Melting Ice with the Goalie

“Katie, we are here, wake up,” yells my sister, Abby.  She shakes me until I am awake.

“I’m up, I’m up,” I tell Abby, smacking her hand off of my shoulder.  I look around and see we are just pulling into grandma’s driveway.

I get out of the jeep and open up the trunk, grabbing my bags, hockey stick, pucks, and my bag of gear and trudge to the front door. Digging  in the pot of dirt to get the house key, I casually walk into the family room.  The bright and cheery yellow paint stops where the walls end, leaving the stairs and the red walls of the kitchen behind them.  I make my way up the mahogany stairs and my feet land on the white plush carpet.

As I open up the door to my room,  I toss my bags onto my bed.  The windows are hard to open as I struggle with them.  Gently, the salty ocean air begins to blow into my room, making the gold and black threaded curtains to softly drift back and forth.

I walk over to my bags and dump out my things, taking out the posters of Sidney Crosby, Evegini Malkin, and Marc-André Fleury.  I pin up the posters with the blue sticky tack and hang them along the walls.  The big picture of Sidney with the Stanley Cup hangs right above my bed, taking up most of the space.

Abby yells across the hall, “Katie, mom said her and dad should be here soon!  They are just stopping at wal-mart to get some snacks and things for dinner tonight!”

Hopefully they get some goldfish crackers, or I’m going out tomorrow morning before practice. “Okay,” I yell, knowing  she could hear me yelling at her.

I go back and finish putting up my posters of some of my favorite TV shows, and picture of The Penguins. I start going through my clothes, which mostly consist of sweats, jeans, t-shirts and only one black, gold, and silver dress. I toss my long brown and wavy hair up into a ponytail and decide to just put my clothes in the washer and dryer so they don’t have the stink and sweat from being in the car with my gear. I run downstairs and go into the washroom and throw them in . I walk back into the living room, and see an episode of The Penguins: Inside the Locker Room.

They just had a game while we were driving to Grandma’s house.Well, used to-be house. I lose myself watching Fleury talk about when he saved a puck and did pancakes with it. I fall into a deep trance, watching the pixels on the tv.

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I wake up to something tickling my feet and I hear a groan and I look down at my dad, who had been gently tickling my feet. “Dad, you shouldn’t have tickled my feet. You know how strong I can kick,” I say closing my eyes.

“I know, I know my little Steele. I thought if I moved back far enough, you couldn’t reach, but those short little legs go a lot quicker than I expected,” he said truthfully, getting up and going into the kitchen.

I walk right behind him, sniffing for any sign of food being made. “Hey, dinner isn’t going to make itself, Chef dad,” I say, my stomach groaning. “See, my stomach even agrees with me dad,” I say to him.

“Oh, I know. Me and mom decided that it would be nice to go out for dinner, maybe at Bowsers since there is supposed to be a re-run of the Pens game that we missed today,” he says, drinking some Dr.Pepper.

I groan about how good their food is, the delicious wing dust fries, “I’m up for it,” I say.

My dad laughs from deep down in his throat,” Oh I know you are, why don’t you round up your sister and mom and we can get this show on the road.”

I run up the stairs, opening the door of Abby’s room. See, Abby is the exact opposite of me, while I don’t care about what I wear, and the hottest boy seen around town, Abby does. Her room is pink, she won’t touch a dirty sock, and does not do any of her laundry, dad and mom do. Everything in her room is neat and put away, while I am the same way, she has pictures of not the Penguins team, but of people like Justin Bieber and One Direction.

“Abby, grab some shoes and your money, we are going to Bowsers right now, I’m driving,” I say. She looks up at me and quickly gets up, thrashing around her closet, looking for an outfit. She knows when I’m driving, and it’s for food, I won’t wait up for anyone. I pop my head into my mom’s room, and she is already grabbing her wallet.

She smiles at me saying, “Honey, I know. I could hear you from a mile away, let alone down the hall.”

I smile, and she walks out, her wavy blonde hair bouncy slightly, her perfume giving off a good smell. I look down at myself and see my Fleury jersey on, with a pair of light wash ripped jeans. Eh, good enough. Not like I’m going to meet Sidney Crosby. I run down the stairs, meeting up with my dad, sister and mom and I go out to my olive green Jeep, and unlock it for everyone to hope in.

“Eww, Katie you really need to clean this thing out. It reeks of your sweats,” Abby scowls at me.

Me and dad both laugh, “You know I play hockey, I can’t keep the smell out,” I say to her.

