Page 8 of Puck You
I resisted the urge to bang my head against her desk.“That’s total bull and you know it!”
When we were on the ice and running drills, Coach Riley was a terrifying force to be reckoned with.But right now, there was not a single hint of that woman in the eyes staring back at me.If this was what giving up looked like, I didn’t want it.
“I wish things were different, I really do, but this is the reality of women’s athletics,” she said.“We’re overlooked, and our success is underappreciated.”
I’d heard it all by now: the men brought in more money, their games were better attended, people actually wanted to watch them.It didn’t matter that the women’s team had a better record or that we’d won more national titles.It didn’t matter that we had just as much of a chance at going pro now that the new women’s professional league was pulling in record attendance numbers.
“What if we put on a gala like the men’s hockey team does?”I’d only heard about the party after practice yesterday, when Pearson had mentioned she would be attending with her boyfriend.Apparently, the fundraiser brought in thousands for the men’sprogram every year.As if they even needed the money.
“That event is completely funded by alumni.If you can find a free venue, free catering, and volunteers to run the event, I’m happy to approve it.But we don’t have the money to host something like that.”
None of this was fair.Outside of throwing my head back and screaming like a toddler, I didn’t know how to react.What would it take to prove we deserved as much support as the male athletes at this school?At the very least, we deserved a facility with good temperature control and safe equipment.And one less likely to behaunted.
Lydia’s voice rang through my head, reminding me that it wasn’t Coach who deserved my anger.Ignoring every muscle in my body screaming to fight, I shoved down my growing frustration and exited her office.A few girls on the team had remained behind, eager to hear the outcome of our discussion.They watched me stomp back into the locker room with wary expressions.
“I take it the talk didn’t go well,” said Lydia.
“Apparently both the dean and theathletic directorthink this facility is up to standards.”I couldn’t help the sarcasm drenching my every word.
“They’re men.”
“I told you.”
Big D andCarolinespoke at the same time, the latter reminding me that she’d been right.But there was nothing smug in her tone.If anything, she sounded bitter.
What an utter load of crap.If the administration at this school didn’t want to listen to Coach, to me, and to all the women who came before us,I was going to turn up the volume so loud that it blew out their eardrums.
Chapter 3
Sebastian
“This isourgame.We’re skating circles around them out there.Do not let up.Do not get comfortable.I want everyone to know the Ravens mean business this year, all right?”
My voice was a steady boom that echoed across the locker room, one answered by a chorus of roars.Tonight might have only been an exhibition game, but it was also our chance to set the tone for the entire season.So far, we’d done that by shoving the puck right down the throats of our competition, and I’d spent every moment on the rink proving that I belonged there without a shadow of a doubt.I was flying higher than I had in a long time.In fact, I hadn’t felt this good since I’d taken the ice the night we won the national championship.
The final period began with Providence trailing by three, scrambling to keep us in the neutral zone.The moment my skates touched the ice, the world righted itself.Bishop gained possession after the face-off, dumping the puck just moments after Kent shouted, “One hard!”in warning.All three of us chased after it, hurtling over the blue line and into the neutral zone.Bishop regained possession after the puck cycled the boards and quickly flung it to Kent, who had nothing but wide-open ice.His shot banked right, just missing the edge of the goalie’s stick and whipping into the net.The horn blared for a fifth time, announcing our now four-goal lead over Providence.
I looked out across the ice, blood thrumming in my veins and heart thrashing against my ribs like a mallet to a drum.We flocked to the bench for a line shift, keeping our excitement atbay.It wasn’t the norm to overtly celebrate during a game.Youth hockey had trained us to leave our emotions, even the good ones, off the rink.I grabbed my water and settled on the bench between Kent and Bishop, both stoic behind their cages.
“We’re a different team with you out there, Sebastian.I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s a sort of energy you bring to the ice that’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced,” said Kent.
Bishop grunted from beside me in agreement as Bryce and RT plopped onto the bench, the metal groaning beneath their weight.Bryce grabbed a towel and wiped it across the sweat gathered at the back of his neck.
“They’re right,” he said through panted breaths.“You’re the key to his team.It’s time everyone remembered that.”
Music to my ears.
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The first game of the season was always celebrated—win or lose—at the shared hockey house at the end of Sampson Street, which was perched on an overgrown corner lot scattered with rusty lawn chairs.The three-story Victorian was probably glorious in its heyday, but after years of wild parties and neglect at the hands of rowdy hockey players, the place had fallen into disrepair.The famous property was owned by an alumnus who had lived in the house during his own hockey days.He’d imparted a list of rules that governed who could live there, ensuring that upperclassmen players got first choice in order of starting line.Currently, the five-bedroom house was inhabited by myself and four other seniors on the team.
Initially, I’d been ecstatic to move in.It was a rite of passagefor the best hockey athletes at Dallard.As the youngest captain in history, I was able to move in my sophomore year.At the time, I hadn’t considered the woes of living in a house packed with strangers every other weekend—strangers who left a mess of beer and puke behind when they finally departed at two in the morning.During my first two years on the team, I’d let myself fall into the habit of partying more than was good for me.But after the injury, I vowed to stay away from alcohol for the sake of my future endeavors.
Tonight’s party was in full swing by ten-thirty, the place packed tight enough that it was nearly impossible to move from room to room without brushing against the sweaty arm of a stranger.Landon had assumed the role of DJ, which meant the music was loud enough to shake the house every time the beat dropped, and the beat droppeda lot.He was going through an EDM phase that made me regret our shared bedroom wall.Despite the fact that I was sober, my head was pounding.My only solace was the knowledge that eventually the party would move to the bars just a block away in downtown Trimont.The small town didn’t have a plethora of establishments to choose from, but locals treated us hockey players like kings, giving out free drinks like candy at a parade.
Once the place finally cleared out, I’d be in bed watching a movie on my projector, but until then, I was happy to observe the flow of people coming in and out of the house from my balcony.As an introvert, I preferred watching others mingle over partaking in the festivities.People always revealed interesting things about themselves once they’d had a few too many.From the safety of my perch, I could learn a lot about a person by studying their interactions, all while avoiding the uncomfortablesensation of being trapped in a crowd.
The autumn air was crisp tonight, but that hadn’t stopped the party from spilling out onto the front yard.A cold breeze rushed over me as three girls approached the house, the sound of their laughter carried up by the wind.The light on the front porch was just bright enough for me to make out the familiar form of Caroline Hart.The captain of the women’s hockey team was easy to spot, her bright blond hair a dead giveaway.That meant one of the others had to be Lydia West.The two of them were almost always together.
