They fire at our goalie, but Finny blocks it, and Malik gets the rebound.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Knowing he’ll get it to me, I take off toward our offensive zone, no defenders between me and their goalie. Malik sends the puck flying, and it lands perfectly, gliding across the ice in line with my stick.
Dribbling it a few times, I pull left, and the goalie skates out, in ready position, his stick angled across his body. He’s a short goalie, which means his weak spots are different from most of the big guys we go against.
The corners are harder for him to defend, where the five-hole is much easier for him to block since he’s lower to the ground.
Feeling confident, I bend my wrist. Without showing I’m about to fire, I push it through, fast and hard. It soars in the air, and the goalie makes his move, pushing up to close off the gap between his shoulder and the crossbar.
But it’s too late.
The puck is already past him, flying into the back of the net.
“Let’s go!” I shout, dropping down to my go-to celly—the bow and arrow––where you draw a make-believe bow, and fire an arrow into the sky. I fire away and pop back up right as the rest of the guys reach me, singing their cheers.
Our arena erupts, screaming along with us as we tie the game up.
I lead our group to the bench as the announcer shouts into the mic, announcing our goal. We bump gloves with our teammates before heading back to center ice to set up. We still feel fresh, so Coach lets us stay on.
But after about forty-five seconds, we change out with other players, taking a brief break on the bench. I ask for one of the iPads so I can see the goal and see if their goalie has any obvious weak spots in this game.
I review the tape, feeling pride blossom in my chest. It was a good shot. Their goalie may be short, standing only five foot ten, but he’s damn good. I’m honestly surprised I was able to get it past him.
Handing the iPad back to the assistant coach, I take a quick drink from one of the bottles, spraying the ice-cold water into my mouth. One of our guys shoots, pinging off the post. The crowd oohs and aahs in response. But nothing comes of their shift or anyone else’s for the remainder of the second period, no goals or penalties.
When the buzzer rings out, we head to the locker room for intermission. I might have to slam an applesauce cup when weget back there. I can feel my body needing a little boost. Which is exactly what I do, taking it like a damn Jell-O shot.
“Great job, Asher. Way to tie it up,” Coach praises, and the rest of the guys holler right after him. “One period left. Don’t sit on your heels. I feel like for the last couple minutes of the second, we were playing it safe. Don’t do that. Be aggressive. Make shots. Get pucks deep. That’s how we win. Captain.”
Coach hands the metaphorical mic over to Elias, our captain, before the coaches leave the room to us.
“Good job out there so far, guys, but I know we can do better. Much better go-around the second period. Keep it up. Thank you, Ash, for lifting us up. Now let’s all do the same.”
He raises his hands, signaling the end of his little pep talk. We all mirror him, clapping simultaneously as he slaps his hands together. Everyone falls away into their own conversations, and a couple of iPads are passed around to review tape from the last period.
I’m not one who usually dives into game play during intermission. I like to take the time to get my head out of the game, so when the clock resets, I’m fresh.
Dean sits next to me, drinking water like an elephant as he empties out the bottle. One of the staff immediately brings him another, trading him.
Usually, this is where he’s the most talkative. This is his element. But he hasn’t muttered a single word.
“What’s on your mind?” I bump his knee with mine, knowing that he needs to talk it out or it’ll carry into next period.
He sprays more water into his mouth. “I don’t know. A lot of things, I guess. But I hate not knowing shit. It’s like a puzzle that I can’t stop obsessing over until I have all the answers.”
“You’re talking about the mystery girl.” My heart kicks up.
He nods. “Yeah. I just don’t get it.”
I chuckle. “And you hate not getting things.”
He side-eyes me. “Don’t be a little shit right now.”
“He can’t help it,” Griffin chimes in, sitting on the other side of Dean. “Now … who’s this mystery girl?”
Shit.
