Page 1 of Rivals

Riley, 6 years old…

“Hey, that was a sweet shot,” a voice calls from behind me. Before I even turn around, my cheeks and my ears feel hot. I’m not used to people watching me. And at this time of day, the rink is usually empty. It’s my first day of practice and I wanted to be early. I also wanted to see what the other kids were wearing as they came in. It is my first time wearing actual hockey equipment and I feel self-conscious.

I glance back and when I do, my eyes widen. A boy, I’m guessing about my age since he’s only a hair taller than me, stands there. I glance at him up and down and see he’s wearing hockey skates and carrying a stick. His light blue jersey matches mine with the name of the club hockey league on the front in bold, black letters. Crimson Bay Youth Hockey.

“Thanks,” I finally manage to mumble. I’m not used to talking to kids my age. I moved here with my mom and we’ve been staying in the local shelter. Being new in school, I haven’t had much time to make friends. As I look this boy up and down once more, I realize he does look slightly familiar.

“My name is Reign.” He skates forward, using his stick to steal one of the extra pucks from in front of me. “What’s your name?”

“Riley.” My voice sounds scratchy and I feel another blush working its way up my neck.

“You have Mr. Earnest for a teacher, don’t you?” The little boy, I guess his name is Reign, asks.

I nod my head. I wish I had been paying more attention to the other kids because I couldn’t even guess who his teacher is. Reign smiles, and I notice the little indent in his cheek when he does. He looks friendly enough, I guess.

“Hey, watch this.” He takes his stick and moves the puck left, right, left before shooting way outside and toward the center. He’s not very big, like me, so the puck doesn’t pick up air, but it looks really cool when he does it.

“Wow,” I respond and watch wide-eyed as he skates around and does the same thing this time shooting far right.

“Pretty cool, right?” He grins. “I’ve been practicing at home. I watched a player on the Penguins do it. Well sort of like it. He’s bigger than me so his shot was way high, above the goalie’s shoulder.”

“That would be sweet.” We laugh together about it.

He keeps shooting and soon I’m jumping in and mimicking his moves. Reign’s eyes light up when I hit the goal every time just like him. I’m not used to having friends, having grown up mostly with just my mom, but I think I could be friends with Reign. I really want to be friends with him. I like hearing him talk about his puppy, how he wants to be a professional hockey player and how I need to try Cheetos on a peanut butter sandwich for lunch tomorrow. All my worries and fears about meeting new people today start to go away. If they’re all like Reign, I think I’ll be fine. And if Reign is my only friend, that’s okay too.

Reign, 7 years old

“Mom, we’re going to be late,” I groan and complain again. Still, she’s fiddling around with her keys and trying to put on her lip gloss at the same time. Practice starts in twenty minutes, but I like to get out there earlier and watch the Zamboni finish laying a fresh layer of ice with Rylie. We both like to be the first ones to cut the ice once he packs up, before our teammates get out there. Knowing her, she’s already waiting.

Riley lives at the shelter near the church, which is only a ten-minute walk away from the arena. She has the advantage, but I still like to tease her that I can beat her. I finally get to the locker room and quickly change into my pads and the emerald green CBYA jersey we have this year. A few other kids from school wave at me and we laugh again about the pet rat that escaped Ms. Miller’s classroom. I leave them all behind though to go find her.

Sure enough, she’s sitting on the bench and watching as the Zamboni driver scoops the last of the ice slush off before driving back into its little garage. “Riles!” I call to my best friend and smile when her attention focuses on me. A smile tugs at her lips and she waves.

“Hurry up, Reign.”

I walk as fast as I can and hop onto the bench near her. For a girl, Riley is pretty cool. She’s smart, loves hockey, and she’s funny. I also know that if I pass her a puck on a breakaway, she’s going to catch it and score. My mom jokes that we’re a perfect duo on the ice.

