, moving to steal the puck from Connie.
He handled the puck from the crease to the opposite blue line, dodging Russ and Portman on the way until he passed to Guy, who went for a shot but couldn’t get past Julie.
“Nice catch, Julie!” Charlie yelled with a grin.
Coach Wilson called for a break, and the team skated to the benches to get water and steal Goldberg’s snacks. Charlie grabbed Adam by the shoulder, not letting him leave.
“I don’t trust you,” he told him, frowning. “You hid that your wrist hurt from all of us at the Goodwill Games, how do I know that you’re not lying to me now.”
Adam shrugged. He turned and tried to leave again, but Charlie stopped him once more.
“Will you at least let me look at your wrist?”
Adam rolled his eyes and huffed. “No, it’s been fine for years. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. If you’re hurt, you could make it worse if you keep playing.” Charlie furrowed his brow. “This just makes me think that you’re hurt more.”
“Well, I’m not.”
Adam started skating away, but Charlie didn’t loosen his grip, so he ended up being dragged behind him.
“If you’re fine, then you shouldn’t care if I look at your wrist or not.”
Before Adam could grab his hand to stop him, Charlie grabbed his right arm and rolled his sleeve up to his elbow. Adam managed to wrench his arm away quickly and pull his sleeve back down, but Charlie had already seen the irritated, red, blotchy skin that was the source of the pain. When Adam looked back up at him, his jaw had dropped and his eyes were wide.
“Are those hives?” he asked in a hushed voice. “Are you having an allergic reaction? Do we need to get a doctor?”
“Banks! Conway!” Coach Wilson's voice carried over the ice. “You two on a date over there or are you gonna come join us?”
Charlie watched Adam leave, waiting a few seconds before quickly and silently following after him.
He tried to ask again while they were skating laps, coming up beside Adam and asking if he got attacked by a dog. Adam grit his teeth and started moving even faster. He didn’t respond to any of Charlie’s questions or guesses, pushing his body to the limit to outpace and avoid him.
Coach Wilson commended them when the pair finished their ten laps long before everyone else, releasing them to the locker room. Charlie was right at Adam’s side as he took his gloves off and shoved them in his bag.
“You’re doing it to yourself, aren’t you?” Adam didn’t say anything, but he started taking his skates off more aggressively.
“Why? Talk to me, Banks,” Charlie begged, sitting down next to him,
“Don’t worry about it, Charlie.”
Charlie scoffed. “I’m your friend. Of course I’m gonna worry about you.” He sighed at Adam’s lack of response. “Take off your pads.”
The door opened and the rest of the team came in, but the two boys didn’t notice.
Adam looked at Charlie with a scowl. “You want me to strip all the way down while I’m at it?”
“Why is Banks stripping?” Connie asked. “I thought that was Portman’s job.”
Smirking, Portman pushed past her to get to a bench, already shucking his jersey off. “Speaking of,” he said, continuing to discard clothing until he was almost fully bare.
“So,” Russ raised an eyebrow, “Banksie’s a stripper now? I’m sure the girls’ll love that.”
Before Charlie could tell them anything, Adam lurched forward and pulled the back of his jersey up over his head. The rest of the team jumped back in surprise and stared at the pair. Charlie quickly pulled his jersey off and tossed it to the ground, then he glared at Adam.
“Take your jersey off,” he growled, voice low.
Adam rolled his eyes and turned to leave, but Fulton was standing in the doorway. He tried to force his way out, but Charlie grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him away. Adam fought to get out of the other boy’s grasp, but his grip was strong.
Fulton separated them, pulling Charlie backward and letting Dwayne do the same to Adam. They had strong holds around the boys’ torsos, pinning their arms to their bodies. They continued to wriggle, Adam trying to get to the door and Charlie trying to stop him.
“Why won’t you talk to us, Banks?” Charlie pleaded. “You know we all care about you, right?”
“You care about me sometimes,” Adam corrected. “You guys hated me when I was a hawk, and when I first joined the ducks, and you would barely talk to me when I was on varsity. I get it, but…”
Everyone stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Is that why you’re doing it?” Charlie whispered. “Is that when you started?” Adam clenched his jaw.
