I have to convince Max and Coach that I’m not as weak as they all think I am.
On the screen, McLanely maneuvers the puck and Kinsey’s right there, ready for the pass. Renthrow glides past a defender and McLanely pivots on a dime faking a pass to Kinsey while sending it to Renthrow.
It’s a seamless play, and I can see why Max pre-drafted them for the team. McLanely is pure lightning on the ice and Renthrow and Kinsey are skilled players too. Even more than that, they share incredible synergy.
Smoothing out a page of my large, blank sketchbook, I draw circles and jot down the names of each of the players.
McLanely, Kinsey and Renthrow.
I keep watching.
There’s one other guy that’s constantly put into rotation—Theilan.
My coffee maker beeps.
I shuffle over to the brew and pour a cup, stopping to inhale the rich fragrance before I take a sip.
Ah, that hits the spot.
Feeling more like a human and less like a zombie, I return to the video and observe some more.
If Theilan had joined the training camp, he would have been tough competition. He’s got great synergy with McLanely and Kinsey. Plus, he’sfast.
But the more I watch, the more I see why the team leader didn’t pick him for the new team. Theilan is cocky on the ice, and I can tell by the way he keeps missing the puck, that he’s undisciplined too.
If he got over those two things, he’d be a serious threat in the game and serious competition for the limited slots on the team.
Thankfully, Theilan’s absence has created a prime opportunity for me.
“Max needs a strong winger.” I circle Theilan’s name twice. “That’s where I should strike.”
I check my watch and notice that it’s six o’clock.
Time to go.
I chug the rest of my coffee, grab my gear and hit the road.
Lucky Falls is surprisingly bustling at this hour. Phil’s, the donut shop April insisted I should try, is already open. There’s a bread bakery a few blocks away that’s shoveling trays into a small white van. As I pass by, the smell of bread makes my stomach growl. I’ll definitely swing by later to grab a bite to eat.
When I arrive at the stadium, there’s no one else around except for Bobby, the Zamboni driver.
He does a double take when he sees me striding in with my duffel bag and a bucket of tennis balls. “Campbell? What are you doing here so early?”
“Wanted to get in some practice.”
“Atthishour? Not even McLanely trains this early.”
“I can’t beat McLanely if I train the same time he does. I need to work twice as hard to be half as good.”
Bobby laughs from atop the Zamboni and speaks in a laidback drawl. “I just started so it’ll take about ten minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.”
“That’s okay. I was planning on stretching first anyway.”
“Alright then,” Bobby says. The Zamboni chugs along as he gets to work.
I pop my ear buds in and navigate to Riley’s playlist as I always do. The title is right there at the top of my Spotify.
‘From Riley, To Nat’.
