Galen

The five of us piled into the 4x4 double cab, with Jax driving, Hunter riding shotgun and me, Denny and Kame in the back seat.

It wasn't a long drive, and I spent most of it pinching Denny to sit still. He insisted on sitting in the middle because, he said, he needed to have a centred view of the road. Hell knows what that was supposed to mean, but the plonker couldn't sit still for five seconds. The cab is pretty big and roomy, but it doesn't feel like it when you have a brawny guy next to you bouncing up and down and scooting around like a feckin' toddler.

At some point, I told him he was going to be sitting on his arse in the centre of the actual road if he didn't wind his neck in. He just gave me a look and said something about not touching his winch handle in public anymore because he was told that it was rude.

I was glad when the drive was over, and Jax steered the truck through Snowglen to reach Crystalcrest Ice Hockey Academy. Yes, despite its name, it's located in Snowglen. I guess Crystalcrest sounded more prestigious than Snowglen, and prestigious is definitely what the academy is aiming for.

I gape at the buildings scattered over the white-blanketed campus, lazily glittering in the dying sunlight. The entire town of Snowglen seems to be steeped in prosperity, the type of place where rich people own holiday homes for skiing holidays. They all seem to be competing to build the fanciest temples to their hubris, trying to outdo the neighbours.

I've read up about the area and know that a lumber tycoon founded the town a couple of 100 years ago and that the mill is still active, providing jobs to people from the bordering towns. Most of the pine-covered hills are actively grown by the Snowglen Lumber Corporation.

The skiing happens somewhere between Crystalcrest and Shivermore, though. There will probably be more ski lodges over there. I would love to try skiing once or snowboarding.

The powerful reputation of the Snowglen Lumber Corporation might be another reason why the academy is called Crystalcrest rather than Snowglen. The two giants that provide jobs and stature to the district probably don't want to be shadowed by each other. They both need to shine. At least, that's the impression I got when we drove past the startlingly beautiful corporation building.

The academy might be winning, though. Each of the four campus buildings was built for beauty rather than just functionality, and I like that I'll be spending a lot of my time here. Everything looks magical when lit by strings of fairy lights blinking among ice crystals.

"We're in feckin' Switzerland," I observe, awed by all the beauty around me. I've always wanted to visit Switzerland, now I can just pretend that I'm there. To be fair, I'm only seeing the same pretty architecture here, not the majestic Alps or green pastures and lakes. There might be green hills under the snow, but the only mountain in the area is the one embracing Crystalcrest, and, though impressive, it is not even quite the Alps' babby brother.

Still, Snowglen has a certain charm to it and what I've seen of Crystalcrest, though a lot less opulent, tugged at my heart with a familiarity only the place you call home is able to. It makes no sense to me since I've never been here before. The place just gels with me in a way that I cannot quite explain.

No, it's not because I live in a house with a cheeky green bunny with bright eyes.

Looking at the large timber building housing the academy's students, I get why I could never afford to live here. The place looks like a fancy hotel. It's beautiful and luxurious, but it oddly leaves me cold. I like Hank's house with the scuffed floors and lived-in feeling a lot more than the neat, modern foyer, where we leave our jackets on hangers. The guys and I take off our snow boots, leave them on a shelf, and slip on the sneakers we brought with us. Hunter doesn't take her boots off; she just wipes off any traces of snow, using a rag left at the door for that purpose.

"You're going to do great, Gan," Hunter says, suddenly grabbing my arm and hugging it as if she somehow sensed the dread building in the depths of my stomach. The gesture somehow eases my breathing despite the shudder of excitement it causes to rush through my body.

I don't generally do well with strangers. Moving into the boarding house has been surprisingly easy so far, but it's only because everyone is trying their best to make me feel like one of them and not the alien that I am.

We walk across a plush carpeted hallway decorated with the kind of trophy cases and framed jerseys one might expect in a place that houses future pro hockey stars. Music and voices are streaming from open double doors to our left, and I stiffen involuntarily when we walk through them into a large reception hall, where the party is going full steam.

It's also possible that this is the hostel's dining room, as there are many tables crowding one of the corners, sent there to clear a mingling space for the guests. People are congregating around long tables covered in platters of finger food and coolboxes with bottles of beer, juice and soft drinks.