“Can’t you at least spray some febreeze in here?”She asks.

“Abby, I will say this again,” I pause after every word, “I-am-a-hockey-player. It happens, we reek, our clothes reek, and our trucks reek. Frankly, I don’t smell it anymore. Dad probably can’t due to his days in the NHL. Mom probably got over it after having been with a hockey player for almost 30 years. You come from a family of hockey players. You should be used to this, by now, sis,” I say to her.

She looks out the window and mumbles, while buckling her seat in.

I pull out of the driveway, and pull in to Bowsers, knowing exactly where to go since I have been here over a hundred times while visiting my grandma and pap pap. We walk out of the car and into the air-conditioned room, walls black and full of Penuins Jerseys, a TV on every corner of the room, hanging of the ceiling, and a couple of arcade games by the entrance. We take a seat at the table, the little cards for advertisement in the glass. I walk up to the bar/counter and ask the man to turn the re-run of the Penguins game on, and he happily obliges. I walk back to the table and look at the drinks. I decide on a coke when the man comes over. I shrug off my jacket and throw it on the chair next to me, since there is another two tables attached to ours. I take my wallet out of my jacket and put it on the table, and start watching the re-run.

A few minutes later, a large group walks in, and mostly consisted of boys, but a few girls hanging of them and flirting without a doubt that they wouldn’t get rejected. A couple boys look around for a table, but can’t find a table to fit enough people until they spot the few tables beside me, that are conveniently empty. They boy with black hair, grazing his foggy blue eyes looks at me, runs a hand through his hair and starts counting how many people he has. I count 17 players, I look at my own table, seeing that there are 17 seats. I look back up at the boy and he shakes his wavy black hair, while a girl comes around to him and clings onto him.

He waves his friends over, and he comes up to my table. I quickly look back up at the screen, watching the game.

“Excuse me, would you mind if we moved in here, next to you.” He says, his deep voice catching me off guard.

I turn my head and nod, “Yea, that’s fine, but don’t be too loud, I’m trying to watching the re-run of the game,” Looking pointedly at the screen showing the hockey teams bashing sticks for the puck.

He chuckles, “Yes ma’am although I can already tell you that they win,” he says, sitting down, putting my jacket on top of my wallet.

“I don’t care, it doesn’t just matter if they win, and it’s being supportive and seeing the game. Seeing if they have any hockey fights, they are against the Flyers, there is bound to be a fight soon,” I say.

I look back at him, and as soon as I say that last word, Kunitz shakes off his gloves, and drop his sticks, looking at Giroux and they start getting in the fighting stance.

My back straightens up and I look desperately at the screen, not wanting to miss a second of the fight. The referres come over, making sure no one will get too hurt. Kunitz wastes no time, giving Giroux a jab at the face, and starts the pounding of a life time. One punch after another, kunitz gives on last punch, knocking Giroux out cold.

I cheer, standing up and doing my hockey dance. My dad called my little dance my hockey dance, because I only do it when I get really excited in hockey, like Crosby scores a goal, or I score a goal. I quickly sit back down, realizing the boy and a couple of his friends are staring at me in disbelief. I take a quick sip of coke, and the waiter arrives with our food. He gives my sister and little box of regular fries, my mom and dad their honey bbq wings, and the man finally comes to me. I put my jacket on the ground, making enough room for my food. He takes my coke, and gives me a new one, and puts down my large wing dusted fries, with cheese and my 20 bbq wings with wings dust. I lick my lips and give my food a voracious look before divulging myself. I load myself up on 10 wings, like usual then switch to my fries, finishing about half of them, then I eat the rest of my wings, and then fries, taking a sip of coke between my switches. I rub my stomach and burb loudly, causing my dad to look up at me.

He looks at me proudly and says, “That’s my girl!” He laughs even louder when he looks behind me.

I turn myself around and notice the boy and all of his friends are looking me at shock, and the girls are scowling at me in disgust.

I laugh and say, “Shut your traps, boys. You’re going to catch flies.” At that my dad laughs even louder.

After my family finishes their food, we leave a couple bucks in tips, and I snatch a fry off of the boy who sat next to me, and he looks at me, snatching it back. I grab another one from his plate.

“I dare to even take one bite of that fry,” He says, smirking.

I stuff the fry into my mouth, and grab a couple more, and then walk out the door. Finally we head home, so I can get my goodnight’s sleep for tomorrow’s practice with my new team.