“Doing what?” Dwayne asked over Adam’s shoulder.
Charlie leaned forward enough to push Adam’s right sleeve up to his elbow, putting his red scabs on display.
Dwayne’s grip loosened as he stared at the other boy’s arm, and Adam used his distraction to wrench himself free. Before he could be recaptured, he took off running out the door, leaving the rest of the team staring at the place he had been standing.
“What was that?” Goldberg asked. “It looked like Banksie got attacked by a shark.”
Nobody said anything else until Charlie announced that they needed to find Banks and make sure he was okay. Everyone followed him as he charged through the door, most of them were still wearing half of their gear and left the rest of their stuff in the locker room.
Adam hadn’t gotten far. He’d started crying despite himself the second he left the locker room, and he was hyperventilating by the time he got outside the rink. He walked around the building in a daze until he got to the back, facing away from the rest of the school. He leaned against the wall and slid down until he was sitting. He rested his head on his knees, absently scratching at his shins. He couldn’t feel it through his padding.
He was only there for a couple minutes before the rest of the team found him. Charlie immediately sat on one of his sides, and Guy silently sat on the other. Charlie put an arm around Adam’s shoulders—it felt like the right move, but he didn’t know what else to do.
Then Julie crouched down in front of him. “Alright, Banks,” she said softly, “you gotta breathe.” Adam gave no indication that he heard her, but she simply took a deep, loud breath. “Do it with me now.”
Adam started hitting his forehead against his knees, and his hands started moving faster against his legs, clawing deeper into his socks. Charlie stopped Adam’s hands, then put a hand on his forehead and pushed until his head was upright. The team all saw his red face and the tear tracks running down his cheeks. He was embarrassed, but they said nothing about it.
“Breathe with me,” Julie urged, continuing her demonstrations.
Adam followed along with her. Soon, he was back in control of himself.
“Good job.” Julie stood up. “Talk to Charlie. We’ll all be in the locker room until coach kicks us out.”
Adam started to stand, but Charlie kept a hand on his shoulder and held him down. “We’re staying here for a bit.” Adam watched their team leave, then he let his head roll to the side to look at Charlie.
“How long have you been doing it?” he asked, voice hushed.
Adam shrugged.
“Is it because of how we were when you were on varsity freshman year?” Charlie asked hesitantly.
Adam snorted. “I’ve been doing it since middle school.”
Charlie nodded slowly, thinking of all the years he’s spent knowing Adam but not noticing that he was hurting. He remembered how many times the team laughed along with him when he told them the scabs scattered around his arms were from falling while rollerblading, or climbing a tree, or his neighbor’s dog. He tried not to think of how many times they were lies.
“Why?” he asked. “It looks like it hurts you.”
“That’s kind of the point.” Adam wrapped his arms tighter around his legs, tucking them in more. “I can’t control everything that happens on the ice—how hard people check me, or how often I’m slammed into the boards, or how many people are taking cheap shots at me, or what scouts are thinking about me, or how much my dad wants me to go pro, but I… I have full control over this.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “I know it doesn’t really make sense, but it feels like it does.”
“You worry too much, Banksie,” Charlie told him.
“It’s a hobby.”
“I mean it.” Charlie stared into the other boy’s eyes. “You’re always worrying about scouts, or games, or homework, or tests, or what your dad thinks of you. Are you ever calm?”
Adam shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not!” Charlie’s voice got louder, and Adam jumped to cover his mouth and keep him quiet. “You’re not fine,” he repeated in a stage whisper. “You’re scratching half your skin off.”
“It’s not like I’m slitting my wrists or trying to kill myself,” Adam defended.
Charlie was silent for a moment, looking at Adam like he was a stranger, then quietly said, “There’s not that big of a difference.”
“Come on, Charlie,” Adam nudged him with his shoulder, “you know me.”
Charlie frowned. “I don’t feel like I do anymore,” he whispered.
Adam’s eyes went wide at the admission. He hung his head down, fighting to keep breathing. When he had it under control again, he turned back to his friend. “I’ve only done it once.” His voice was barely audible.