Looking at all the strangers turning their heads to check out the newcomers, I remember how much I hate things like this. If Tan were here, we would be grabbing beers and taking off to some secluded area to chill in by now... unless I let some girl drag me away with her.

This is not good.

I don't want to drink any alcohol because I need to be at my best tomorrow, but I'm not sure that juice or soda will be enough to soothe the social discomfort strangling me. There are a handful of girls here, but the only girl I want to be dragged away by is the one holding onto my arm, gently giving me courage as she manoeuvres me into the depths of the large room.

She's draggin' me in the wrong direction... away is back to the truck.

The hall is crowded by mostly young men between the ages of 16 and 25, with a few older ones - probably mostly farm personnel - in between. The usual groupies are among the girls who showed up for the event, eagerly lapping up the testosterone saturating the place.

Swallowing nervously, I try to tap into the music playing behind the din of voices. Music and the ice have always been my two safe places when I had to leave my bedroom. If I cannot have one, I need the other. I don't recognise the song, but the soothing rhythm helps me relax a little bit, even though I really want to take the lead singer's advice and run.

https://youtu.be/2irrSu6KJ44

"Do you know this song?" I ask Hunter, and she looks up at me, a little confused by my question. I get that she would've expected a more relevant question, such as, who are all these friggin' people, but it is what it is.

"Yes, it's Madrugada. This one is called Vocal. Do you like it?"

"Yes," I answer right away, and I'm not sure whether it is the rich voice of the singer or the mellow guitars that is tripping up my heart and causing my blood to flow again or if it is the sweet smile of the girl still holding onto my arm as if she's afraid that I might run off. Maybe she also thinks I might take the lyrics too literally. "You'd better run, you'd better run, you'd better not wait too long..."

"Gan, come meet the team," Jax says, and suddenly, I'm pulled away from Hunter. I want to object, but that would be weird, so I just toss her a smile and a shrug over my shoulder, wondering about the forlorn expression on her face.

My head is spinning while Jax and Denny introduce me to a blur of faces and names. All I hear is, "This is Brad; he is really good at defence. This is Radinu; he is equally good at centre and forward. This is Paul..." I don't know what Paul is good at, and the list of names and faces goes on and on while I try to focus as I shake hands and slap backs. I'm sure Brad, Rad, Paul and the others will be important to me in the future, but right now, I'm having an introduction overload, and for the first time, I'm actually dying for a cigarette.

Maybe livin' here is not goin' to help me quit after all; it might make me smoke more.

I smile, nod, and even answer questions, but hell knows what I'm saying. I'm actually starting to feel fierce sleepy again. I guess the jetlag has not quite worn off yet, and the discomfort I'm feeling, surrounded by strangers, is not helping.

"Oh, I would introduce you to this guy since he's our best defence, but, nah, not worth it," Jax says when we're face to face with a boyish-looking guy who was smiling friendly enough until Jax spoke.

"Come on, Jax," he grumbles. "It's been three months; when are we going to get past it?"

"As soon as you apologize."

"I'm sorry! I really am!" the guy exclaims, and I believe him. He really does look sorry about whatever he needs to look sorry about. I'm feeling sorry too; mostly that I have to be here to witness this weird conversation.

"Not to me, moron!" Jax growls. "To Hunter."

My ears perk up hearing that name, and now I'm really happy that the guy looks rightfully sorry. It saves me from making him look sorry. Just what did he do to her, though?

"I have apologized to her about a million times," the new commer sighs, rubbing a frustrated hand over his slightly curly dark hair.

"Yeah, well, you keep on apologizing for the wrong things," Jax insists, crossing his arms.

"Just tell me what the right things are, then! Come on, we gutter rats need to stand together, or we'll get eaten alive by the elites," the guy groans, and then he turns to me, holding out his hand a little listlessly. "Hi, I'm Xavier Whitlock, son of Satan, apparently. Welcome to hell."

I cannot help it; I know we're all supposed to be mad at the bloke about something he did or didn't do to Hunter, but those words said in that defeated, toneless voice have me chuckling. Besides, looking into his grey eyes, he is all too familiar. This buff guy with the youthful face and slightly defiant attitude could be Tanner; he could also be me. I recognise the same messed-up, self-loathing confusion oozing from him. It is detectable only by those who share it.