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I pack my gear into my Penguins© Bag and grab my hockey stick from my closet. I rush downstairs, grabbing the bag of goldfish that my dad laid out on the counter with a note underneath with a pen on top. Love you hun, make those boys catch flies! P.S. Be careful! I laugh at him, he always knows what makes me smiles. I open up the driver’s door and put my stuff in the passenger’s seat, and slam the door. I drive to the rink, the hot air blowking on me as I pull in the parking lot, and it was still slightly dark outside. They have their practices really late, at 6:45. We used to have ours at 5:00 in the morning. Get out of the car and close the door, walking to the other side. I open the passenger seat, stuffing the keys into my bag, and haul the strap onto my shoulder. I grab my hockey skates and stick from the mat, and lock up the jeep, it beeping behind me.

I walk up to the door, and see the coach waiting for me. His dull brown hair was cut short, with an inch to spare. He was dressed in a track suit that said Coach Dan, The Lightning, with a lighting going through the ‘I’. I smile at him and walk up, and he smiles gladly.

“Katie, hello, you’re here early, usually the new recruits arrive later than they usually say they will,” he says shaking my hand.

“Well coach, look like I’m not like everyone else,” I say chuckling at him.

He laughs loudly back at me, surprising me, “Well your right that you’re not like everyone else, it’s not very often that we get a female winger around here.”

He leads me and gives me a tour around the place again, and shows me the bathroom.

He looks at me apologetically, “And I am sorry again that we don’t have a lady’s locker room. You are welcome to come to the boy’s locker room, but I want to surprise them with you. They don’t know that you were recruited, and I would like to surprise ‘em. Could you keep your helmet on when you come to the ice, and try not to say anything to girly. I want you to show your skills, get them rowled up, angry, and when you think the right time is, take your helmet off and maybe tell them something to make them think about their own actions. I am telling you right now, though, they usually bring a couple of their girlfriends or whoever those girls are that hang around them, and they just sit up there in the bleachers.” He says.

“Haha, got it coach,” I say to him, smiling.

“Oh, here is your practice jersey, and here is your uniform,” he says, handing me two jerseys.

I put our game uniform in my bag and the coach walks out. I strip myself of the sweats I had on, and start putting on my gear, and then put my jersey overtop, and I stuff my feet into my skates, and wiggle my helmet on, and grab a Penguins© Puck and my hockey stick and walk out. I start skating on the ice, running up and down, feeling in my zone, like this was what I was meant to do. I start shooting the puck into the goals, doing different styles, and trying some tricks.

         The other players start pouring onto the ice, one by one, laughing and joking, throwing insults at each other jokingly. Once all the players are on the ice, coach starts us off with some basic and easy practices. We start with practice shootouts, and the goalie keep getting pummeled. The line forms, and I’m at the back, surprised that no one has noticed me yet. When the person in front me goes, I start getting a grip on my stick, and a puck is flown at me. All of the sudden, the rink goes, quiet, and I see all heads are turned to me.

         “Hey, who are you?” Asks the goalie.

         I chuckle under my breath. My time to shine. I make my voice sound like one of their voices, so they won’t think I’m a girl. Wait, I’ve heard the voice before. I shake the thought out of my head.

         Once again, I grumble in my throat. “Im the new kid,” I say, and I start coming at the goalie with speed. I guide my stick to the left, like I’m about to shoot, but at the last second I fake him out, and swipe the stick right around him, landing a goal. I skate around the goal, knocking the puck out and giving it a hard slap right to one of the boys.

         Coach Dan comes out onto the ice.

         “Boys, I see you met the new recruit,” Coach Dan says.

         We do some more shootouts, and then Coach Calls me.

         “Steele, give Ross another shootout, but do that trick you were doing earlier,” Coach Dan says.

         I skate up to Coach. “Coach, I haven’t done that trick ever before, only with my old team, and even then I failed most of the time.”I say.

         “Well I guess we can find out if you can do it now. Go, do it. Ross! Steele is shooting at you, you better protect that goal, like you life depends on it!” He yells.

         I drop my silver and gold puck, and start going at ross, switching sides, and at the last second, I tap the puck up into air, and when I almost pass the goal, with it to my left, I smack the puck right into the top right corner of the goal. I skate right back to the goalie.

         “Coach, I can’t do this. Who is this guy? I kind of want to punch him, he’s just showing off.”

