Page 1 of On the Edge

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Henri

4:45 a.m.—wake up, drink a glass of water and get dressed

5-5:15—walk to the hockey complex

5:15-5:30—say hello to Coach Mackenzie (if he is there) when you pass his office on the way to the gym

5:30-6:30—workout (Monday- shoulders and back, Tuesday- legs, Wednesday- cardio, Thursday- back and core, Friday- full body)

6:30-6:45—say goodbye to Coach Mackenzie when you pass his office on the way out

6:45-7—eat post-gym snack on the walk home

7-7:30—shower and get ready for class

7-4 p.m.—classes (see separate schedule)

4-7—hockey practice (except for game nights)

7-8—dinner

8-11—homework

11—bedtime/stress release if you need it

Even after nearly fouryears of living here, I still miss the weather in Germany. South Carolina seems reluctant to shift from summer to autumn, no matter that it’s late September. The short walk from my dorm to the hockey facility is nice enough, this early in the morning, but will be twice as unpleasant later, when I come back for practice. I long for slightly cooler temperatures, and the rainy days I love in Germany. Gazing around to make sure I won’t run into anyone, I pull my phone from the pocket of my athletic shorts to text Carter.

Henri

Good luck tonight, my friend.

He won’t be awake just yet, but at least he’ll see it well before his game. I miss Carter rather more than I’d been expecting, and Max’s last year on the team is weighing heavily on me. If I’m already feeling lonely before he’s gone, that doesn’t bode well for next year when I’ll be alone in actuality. Sighing, I pull my shoulders back and bury my worries under a bland expression. The lights are already on, which means Coach Mackenzie is here, and I don’t want him to think something is wrong.

The hallways are silent as I skirt the rink and walk toward the locker rooms. As I expected there would be, light is spilling from the open doorway of Coach’s office. I stepcarefully into view and tap lightly on the doorframe, not wanting to sneak up and startle him.

“Good morning, Coach Mackenzie,” I greet him, smiling. He smiles back, which settles the nerves fluttering in my stomach. I’ve never been comfortable around authority figures, and no matter that I’ve played for him going on four years, he still makes me nervous.

“Good morning, Vas. How are you?” He places his cellphone face down on his desk and narrows his eyes at me. I used to think he was mad when he looked at me like this, but now I suspect he’s got bad eyesight. It’s the same expression my dad uses when he forgets his reading glasses and he has to look at fine print.

“Well, thank you for asking,” I answer, the same way I do every morning. I would never complain to him, even if I wasn’t doing okay. “How are you?”

Coach’s lips twitch like he wants to smile again. He gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “I’m just fine. Have a seat, will you? I need to talk to you, and I knew you’d be here early.”

Nerves dance low in my gut again, as I slide into the chair and rest my hands on my lap. I think about the schedule taped above my desk in my dorm, and barely refrain from checking the time on my phone. I’m going to have to cut my workout short if this conversation takes the full fifteen minutes I allow for greeting Coach Mackenzie each morning.

“How may I help you, Coach?” I ask carefully, making sure my voice doesn’t waver. God, he makes me nervous.

“You’re majoring in broadcasting, right?” He taps a long, thin finger on his desk. There’s a folder lying there, but it’s closed. He has nice hands—I’ve always thought so. Like a concert pianist.

“Yes, sir. Broadcast journalism and media. I would like to be a sportscaster for the NHL.”

“I thought so.” Opening the leather folder, Coach slides out a piece of paper and leans over the desk to hold it out to me. I grab it quickly, before he can strain himself from reaching so far toward me. He points to the sheet as I settle back in my seat. “There is an internship opportunity that will be available next summer with our NHL team. It would be during the off-season, so it would primarily be centering on operations, but also with a focus on media. I thought you might like to apply.”

The nervous butterflies in my stomach burn away as my system flushes with pleasure. I’m a distinctly mediocre hockey player, and yet Coach Mackenzie thought of me for this opportunity. I look at the paper and do my best to read it. I hate reading in English when there is someone waiting on me to finish, but I’ve gotten passably good at it over the years. I’m able to make it through the majority of the words, although there are several that I make note of to look up later. I have no idea whatencompassingmeans.

“This would be a very good opportunity,” I say, when I’ve read as much as I can without a dictionary in front of me.

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