I would be a hypocrite to shun him.

Aren't these people constantly preaching about second chances? Why are they so hard on him? What exactly did he do? The guy's repentance seems sincere from where I'm standing, shaking his hand. How the hell are we supposed to train together if there's bad blood between members?

I agree, though; this guy shouldn't have been allowed anywhere near Hunter.

"Howya, Xavier. I'm Galen McKenna," I say, giving Jax a guilty head bob and a shrug when he snorts loudly, aiming a disapproving look at me. "What? I'll beat the crap out of him later, all right?"

"Cool," Jax says, laughing when Xavier protests miserably.

"Fuuuuuck," Xavier sighs, giving Kame, quietly glaring at him from my other side, a freaked-out look. "I'll try apologizing again, but all this apologizing just makes it worse. She hates me more each time, not less."

"Try not to flirt when you do it; that might help," Paul says, or it could be Brad; it could also be someone completely different. There are many guys here with hockey hair and stubble. I'll start sorting through the people spaghetti tomorrow. I'm too damn tired tonight.

How long do we have to stay here?

Denny is already lounging on a chair in the corner with a girl installed in his lap. One of them is apparently having breathing difficulties and needs some serious mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The guy started introducing me to people, and then he got sidetracked – probably by the girl – and disappeared. I wonder where Hunter went and if she'll be upset when she sees it. He is not being subtle at all.

Didn't Jax say we had her back? Why did we just leave her behind? I don't like that. I hope she's okay.

I honestly don't know how I'm supposed to act here. I'll stick with Jax and Kame, but Kame doesn't speak and Jax keeps on loading more people into my already overly full database. Where the hell are the exits?!

"Can I have all the new recruits on the stage, please?" I hear a voice coming over the sound system. It belongs to an older man and carries enough authority for the chatter to drop in volume.

There's a stage? Shite, what now? Can this evenin' get any worse?

"Well, go on, New Recruit," Jax laughs, slapping me on the back hard enough to launch me to the stage if I knew where the bleeding thing was. The nice mellow music is gone now, and I'm too aware of eyes on me while Jax herds me through the crowd.

I don't like all this attention, and I'm still trying to figure out exactly what Xavier meant with gutter rats. Did he mean guys on bursaries, living in the cheaper boarding houses? I heard that Hank's is not the only boarding house giving scholarship boys a place to live. There's one in Snowglen as well. Why would the elite living in the fancy hostel eat us alive?

When we finally reach a spot on the other side of the crowd, surrounding a pool of light, I'm relieved to see that these people are doing 'stage' wrong. It's nothing more than a low wooden dais for musicians to set up when a function calls for live bands. There are two boys already there when I reach it, and when I take my place next to them, another guy comes stumbling through a door to my left, jumps onto the dais and skids across the wood to crash into me.

"Sorry," he grunts, pulling a face. Looking at his dishevelled appearance, I feel a wee bit better, knowing I'm not the only one not prepared for whatever this is.

"I uhm... was sleeping," he explains, and then I realise that the guy is wearing striped pyjama pants, thick woollen Lion King socks, and a big hoodie covered in red and black racing cars. He has a startlingly cherubic face, his hair is a mess of unruly brown curls, and his eyes seem a bit unfocused. He looks like a big, sleepy elf, not a hockey player.

"Ye just arrived in town?" I ask, feeling empathy for his travel exhaustion. I think I looked just like this last night... just with much shorter hair.

"Yes, a couple of f'gin' hours ago," he says, stifling a yawn. "I had to wait out the f'gin' storm in Glisspass. They forgot to tell me about this f'gin' party. I'm going back to bed straight after the f'gin' introduction, or whatever it is we're doing now."

"Ye live in this hostel?"

"Yes," he grins, brushing his fingers through his hair, trying to untangle it a wee bit. "Lucky. Imagine if I had to run all the way through the f'gin' snow from another place."

The man who'd spoken on the microphone, summoning us to the dais, is standing in front of us now. I've seen him before; he is one of the Farm's chief coaches. Harvey Manson is a stout-built, grey man past retirement age. He is well-known in the ice hockey world as one of the best coaches in existence.