         Okay, he is going to shove that sentence right back into his mouth. I drop my hockey stick right in front of him, throwing it at his feet. I start unclipping my helmet and I finally take it off, allowing my ponytail to fall out, my long hair trailing down my side.

         “You want to punch me now?” I ask the goal, his face under the mask shocked.

         “Boys,” Coach yells, “Meet our new recruit, Katie Steele.”

All of the boys look at me for a couple of minutes until I just drop my helmet, pick up my stick and started juggling the puck on it, and skate around the rink. “So coach, what are we doing now?”

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         After practice, I haul my bag into my jeep, and I see the crowd of boys around their own jeeps, being loud and rowdy. I finally see them just staring at me, and I recognize one of the boys from Bowsers as he was coming over to me. His hand combed through his black hair, and foggy blue eyes.

         “Hey, so you must have recognized me, from the other night. Or maybe you thought a girl couldn’t play hockey,” I say to him, grabbing a puck that dropped from my bag off the floor.

“Yea, about that sorry, I know you can play well, since you basically pancaked that goal into my goal there. I thought I was almost going to die of embarrassment, the new guy, or girl now,”he added chuckling, “scored in my own goal on my own turf.”

         “Well it’s not your turf now, it’s ours,” I say tossing the puck back into my bag. “What’s your name, foggy?”

         “Did you just call me foggy?”He asks.

         “Yea, I wouldn’t have to if you just told me your name,” I say to him.

         “Why did you call me foggy, though?” He asks.

         My cheeks burn from embarrassment, “Because your eyes look like fog.”

         He chuckles from deep down in his throat. He takes a step forward, then another.

         “Would you mind telling me exactly what makes them look like fog?” He asks, staring down into my eyes.

         “Well, they look like a very bright blue, but added with white. Like snow, but with a shade of blue.” I say honestly His own cheeks burning from me telling the truth.

He quickly turns, his dark black hair scraping the nape of his neck, “Caiden,” He says.

         “What?” I ask.

         He turns around, still walking, but just backwards now, “The name,” he says, “It’s Caiden.”

         I smile and start up my jeep honking at the boys.

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Over the next few days, we have had practice, and I have gotten to know the boys better and better. They all accepted me now, and I was grateful for that. But now, today, we have our first scrimmage, and Coach Dan wants me to play for the first time since I moved here.

I start changing into my gear, and I slip on my hockey skates, tying them tightly. We get out to the rink and we skate around, and the game starts, and I hit the puck before it even touches the ground. I skate towards the opposing team’s goal, using my footwork technique that Dan taught me, and I fly past them, fake out the goalie and smack the puck into the goal. The goalie is dumbfounded, that I score within 30 seconds of the game. This goes on, but I eventually started to get exhausted and I get pulled out of the game to rest myself. I started massaging my legs, trying to get through the padding and stop the pain that keeps pinching its way through my ankle. The team starts to catch up with us, and now we are tied 4-4. The last 5 minutes Coach puts me back in the game, and my eyes immediately tear up from the pain protruding my left ankle.

This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m the best hockey player on this ice, right now. I can’t get hurt, it would risk my entire career of hockey.

I ignore the pain and focus on the puck, not allowing the tears dripping down my face to affect my sight. The puck goes down, and surprisingly the puck gets my stick, and they head to the goal, with niklo, taking up the goal. Caiden is on the bench, sitting out for the game. Niklo skates up to 71, and tries to push the puck my way. Niklo made a mistake and turned out of the blue ice, and I take up the goal, protecting it with my body like a momma bear would do with a child.

The puck starts flying to the left bottom corner, and I throw my head to it, and it is blocked, and my face gets the worst of it. I feel my nose cracking, warm blood gushing out of my face. I taste the blood in my mouth, the iron taste staying in my mouth, making my face go sour. 71 constantly pounds the puck into my nose and mouth, and I feel like my face Is getting crushed, all the bones in it cracking over and over. I can’t see anything out of my blood soaked visor on my helmet, but the pounding stops and I assume the referee came stop 71.

I feel people rushing over to me, and my helmet is eased of my head gently. There is warm blood in my eyes, and the paramedic gently wipes it quickly with a warm damp towel. I see Caiden jumping over the fence, and the rest of my team follows.

Caiden skates over like a mad man and smacks Niklo hard on the helmet, telling him off for leaving the goal for me to take.

         Then my eyes slowly close, and I notice how exhausted I am.

         Caiden rushes over and gently kisses me on the cheek,” I’m sorry.”

         Then I see black.