Maybe my first hockey game won’t be so bad after all.
Baptiste
We’re losing 2–0 as the second period starts, and frustration is building on my teammates’ faces. We knew it was going to be a tough feat, but taking two shots in the first period is still a hard pill to swallow.
I glance at the packed arena as we get into position, wondering where Harper is right now. She’s at the arena—she texted me earlier to say she was on her way—so I know she’s witnessed our slow, painful start. Still, I hope she’s having a good time, wherever she is.
Before I can gather my thoughts, the puck drops, and the game is on again. The Stars team presses, hard and fast, cycling the puck deep in our zone. Sticks clash, skates scrape the ice, bodies collide along the boards. We manage to snag the puck, but we barely get past center ice before they force a turnover.
After a fierce brawl, Kingston Brewer from the Stars picks up the puck near the blue line, winds up, and releases a quick snap shot through traffic. Our goalie doesn’t even see it coming. The puckhits the back of the net with a sound that makes my stomach drop, and the scoreboard flashes 3–0.
Coach Sully Paul yells at us to get back in the game, his voice cutting through the roar of the crowd, and I force myself to concentrate—block out the noise, push down the feeling that we’re about to lose this game.
A few shifts later, our guy Jayce Brady intercepts a pass in the neutral zone and chips the puck forward. Jackson Reeves crashes into the net, dragging two defenders with him. I jump into the play from the blue line, calling for the puck. Brady spots me and sends a clean pass across the ice.
I don’t hesitate. I tear in and fire a slapshot through the gap between the defender’s legs, aiming far side. The puck rockets off my stick, whistles past the goalie’s glove, and buries itself in the top corner.
Half of the arena explodes into cheers and applause, and suddenly, all I can see is the sea of waving banners from our Stripes fans seemingly turning the inside of the arena crimson. “Eye of the Tiger” starts playing over the speakers—my goal song. I throw my arms up, skate toward the glass, and break out my best dance moves, hyping the fans and my teammates as the noise swells around us.
Brady slams into me first, yelling something I don’t catch, and Reeves follows with a heavy glove to my helmet. I laugh as Coach Sully Paul leans over the boards and slaps my back hard when I skate past.
Unfortunately, this goal isn’t the kick we needed to flip the game, and it ends with a 4–1 win for our adversaries.
Faces are tight and shoulders slumped as we shuffle back to the locker room. Beaumont and Adler aren’t cracking jokes or arguing about something stupid. And Miles, despite having had little game time, is muttering to himself that he could have done better. Hawthorne, who’s serving as alternate captain of our Stripes team, is talking in hushed tones with Taz Houlihan, the captain. Wally is silent, staring off into the distance, even though he didn’t play tonight either.
I sit down, dropping my gloves on the bench next to me and grabbing some water. Crap, this is not how I wanted to start off this tournament. And I know my teammates feel the same. This is our one shot of making history—we have to do better next time.
Coach Sully Paul strides into the locker room, and that’s exactly what he tells us. He’s not angry, but he does tell us we weren’t at our best, and he knows we could have dominated this game.
“This blows,” Adler grumbles, bending over to untie his skates once the coach wraps up his speech.
“Yeah,” Beaumont says simply, staring at the floor. “The girls are going to be so disappointed.”
I feel even worse for him now. The girls are only here for the first two games. Then they’re flying back to New York, since they have to work, and will only come back to DC for the last game.
“I know,” Hawthorne says, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. “Guess we’ll just have to win the second one. We can do it—I know we can. We just have to find our footing,that’s all.”
We keep chatting about our loss, trying to pump ourselves up for the next game, then we do our post-game ritual before going back to the hotel.
My heart jolts when I see Harper in the lobby, talking with the receptionist.
“Oh, if it isn’t Froggy’s not-girlfriend,” Adler jokes, and I roll my eyes in response.
“Nor friend,” Miles adds.
“Bye, guys.” I wave them off with a forced smile before walking toward her. I can hear their whistling and low, exaggerated “ooohs” trailing behind me, but I choose to ignore them. It’s not hard; when Harper’s around, she’s the only thing I can focus on.
She’s just wrapping up her conversation and is turning to walk away, but she stops when she sees me.
“Hey,” I say, approaching. “Room trouble?”
“Oh, hey.” She flashes a smile, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “The mini fridge stopped working in my room. But they’ll send a new one in a few minutes.”
“Gotcha. So, how was your first hockey game?” I ask, already bracing myself.
“Meh. Better than the practices, for sure, but still kinda boring.”
Boring.
