Page 53 of Enemies in Paradise

One squirrel lets out the saddest sound I’ve ever heard, and I clutch the crate tighter. “There’s someone living there now. She won’t want all of you tramping through her apartment.”

I’m drowned out with shouts of “We’ll be super careful!” “We won’t make a mess!” “We’ll only be in her house for a second!” and “She has to let us! Is she a squirrel hater?”

“Absolutely not!” My voice bounces off the cinderblock walls and the girls fall silent.

Even though I’ve yelled, they don’t look scared. So, I guess they’re not afraid of me anymore, which is a good thing. Although, players are supposed to be afraid of their coach, and not the other way around.

“Grab your gear and head for the pond. Maybe we’ll let them out after practice.”

The girls let out a collective groan, and maybe I imagine it, but I swear I hear a sad cry coming from the squirrel cage—crate.

That cry follows me outside, where I tell the girls I forgot something and will catch up with them. “No one goes on the ice without me!” I add before they get too far.

Then I go back inside and open the little cage door. “Enjoy yourselves,” I say to my squirrels, and turn to go, but quickly follow up with, “But not too much. Stay out of trouble.”

They don’t move from the back corner of their cage, and I hope they’ll stay there. But, just in case, I’ll come in before the girls, make sure the squirrels are safe, then let the girls in. They’ll be thrilled that the squirrels got to run free.

By the time I make it to the pond, the girls are almost done lacing up. Besides skate tying, the girls are mastering staying upright on their skates. They’re getting better at everything, but a lot of practice still involves teaching skating skills such as quick starts, forward and backward crossover glides, and Mohawk pivots.

“Do we get to hit the puck today, Coach?” Janie asks while skating backwards circles around the slower girls.

“Soon.” I barely have the word out of my mouth when Cora falls hard enough I hear the thump of her helmet on the ice.

When she doesn’t pop back up right away, I skate over to her to make sure she’s okay. She sits up when I crouch to check her.

“I’m okay, Coach,” Cora says through a staggered breath, then gets to her feet.

“You sure?” A month ago when she fell, she spent the rest of practice sitting on the bench in tears.

She nods, then skates away, practicing her skills.

We’re not ready to play anyone yet, but the girls have improved a lot in the six weeks we’ve been practicing. They’re not only more confident on the ice, they’re more confident off of it. Two moms have told me their daughters have been speaking up more at school and their grades have improved.

I’m not sure there’s a correlation between hockey and not being afraid to speak in front of people—that hasn’t been the case for me—but I see how it makes people more self-assured. If you can face an opponent on ice without backing down, you can face problems head-on off the ice too. Learning to think quickly and pivot when necessary are two skills these girls will definitely develop on the ice and use off of it.

Those are important skills for anyone, but especially for girls. I’ve seen that with my sister. Britta couldn’t play hockey with a team, but that didn’t keep her off the ice. She played with my brothers and me as often as she could, including when we started our pickup games. There’s no denying she is a grinder, and I couldn’t be prouder to call her my big sister.

And I’m really proud of my girls and the way they’ve toughened up since we started practicing.

We’re in the middle of running drills when I notice Cassie park in the alley. After a quick glance at my girls to make sure they’re not watching me, I watch Cassie climb out of her car. She pulls grocery bags from her trunk, hitching one higher on her shoulder before grabbing the next one.

I’m so tempted to go help her, I’m about to hand my whistle to Hazel. But then I notice rustling in the trees. A squirrel appears,scurrying headfirst down the tree trunk. Then another squirrel in a nearby tree does the same. And another. And another.

All headed in Cassie’s direction.

They’re moving fast, but my thoughts are stuck in slow motion. Did Lynette say I needed to feed the squirrels today? Am I on day shift or night shift?

The squirrels stay far enough back that, at first, Cassie doesn’t notice them. Then one of them—it has to be Mr. Whiskers—makes his move. He darts to the studio door and rises on his hind legs. Cassie stops. She shifts, blocking my view of their interaction, but her spine stiffens.

I don’t have a view of her face, but I do have a perfect view of the four other squirrels slowly making their way to join Mr. Whiskers. Whatever Cassie’s got in those grocery bags, they want it. Their bushy tails move up and down and back and forth in excited waves as they run a few steps, stop, sniff, then move closer.

And Cassie has no idea they’re coming for her.

I turn back to my team and whistle. When I have their attention, I yell, “Everyone off the ice!”

By the time they’re all standing near or sitting on the bench, I’ve got my skates off, I’m slipping on my boots, and there are shrieks coming from Cassie’s direction.

“Stay here! Don’t move! No one on the ice until I get back!”

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