"Adoption applications." Her voice is barely a whisper. "There are—" She scrolls. "—over two hundred adoption applications."
The room erupts.
"What?"
"Two hundred?"
"That's not possible!"
"Let me see!"
We crowd around Mama Paws's phone, and it's real. Page after page of emails, all with the subject line "Adoption Application" or "I want to adopt" or "Tell me about Candy."
Mama Paws is crying for real now, both hands over her mouth, phone shaking.
Washington's phone rings. He looks at the screen. "It's Coach." He answers, putting it on speaker. "Yeah?"
"Turn on Channel 7," Coach Martin says. "Right now."
Washington grabs the TV remote, flipping to the local news station.
A morning anchor is on screen, sitting at a desk with a steaming mug of coffee, and behind him is a graphic:THE BLIZZARD BOWL - LIVE AT NOON.
"—remarkable story coming out of Chicago this morning," the anchor is saying. "A group of local hockey players, firefighters, and volunteers are defying a blizzard warning to host a charity game for an animal shelter in need. The game will be livestreamed at noon today, and already, the internet is rallying behind what's being called 'the most Chicago thing ever.'"
The screen cuts to footage from yesterday—the team clearing snow, the firefighters arriving, shots of the rink taking shape, lights being strung up.
"The shelter, which specializes in caring for animals with special needs, was facing closure due to financial difficulties,"the anchor continues. "But thanks to this community effort, they've already raised over fifty thousand dollars in donations."
The screen cuts to an interview—someone talking about Mama Paws, about the shelter's mission, about the animals waiting for homes.
Then back to the anchor: "The Blizzard Bowl streams live at noon on multiple platforms. And if you're able, consider donating or adopting. These are the stories that remind us what the holidays are really about."
The studio cuts to commercial, and we all just stand there, staring at the TV in stunned silence.
My phone starts buzzing. Then Devon's. Then everyone's.
The group chat is exploding.
Groover:We're famous.
Wall:My mom just called me crying. She's so proud.
Jinx:THIS IS INSANE
Snooze:I'm awake. That's how big this is.
More messages flood in, teammates waking up to the viral moment, everyone freaking out in their own way.
Becker's already at his laptop, pulling up the streaming setup. "We have ten thousand people waiting for the streamto go live." He looks up, eyes wide. "It's not even six in the morning."
Devon looks around at all of us, and I watch the defeat drain out of his face, replaced by something bright and fierce and determined.
"So," he says, "we're doing this?"
Washington's grinning now. "Oh, we're absolutely doing this."
Petrov pumps his fist. "In Russia, we play hockey in worse conditions."