I could only dream of him having anything to do with my training. I feel rattled and in awe just being in the same room as the man. When he showed up at the ice rink in Thunder Ridge with Chief Job and one of the other all-star coaches, I nearly died of shock. I still cannot believe I made the cut that day. I was so bleedin' nervous I said some bizarre cocky shite to them.

I wish I could remember what it was.

"I don't want to drag tonight's event out more than we have to since tomorrow is Monday. We would've held the welcoming party yesterday if we didn't have the blizzard instead," Coach Manson says, making it sound as if there was a vote and a unanimous decision was reached to have the blizzard instead.

I think I would've picked the blizzard too.

"Still, we would like to welcome our new boys who worked hard for this opportunity," he continues, turning to face us, his flinty eyes resting on each of our faces in turn. I can see his lips twitch as he runs his eyes over my face, and now I really need to remember what I said to the man.

"So, I hereby welcome you boys here at the Farm. I congratulate all four of you on passing the stringent tests you were put through and proving yourselves capable of making Crystalcrest Academy proud. What happens to you from here on out will depend on your gumption and ability to work hard and dedicate yourselves. With heart and perseverance, there is nothing that you will not be able to overcome. I'm looking forward to seeing what you've got."

His eyes are once again boring into mine when he says his last sentence, and I suppress the urge to squirm by giving him my brightest smile. I'm biting my tongue not to say anything stupid again to cover how nervous I am.

While the people gathered in the room clap their hands, whoop and call out words of welcome, I wonder whether I should feel excited about the coach's words or humbled and threatened by them. They seemed vaguely ominous. What the hell was that look about?!

"Now, I'll hand the mic over to our new recruits to introduce themselves briefly, and then I'll leave you all to mingle and get to know them. Lights out at 23:00."

No! I don't want to introduce myself!

"Hi, everyone! I am Miles Everton." The first guy in the row, sporting a rather impressive shaggy brown and blond mullet, clearly doesn't share my lack of enthusiasm; he is downright eager to take the mic and talk. I'm surprised when he launches into a long list of championship leagues the various prestigious clubs he'd played for had won, as well as the medals and the acclaim he'd gathered.

Now, I really feel like a gutter rat. Perhaps this was what Xavier was referring to: guys with past achievements and guys without. I fall very deeply into the without category.

Getting in here was my one and only achievement ever.

Will it count if I stated that I once threw a hockey stick clear across the barn to hit an opponent who'd checked me hard and skated away and caused the guy to fall and bust his lip? 'Remote beat down' is what my crowd of admirers - Dex, Ronan, Kyle and Tan - called it. They were seriously impressed with my accuracy and the distance the stick flew. They especially liked the sound effects... mostly my swearing.

Nope, probably won't count.

I could mention that Joe, one of my buddies, designed me a 'No. 1 Ice Hockey Arsehole' badge for my birthday. That was pretty prestigious. It's framed and hanging on my bedroom wall, my biggest ice hockey award to date. I'm planning on having it shipped here with a few other things once it looks like I'm not getting kicked out soon.

"Hi," says the next guy in line after the rather lacklustre applause that followed Miles' speech. It's possible that most people fell asleep because he was fairly long-winded. "I'm Zane Matthews."

Unfortunately, Zane decided that he would not be left behind despite the lack of enthusiasm that met Miles' long list of achievements. My feet are starting to fall asleep, and the bright light they have on us is blinding me. I cannot pick out the faces in the crowd, which is grand because I won't have to see my future teammates witnessing me making an ass of myself.

"F'gh," Pyjama Dude mutters while Zane tells us how wonderful he is. My stomach is broiling with tension, thinking about how not wonderful I am. At least Zane is being less self-applauding. He sticks to bullet points of highlights and achievements. Unfortunately, there are many.

"I didn't know we had to recite our whole f'gin' CV tonight," the guy on my other side whispers. "I need to pee... do you think they'll notice if I run off for a bit?"

I'm going red in the face trying to suppress my laughter, and I am a bit breathless when the mic is suddenly thrust into my hand while the crowd goes wild, glad Zane's speech is over. I can hear lots of grumbling in the masses now. They want to party before lights out, not stand here all night listening to people boast about how good they are. They're not saying it in so many words, but I get it.