Charlie’s head snapped to meet his eyes. “What?”
Adam slowly rolled up his left sleeve, revealing that arm in an even worse state than his right. There were more scabs that looked like they’d been picked off more often, and the skin around them looked angrier. He pointed out a faint line on the underside of his forearm, halfway between his elbow and wrist.
“You can’t really see it much anymore,” he mused, “but it’s there.”
Charlie squinted, looking closer at the mark and trying to convince himself that it wasn’t what Adam was saying it was. “When?” he whispered. “Why?”
Adam pulled his sleeve back down and hugged his knees. “Last year. After the first freshman versus varsity game we played.” He scratched idly over the scar. “I felt bad about the dinner. And you all were mad at me, and I was mad at myself, and none of the varsity guys actually liked me, and I just…” he sighed, shrugging.
Charlie wanted to cry. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Adam shook his head. “It was only one time.”
Charlie stared at him, studying the side of his face. He watched Adam’s jaw clench as his eyes looked everywhere except for back at his friend.
When he finally turned his head in Charlie’s direction, he said, “I’ve never tried to kill myself, though.” His voice had gotten higher, more upbeat and optimistic, but his words didn’t make Charlie feel any better.
“That’s… that’s good,” he managed. He swallowed roughly, then hesitantly asked, “Have you wanted to?”
He quickly regretted asking the question, and his heart sank further with every second that Adam didn’t give an answer. When he simply shrugged, Charlie felt like he was punched in the stomach.
“I don’t think I’d actually do it, though.”
Adam said it like it should be a huge relief, but it wasn’t. Charlie’s brain lingered on the word “think,” like Adam could change his mind whenever he wanted and just be gone one day.
“I mean,” he continued, scratching at his shoulder over his jersey and looking nervously in Charlie’s direction, “you guys would miss me, right? And my parents…”
“Of course we’d miss you!” Charlie nearly yelled. He took a deep, shaking breath before speaking again. “Adam, you’re our friend. I don’t even know what we’d do without you. We’d lose a lot more games, but that doesn’t even matter.” He had so many thoughts racing through his head that he struggled to put in some sort of order. He was too flustered to make any sort of sense. “The team is a family. Ducks fly together, and that means that you don’t go through anything alone. I know… I know we haven’t always been the best friends to you, and I’m really, really sorry about that, but nobody wants anything bad to happen to you. We would all drop anything if you need help or if you just want to talk.”
“I don’t wanna make you guys—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Charlie cut him off quickly. “Even if you got attacked by a bird and needed a roller skating escort to the hospital, we would all stop whatever we’re doing to help you. The same way you and Ken help half the team with our homework, or that time Goldberg rolled his ankle and we had to hold his hands so he could skate home on one foot, or when your parents went to help your brother move into college and you stayed at my place because you didn’t want to be home alone.”
Adam bit his lip and nodded slowly. Charlie stood up and held out a hand to pull him, careful not to grab his arm. The second Adam was on his feet, Charlie pulled him into a hug. He didn’t let go until they were both out of tears.
The rest of the team was sitting around the locker room when the pair returned. They had all changed back into their normal clothes and were chatting idly until the door opened.
“You guys are still here?” Charlie asked. Everyone nodded.
“We’re the last practice,” Russ grinned. He put his arms behind his head and leaned back until he was lying down. “Locker room’s ours.”
“They lock up at ten.” Everyone looked at Adam as he walked to his spot on the benches. “They don’t check the locker rooms before then, though.”
Dwayne laughed. “We stayin’ here ‘til then?”
“I hope not,” Charlie said.
Adam pulled off his jersey and pads, shoving them into his bag. He pointedly ignored the way everyone was pretending not to stare at his arms. Charlie pulled a coban roll out of his bag and brought it to Adam.
“Gimme your arms.”
Adam stared at him for a few seconds. “Can I at least shower first?”
Charlie shoved him toward the showers. “Be fast.”
“Charlie,” Fulton snickered, “you should also go shower. I feel like I can smell you from here.”
“No, that’s just Goldberg,” Averman laughed.
