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It wasn’t technically a pass since my stick never made contact with the puck, but I was beginning to believe that in hockey, as in much of life, the results mattered more than the method.

I attempt to follow the others as they chased Ugwyll with the puck. I moved down the ice in a series of near-falls only to slam into the boards again, barely missing a collision with the goal in my futile efforts to stop. This time I remained on my feet. As I turned around, I realized that I was not certain where I belonged.

It was not a metaphor. It was a logistical problem.

I was listed on the pamphlets handed out at the games as a left wing. I assumed this meant I should occupy the left side of the offensive formation. But was this determined by my left as I faced our goal, or the left as I was looking at the opposing team’s goal? And what was our offensive formation? The videos showed various placements of the players, but I was unsure how they differed in terms of strategy. Not that it mattered. Our entire team just chased after the puck without any strategy, let alone an offensive or defensive one.

I was terrible at hockey. The others were not much better though, and that gave me hope that I wouldn’t be removed from the team and forced to return home. I needed to improve. I needed to find a way to be of value to the team. I couldn’t be sent home. Not until I had had a chance to win Abby’s heart.

Looking over, I saw that Abby had made her way down through the stands to the edge of the ice. She was dressed differently than she was when I met her at the pub. Her structured, neutral-toned clothing today was like a sword at her back and a knife at her hip. It announced power, authority, and purpose. It told me she was not a female to be misjudged. Of course, I knew this already.

Again, I felt like I might be in need of a healer to keep my heart from exiting my chest.

She spoke to human Dana, who gestured toward the far side of the arena where the owner’s suite was located. Abby nodded, then looked out over the ice. Her gaze passed over the team. It did not stop on me.

Which was to be expected. She had met me only once, and a female this beautiful, this intelligent, this powerful would most likely not remember me. Even so, I released the boards and began skating toward her, because I am not an orc who gives up.

My path was not direct. It consisted of my drifting off course, then attempting to return. At one point I rotated unexpectedly and needed to correct. Eventually I reached the bench, stepped over it with careful concentration, wiping my palms on my pants.

“Hello Abby,” I said. She had been watching me with an expression that alternated between amusement and alarm.

“Bwat,” she said. “Hi.”

She remembered my name. She remembered me. My heart once again began its strange gymnastics in my chest.

“Are you here to watch us practice? Or optimize our team…appetizer menu?” I didn’t know the words for her area of expertise aside from our conversation in the pub, so I blurted out the awkward comparison, realizing too late that it made me sound stupid.

She laughed. “The latter. Kind of. I have an appointment to talk to the team owner about giving my firm a contract to manage your marketing, promotion, and public relations.”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” I confessed.

She shifted her bag on her shoulder. “I want to help the team build a stronger public image both in the community and in the broader hockey fandom. Increase engagement. Attract sponsors. Basically make you guys… more visible in a good way.”

Visible. In a good way. I still had no idea what she was talking about. We were seven-foot-tall orcs with green skin. We were already visible compared to the humans and even the other supernaturals in this town.

“How will you make us good-visible?” I asked.

She laughed softly. “That’s a big question.”

“I have time,” I said. “And I am very interested in your markets and relations.”

Her lips twitched. She studied me for a moment, then gestured toward the seating area near the boards. “Okay. But this is the short and quick version, because I have a meeting in less than an hour.”

She sat. I sat, careful not to fall over or break the seats that were not built to accommodate orc bodies.

“Right now, people see you as either large green bumbling fools to laugh at, or large green scary giants capable of snapping limbs without breaking a sweat,” she says.

I grimaced. “We are large green fools playing hockey, but Ozar is trying to improve our skating, so we are not males to laugh at.”

“There’s more to changing perception than improving your game,” she said. “What I want to do is show people who you are off the ice. Individuals with personality and hobbies, and humor. Things humans can connect with outside of your ability on the ice. Or lack of.”

“Connect with humans.” I thought about that for a second, translating words and ideas from human to orc and back in my mind. “So that they see us as not so different than them.”

“Exactly!” She smiled. “I want everyone to see you all as interesting both in hockey and outside of the sport. Connection increases engagement.”

“Can you give me some examples of this connection?” I asked.

She tilted her head. “Digital posts on social media platforms. Short form video on platforms that reward that type of content. Long form video on YouTube and with traditional media that can be easily cut and segmented into short form snippets. Those are the primary methods, but the content needs to be relatable. It needs to convey emotion. It needs to be something that people want to share, comment on, and react to on their own accounts.”