I send off another quick text, telling Michel to have fun, and let myself sink into the moment with the crowd.
I don’t know what the announcer says next, but I hear him say “Canada” as a group of women skate out onto the ice. The people in the surrounding seats start cheering and screaming, and I feel out of place as I’m sandwiched among fans of the opposing team.
Hopefully, they don’t get rowdy and accidentally elbow me in the face when they find out I’m rooting against them.
The announcers call for “Team USA,” and I can’t help but get to my feet as they skate out onto the rink. I notice Skye right away. Even in all her gear, she’s unmistakable.
The way she moves is fast and sharp. She cuts across the ice with her stick in hand. She owns it.
I’ve seen Skye confident, at dinner, at the arcade, leaning over the air hockey table with that half-smirk. But this is different. It’s electric.
Canada’s team doesn’t even exist to me, as I recognize the faces that I met just last night. They’re huddled around Paige, who is squatting in front of the net in her full goalie gear. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but they all seem thrilled to be here.
Who wouldn’t be?
After a few minutes, they’re lined up in the middle of the rink. It’s almost like the football game I went to in high school, but there’s an official standing beside Skye and the player from the opposite team.
The puck drops, and the noise in the room doubles. I startle as the players are slammed into the glass.
“Is that allowed?” I mutter to no one, unable to blink as Skye rights herself and takes off like a bullet toward the puck.
Apparently, it’s allowed and totally normal.
My eyes aren’t moving fast enough to keep up with the puck. It keeps vanishing into the blur of sticks and skates, and every time the crowd gasps, I gasp a half second later because I’m slightly behind.
“Oh my God,” I gasp as a shot rockets toward our goalie.
Paige.
Even under the massive pads and cage mask, I can still recognize her. She has the same easy confidence from the arcade, just sharpened. She’s crouched low in front of the net, tracking the puck with terrifying focus.
Paige drops and blocks it without hesitation. The sound of the puck against her pads echoes, and the crowd erupts.
I find myself jumping to my feet, cheering with everyone else.
“Yeah, Paige,” I yell, then blink to myself.
When I sit back down, I notice something else. Every time there is a whistle, for whatever reason, the team seems to orbit Skye. They skate toward her, leaning in close, sticks tapping the ice as they speak. Quick nods and sharp gestures.
Skye points once, then twice, drawing invisible lines in the air with her gloves.
They break apart immediately after, and I feel a tightness in my chest.
Is she being bossy? No, it couldn’t be. It almost looks like trust?
Rissa streaks past the section I’m in, nearly slamming into the glass as she fights for the puck. She looks different from the girl I battled with at air hockey, laughing and relentless with a plastic pusher in her hand.
Rissa steals the puck and sends it across the ice, straight to Skye. She catches it mid-glide, cuts around a player from the other team, and speeds up. My breath catches in my throat.
The world seems to slow as Skye fakes left and slips right, movements smooth over the ice.
“Go, go, go,” I whisper, without realizing it.
She shoots. The puck snaps into the top right corner of the net before the other team’s goalie can react.
The horns blare, and the arena explodes with sound. My heart is hammering in my chest as I jump up again, completely unaware that I’m screaming.
Skye doesn’t celebrate wildly. She fist bumps the teammates who are standing close. The rest of her line skates over and jumps on her, hitting her helmet, which looks painful to me, but I guess they wouldn’t do it if it hurt her.