Charlie sighed but went to shower as well.
Five minutes later, they both emerged in jeans and regular shirts—Charlie a tee and Adam a polo—hair dripping onto their shoulders. Charlie grabbed the bandage roll again and gestured toward Adam. He rolled his eyes but sat down and held his arms out. He stayed still and silent as Charlie wrapped the brown bandage around his forearms. His eyes stayed down, but he could feel everyone else watching them.
“Is it too tight?”
Adam shook his head. “I feel like a mummy,” he muttered.
“Mummies are known for their nice skin,” Averman joked.
Adam furrowed his brow. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Charlie finished wrapping Adam’s arms and cut the bandage. “Anywhere else?”
Adam stared at him, then glanced around at everyone else. “Give me that,” he sighed, taking the wrap and walking toward the showers. “I already told you I’m not stripping.”
While Adam wrapped his legs in the shower, everyone turned to Charlie. Almost a dozen hushed voices asked different variations of the same question: “What’s going on with Banks?”
“He’ll be fine,” was the first thing out of his mouth. “He scratches himself a lot.”
“Why?”
Charlie bit his lip. “To hurt.” The locker room went eerily quiet. Everyone looked at each other, unsure of what to say.
When Adam came back from the showers, he tossed the roll back to Charlie. “Wanna check my work?”
Charlie put the wrap back into his bag, then looked him up and down. He didn’t say anything, but Adam sighed and pulled one of his pant legs up a few inches to show Charlie the wrapping.
“Satisfied?”
Charlie smiled and nodded.
“Hey, Banksie and Charlie,” Dean came up between them and wrapped his arms around both their shoulders, “we’re all gonna go to me and Ken’s dorm and play some games.”
“I—”
“You already told us that you finished all your homework,” Dean added before Adam could say anything. “You have no excuse.”
Adam’s sigh ended up sounding more like a laugh. Portman shoved the two away, and everyone grabbed their stuff and filed out the door.
With Adam in pants and a sweatshirt, acting like everything was fine and normal, the team started to understand how they hadn’t known he was hurting for so long.
The next afternoon, Adam crawled out of bed when he heard his doorbell ring, followed by the duck whistle. His eyes were still half-closed when he opened the door, but he already knew who he would find on his doorstep.
Charlie grinned, taking in Adam’s expensive-looking pajamas and messy hair. “You just roll out of bed, Banksie?”
“Yeah,” Adam groaned, “we were at school until two in the morning.”
“And you took an hour-long nap at midnight.”
“And then we skated back home,” Adam pointed out.
Charlie waved him off. “Whatever. I got you a present.”
“What?”
Charlie held out his hand, revealing a small blue and teal fabric ball. He pushed it toward Adam, prompting him to take it. “It’s a stress ball,” he said.
Adam cocked an eyebrow.
“Imagine,” Charlie continued, “next week’s game. The other team paid off the refs or something, so they’re cross-checking and hooking and nothing’s getting called. Now,” he put a hand on Adam’s shoulder, “you’re getting really frustrated—we all are—what do you do?”
Adam glanced at the stress ball in his hand, then back up at his friend. “Squeeze the ball instead of scratching myself,” he sighed.
“Exaclty!” A broad smile appeared on Charlie’s face. “This is why you got the best grades on the team.”
Adam tried to suppress his own grin, but he eventually gave up.
“Are your parents home?”
“No,” he shook his head, “Dad’s at golf and Mom’s at brunch.”
Charlie chuckled. “Those are… very—”
“Cake-eater things to do.” The two finished the sentence synchronously.
“I know, shut up.” Adam rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind them. “You wanna come in?”
“No, but,” Charlie pushed Adam into the house and stepped in after, closing the door behind them, “you gotta go get dressed and grab your skates. Averman called. Guy and Connie are on a movie date.”
“So we’re gonna go crash it?”
Charlie smirked. “We’re just gonna meet them outside the theater. Maybe make fun of them a little bit.”
Adam was in the starting lineup at the team’s next game, as he always was. Coach Wilson talked to them on the benches before the game, they quacked, then they were released to the ice. Adam was the last to go, following Charlie, Guy, Fulton, Portman, and Julie.
