ChapterThree
Morgan
Mallory wobbles on the landing, dropping her extended leg and coasting to a stop at the boards, panting heavily."Alright, Mom.I've done the jump a billion times.Can I please stop, now?"
"When you nail the landing without a wobble, yes."
"I'm wobbling because I'm tired!"She shouts.“I’ll nail the landing in comp, I swear."
"Mal—"
Boys’ voices echo as the 14U team heads for the ice.Within seconds, the rink is chaos, filled with twenty-some teenage boys in hockey gear, laughing, roughhousing, warming up, racing each other, showing off, and goofing around.
"Saved by the hockey players," I say to Mal."Looks like we're out of time, anyway.Go on and get cleaned up."
I remain sitting on the visitor's bench, watching as the boys slowly stop goofing off and start practicing on their own, setting up cones and forming lines for passing drills.A now-familiar stocky, broad-shouldered figure wearing black jeans and a heather gray crewneck TFFD sweatshirt takes the ice, his blonde-and-silver hair covered by a black Skyhawks ball cap.He's wearing hockey gloves and has a stick in his right hand and a whistle in his left, hanging from his neck by the chain.
He whistles a single, sharp blast and then lets it drop to his chest."Hawks, circle up!"His voice booms, gravelly and rough, carrying throughout the arena.
The boys answer with alacrity, stopping their drills and sprinting over to where he's standing on the center ice faceoff dot, forming a large, uneven circle around him.
"Alright, boys," Noah says."First practice of the season.Show of hands—and be honest—who here spent at least thirty minutes a week practicing in the off-season?"A few hands go up."Who spent more than an hour a week?"A few hands."Anyone spend more than two hours a week?"Two hands—Bill Ryerson's boys, unsurprisingly; Bill is widely considered Tomlin Falls' second-best hockey player, after Noel, of course.His boys, 14-year-old twins Robby and Riley, are showing signs of being even better than him.He pushes them hard.Too hard, I sometimes think.
"…Is when you work on your strength, your coordination,” Noah is saying.“Especially during puberty when your body is changing at light speed—" here, most of the boys shift uncomfortably, "you need to work on coordination.Hank, Tommy, Khal, you guys have all grown six inches since I saw you last.You feel a little clumsy, sometimes?”
Khal—who last year was a gangly, skinny sprout of a kid, is now a six-foot behemoth with shoulders so broad he'll need years of weight lifting to really grow into them—raises his hand."Me, Coach.I keep tripping over my own feet for no reason."
"Cuz they grew so fast.You're not used to them yet.That's why off-season training is so important.The more you push yourself off-season, the less I have to kick your skinny behinds into shape during the season.Case in point?Down and backs.Two lines on either side of the goal.Go!Go!Go!”He blasts the whistle twice, darts toward the home side red line, scooping up a pair of cones and dropping them a few feet apart on one side of the goal and another two opposite.The boys form a cluster of loose lines behind each pylon, and Noah stands in front of the net, toots the whistle once, and the boys at the pylons crouch in ready stances.Another short, sharp tweet sends the four boys bolting down the ice to where Noah has already set up cones in mirroring positions.The boys stop at the cones, touch the orange plastic, and race back.Winners get high fives and fist bumps as they go to the ends of the lines.The competition is fierce, it turns out, with the Ryerson boys consistently leading the pack, Barry and Ingrid's son Will never far behind them.Once everyone has raced down and back three times, Noah blows his whistle and calls for a five-minute break.He spends it going from player to player, exchanging a quick word with each one, checking their laces, tugging on pads, and slapping helmets.
Break over, it's time for breakaway drills.He pairs the players up, facing each other from opposite red lines with a single puck between them.At his whistle, they have to race to get to the puck and sink it into the opposite net.
Mal slumps onto the bench beside me, hair shower-damp and braided, wearing her favorite green-and-blue flannel pants, tan Uggs, and an XXL Las Vegas Raiders hoodie.Why a football team, and why the Raiders?Who knows.Is she wearing a bra under that, let alone a T-shirt?Probably not.She's got a plastic bottle of Diet Coke in her hand, tossing her gear bag on the floor at her feet between the bleacher benches.
"Oooh, breakaway drills," she says, "I dominate at those."
I ignore this—I'm not surprised, since I know all too well how fast Morgan is.
We watch the boys drill for a while.
"Riley Ryerson is the best player out there," she states, her tone confident and authoritative."But he's cocky, and it's gonna cost him."
Even as she says this, Riley is slower on the takeoff against his opponent, Dominic Delgado, the goalie.Riley ought to have had this matchup in the bag, being the faster skater by far, but as Mal pointed out, he got cocky and didn't put enough effort into his takeoff, and Dominic ended up smoking him.
Someone ought to tell the kid he should never underestimate the skating prowess of a goalie.He may not have the razor-sharp handles of a top-scoring center like Riley, but Dominic is quick and sure on his skates.
After the drill is over, Noah does in fact pull Riley aside for a one-on-one, gesturing at Dominic and then at Riley.Next, he sets the boys to shooting—basically a free-for-all, dumping out a bucket of pucks and telling them to go nuts.
Then he skates this way.
Shoot, shoot, shoot.
This isn't our usual interaction time.My pulse races, and it only ramps up faster the closer Noah gets.
"Coach Austin, hi!"Mal says, her tone chipper and cheerful."When are the eighteens practicing, this season?"
Between the various hockey teams, the beer league, my lessons, and public free skates, the rink is always busy, and practice slots get shuffled around every season.
Noah frowns."Um, I think Bill has 'em here on Friday evenings at six—Ithink.Don't quote me on that, though."He grins at her."Why?You finally get your mom to let you join the team?"