We hop over the boards and skate circles. I chase her around the ice and then skate backward, while she tries to catch up to me. Eventually, the rest of our team joins us and we’re all broken up into groups for practice. My excitement dies down a little when Riley is placed in a different group than me. Every now and then I hear her laugh and instantly turn toward her. Some kid in her class is talking while they pass a puck back and forth, practicing the correct way to cradle the puck. I don’t know why, but it bothers me that he made her laugh. Smiles alone are rare from Riley, and making her laugh usually makes me feel like a king. I take my next loop a little larger than needed, so I skate right by her. My glove whips out and I give her braided ponytail a yank.

Instantly, her eyes land on me and I have her attention again. She sticks her tongue out at me. I stick mine out back at her. Some anger festers inside my chest and I don’t get it. It doesn’t calm again until our next drill, when she’s in my group again.

Riley, 11 years old

I didn’t always hate Reign Thorn. Once upon a time, he was my best friend. He didn’t care that I grew up in and out of homeless shelters with my mom, or that any hockey equipment or fees that were given to me were donated from local charities and our state funds. All Reign cared about was that I was there for hockey. That is where our friendship formed, on the ice, in the run-down arena that was built in 1968, in the Crimson Bay Youth Hockey program.

My mom used to joke that we were thick-as-thieves when we were younger. If Reign saw her working at the grocery store, he would make sure to ask if I was going to be at practice or at games. I always told her to tell him I wouldn’t miss it. There is no way I’d ever miss time on the ice or time with Reign. He was my best friend, the light in my life all through elementary school. His long, dark brown hair always poked out under his stocking cap, his crooked grin, often missing teeth when we were young, and that single dimple in his left cheek made my heart soar.

The fact that he taught me my backward crossovers was a bonus. We played together all through mini-mite and mite levels of hockey. I never failed to get my homework done or help my mom with chores at the shelter so that I was free to play as much hockey as I wanted. Reign never cared that I was a girl or more rough around the edges than other girls our age. We were inseparable and every day with Reign was the best.

Growing up, all I had ever known was my mom. She raised me as a single mother and claimed my father was in the military and couldn’t handle us in his life. She did well for many years, working her part-time job and caring for me. Eventually life became harder, things became more expensive, and she couldn’t do it all on her own. She never dared approach my grandparents for money; after being a young mother, they were disappointed in her. We lost our apartment, but thanks to a nearby church, we were able to stay in the homeless shelter. My mom agreed to help them out part-time as well as continuing to get hours at the grocery store when she could. It wasn’t the greatest place to grow up, but we made due.

It was through the shelter I discovered hockey. They sponsored a farm league just outside of town and the kids were taken on a field trip one evening to the game. I loved watching the fast pace of the game and hearing the smooth edges of the blades cut the ice. It felt magical, and to a little kid who hadn’t experienced much magic, it was everything. Nancy and Tim, who were in charge of the family units at the shelter, noticed my excitement during the game and told my mom about the Learn to Skate Program and youth hockey association in town. From that point on, I ate, slept, and breathed hockey.

My mom never complained about practices or my games and made it to everyone she could. Often, she would smile at me and tell me that my talent came from my dad. He used to play hockey in high school. That was as much as she would divulge about him. Still, as a child, that made me feel incredibly proud to play the game my dad did. Even though he wasn’t in my life, I had the urge to please him, to make this faceless person proud of me.

I didn’t know my mom was sick until it was too late. In her never-ending need to protect me and keep all the negativity away, she never told me what was happening. That her body was failing. That cancer was spreading everywhere and she was beyond chemo or surgery. I was ten, and my life was changed in a horrible way. My mom refused to sign custodianship over to my grandparents so they could take me in; instead, she made a call to the one person she said wasn’t good for us. My dad. And just like that Nathan Conrad stepped in to take care of me. He started renting a trailer in the park in the opposite direction of school and moved us in. My mom served as a buffer between us while he got to know me and I tried my hardest to learn to trust him, while secretly wondering when this would all fall apart.

I hid my family drama from everyone at school, including my school counselor. She tried many times to get me to open up, but I refused to be vulnerable with her. The only person I let in was Reign. He held my hand through it all. He didn’t have the words to say to comfort me, no ten-year-old does, but he kept my mind busy with hockey and our end-of-the-year tournament.

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