"Howya," I say into the mic, startled when a group of girls chorus loudly: "Howya, Galen!" somewhere to my right, hidden in the shadows. I recognize Hunter's laughter in the mix, and it warms my heart but also makes me want to puke in the nearest potted plant because she is about to be severely disappointed. Oh, well, I'm a McKenna, I've learned some tricks from my brother, the debate master.

Just grin and fake it!

"I'm Galen McKenna from Briar Cove. It's a place most of ye've probably never heard of, and that's just fine because I'm here in Thermbarrow now." I'm startled when loud cheers greet my words, and I smile, recognising the voices of my new brothers, giving me courage.

"I'm leavin' the past behind me as I look to the future. I'm fierce grateful for this opportunity and lookin' forward to trainin' with all of ye and learnin' everythin' that I can stuff into me noodle."

"Pervert!" Denny shouts.

"It's goin' to be deadly!" I finish, ignoring the interruption and the laughter.

When the end of my speech is met by confused silence, I hurry to add: "Not the murderin' kind... just the... good kind... that's... uhm... good... Oh, bollox!"

There's a reason why Dex is the one who likes takin' part in debates.

"Don't go putting deadly stuff in the noodles, you savage!" Jax adds, and then loud applause, whoops, cheers, and laughter celebrate the fact that my speech was short.

I'm about to hand the microphone to Pyjama Dude when someone close enough to the dais to be clearly visible speaks up loudly, making use of a lull in the noise. His superior tone tells me he is trouble, and when I look at him, I know, at first sight, that we're bound to hop on at some point or another.

The guy's dirty-blond hair glimmers like gold in the harsh light focused on the dais. He is tall and strong-looking, carrying his head in the self-assured way only a real arsehole can pull off. He is grinning at me, but there is nothing friendly about his arrogant smile. I've met many self-important, entitled guys like him in my life, and it never ended well.

Grand, just what I need.

"Are you sure you have nothing to add?" he asks, smirking. He probably knows that I don't have squat to add since I've never had formal training nor played for a prestigious club.

Hell, I've even done some pretty questionable things just to get enough money together to buy new skates when my last pair gave up completely and wasn't mendable anymore. Until recently, my mam wasn't supportive of me playing ice hockey; I had to make do... so I did. I wonder what he knows about me, to give me that knowing look.

"Well, I really wanted to sing, but I forgot me guitar," I tell him with a cocky smirk of my own, watching him blink. He is not worth my time, and I make it clear by breaking eye contact and turning to hand the mic to the laughing Sleeping Beauty beside me. I'm grateful when he takes it and launches into his speech without even so much as a glance at Mr. Superstar over there.

"Hey!" he says. "I'm Michael Wallace... call me Mick... I'll meet you all tomorrow, and I swear it will be f'gin' great. Thanks to the directors and coaches for giving me this f'gin' awesome chance. I agree with my new mate, Galen, here. F'gh the past, the future is where it's at! I'm f'gin' tired, and if you don't mind, I'll be going back to my f'gin' bed now."

I've never heard a person use the F-word or a weird-ass version of it in so many roles in one go before, especially not when addressing a crowd. I'm laughing by the time he ends his speech, unceremoniously hands me the mic, takes a deep bow under loud applause and runs out the same door he'd crashed through earlier.

Wait! Mick Wallace!?

Now, him, I've heard off. I didn't recognise him without his hockey uniform bearing his number; he looks a lot different, half asleep, wearing pyjamas. The guy is already a legend and hasn't even started his career as a pro hockey player yet. We would've been here all night if he started listing his achievements.

Shite, how the hell am I going to make it here as the only new recruit with no past to boost me up?

I'm grateful when Coach Manson ends the painful ceremony by shaking our hands and giving each of us some words of encouragement.

"The first obstacle you need to conquer is the one in your head, Galen," he tells me as if he read my mind and knows how out of place I feel.

"To be sure, to be sure," I agree, though I have no idea how I'm supposed to do that. I watch him say goodnight to the crowd and leave the dais to head for the same door Mick just ran through.

It takes me a while to realise that the lights are no longer shining on the dais, and I'm left alone in the shadows where I belong.

~~~