Right before he got through the door, he turned to Wilson. “Can you hold this for me?” He extended his arm, pressing his stress ball into the coach’s hand. He didn’t wait for a response before he got on the ice.
Coach Wilson stared at his hand, then up at his kids on the ice, then at his kids on the bench. “The hell is this?” he yelled at no one in particular.
The kids all snickered. Adam smirked as he skated to his position in the middle of the rink, facing-off with the center of the opposing team. The second the puck hit the ice, Adam got his stick in to fight for it. He passed to Charlie, who started bringing it toward the goal. One of the opposing defensemen knocked him down, but Charlie managed to pass to Guy before someone else got the puck. Fulton and Portman sandwiched the opposing defenseman, causing cheers to erupt from the stands.
Guy passed back to Adam, who was in the perfect position to score. He brought himself closer to the goal and launched the puck. He watched it shoot through the air like it was in slow motion. The goalie reached out to catch it, but it slipped under his arm and went into the net, sounding the alarm. Adam’s arms shot up, and he saw the rest of his team skating toward him, preparing to tackle him in celebration.
Before any of them reached him, one of the opposing players checked him from behind, hard. Adam, unprepared, felt his head whip backward as he fell forward, crashing to the ground. His head snapped forward before slamming into the ice. He wanted to jump right back up to his feet and fight back, but he felt a pain in his neck that told him not to.
“Stay down, Banks.” He heard Charlie’s voice rushing toward him, as well as uproar from the crowd.
“I’m fine,” he groaned, because he knew he was. He knew that nothing was broken or seriously injured, he just wished that made it hurt less.
Coach Wilsom came over, as did two medics. Adam pushed himself to his knees to look at everyone. The player who checked him was in the penalty box being taunted by Portman and Fulton, and the crowd was quiet. There was a sharp pain when he turned his head, and the medics agreed that, while he likely wasn’t seriously injured, he would be out of the rest of the game. Adam had guessed that, but he didn’t like hearing it.
So he became a bench warmer. The crowd cheered as he skated by himself across the rink to the rest of the team, swapping spots with Connie. He sat down and took his helmet and gloves off, tossing them to the ground in anger.
Averman tapped his arm gently, and Adam turned his whole body to look at him. “Here you go, Banksie,” he smiled, holding out the stress ball that Coach Wilson had pawned off on him the second the game started.
Adam sighed and took it. “Thanks, Averman.”
For the rest of the game, Adam squeezed the ball in his fists whenever he wished he was on the ice, which was the entire time. It wasn’t quite the same as scratching off a layer of skin, but he knew that it was realistically the better option. Especially when he started rolling the ball up and down his thigh—the motion was similar enough to scratching to be familiar and comfortable.
The rest of the team took interest in it, too. Goldberg demanded it when he thought Wilson was going to pull Portman out and put him in, and Adam had to fight him for it back. The ball got passed down the bench and back every time the opposing team got too close to their goal, every time one of their friends was checked, and each time they got a penalty. Even Charlie got in on it, grinning every time he threw it back to Adam over everyone else’s heads.
After they won the game, Adam told him that they might need a dozen or so more so everyone on the team could have their own.
“They gotta have Duck logos on them,” Charlie suggested.
“I’m sure those are gonna be easy to find.”
Charlie laughed. “We’ll get them custom.” His face lit up with an idea. “We can get them in bulk and sell them around school.”
“That’s… actually not a horrible idea,” Adam laughed.
Charlie swiped the stress ball from his hand and threw it at his face, nailing him in the forehead.
“Ow,” Adam said flatly. “What if I’m concussed?”
“Then you should go to the doctor,” Charlie told him. “Actually, you’re supposed to do that after the game anyway.” He grabbed the other boy’s arm and started dragging him away.
“Come on,” Adam whined, pulling his arm free with little force, “let me stay for the celebration. I’ll go after.”
Charlie rolled his eyes but smiled. “Fine.”
Adam smirked. He threw his stress ball at Charlie’s chest, catching it when it rebounded and quickly skating away when Charlie started chasing him.