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Excuse the mistakes

Dedicated to imallergicetoidiots, because inadvertantly, she inspired this story. Go check out her stuff!

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Two minutes.

There were two minutes left in the last hockey game I would play with my teammates of the past four years. Two minutes left in a game, which was tied at zero, that I really wanted to win. Two minutes left in a game, and I stuck sitting in my home away from home; the penalty box.

The other girl had it coming, though. The referee had clearly blown his whistle, yet she kept digging at my goalie and best friend Kelly, whose glove contained the puck after a dynamite save. I couldn’t let that go down, and when I’d stepped between the girl and Kelly, she’d shoved me. I was not someone who would just let that go.

It was an incredibly bad habit, but as my mom would say, I got my stubbornness and aggression from my dad. He played division one hockey and led Boston University in penalty minutes. My older brother, Nick, was the same way at Cornell.

“Skate, Brianna, skate!” I screamed, banging my gloved fist against the boards as one of my teammates got a hold of the puck and took off down the ice. I glanced up at the scoreboard as Brianna was stripped of the puck, and I bit my lip. I had thirty seconds left in my penalty, and I was itching to get back onto the ice.

My team needed this win. Mostly, it was because we were playing the Razorsharks, a girls’ travel team from Rashido, which was a town about twenty minutes north of where I lived. The rivalry between my team, the Cyclones, and the Razorsharks was pretty much like Toronto versus Montreal; we hated each other. This win was something we needed to shut the Razorsharks’ trash-talking mouths.

Plus, tonight was my last game. Tomorrow, I was moving to Clarkson, New York, which was about five hours away from my current home in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I didn’t really have a choice, since my dad’s job was moving him up to New York.

I was partly excited, since I was closer to Canada and the Toronto Maple Leafs, and Clarkson was only fifteen minutes away from Ithaca. That meant I could see a lot more of Nick, who was only two years older than me in his freshman year at Cornell.

However, I was also really mad since the season had just started, and I’d been playing with the same girls for the four seasons that I’d played girls’ travel hockey. Up until I was twelve, I’d just played on various boys teams. These girls were like my unofficial family.

“Three… two… one.”

As my penalty disappeared from the scoreboard, I hopped over the penalty box door and as soon as my skates touched the well-worn ice, I took off into my team’s zone. “Taylor!” I called, coming up next to my teammate as she guarded in the area in front of the net, “Go back to offense.”

Taylor nodded, and without a word, she went back to her left wing position, and I returned to left defense. There was less than a minute on the clock now, and we needed a goal. I watched the play in the corner, as I kept an eye on the Razorshark hovering in the slot.

Suddenly, the puck was coughed up, and it shot around the back of the net. I took off after it, and I angled the Razorshark wing out of the way to get my stick on the puck. Then, I brought it up the boards until the puck was out of our zone and on the way to the Razorshark net. I could vaguely hear my teammates cheering me on as I passed them, but I was too focused to understand what their words were.

As I pushed into the Razorshark zone, their defensemen materialized in front of me. I had less than twenty seconds and no clear shot at the net. Without hesitation, I went wide around the defensemen and curled around the net, where I was thankful to find Taylor ready for a pass a few feet in front of the net.

The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion.

I passed up to Taylor, and one of the Razorshark defensemen slammed me into the boards. As I fell to my butt, my head snapped up, and I watched as Taylor took a wrist shot. It snuck into the top right shelf of the net, and a moment later, the buzzer went off, signaling the end of the game.

We won.

I scrambled to my feet as my team poured off of the bench, and we all piled on top of Taylor, who was laughing as we cheered. The Razorsharks shot us all glares as they skated towards center ice for handshakes, and I relished in their jealousy. I was not ashamed to say that I was glad they were pissed; we beat them.

With Kelly leading, my team and I lined up for handshakes, and none of us could keep the grins off of our faces as we knocked gloves with the other team. Then, as we finally passed their coaches, I beat my stick against the ice in celebration, and my teammates followed suit as we skated off of the ice.

“That was a kickass pass, Kels!” Taylor said, throwing her arm around me as we walked back to our locker room.

“I should same about your shot,” I replied, with a giant grin.

I was on cloud nine with our win, and I felt ecstatic to have helped achieve it. To be honest, though, it was a tough game, and if everyone hadn’t been on point, we probably would’ve lost by a couple of goals.

My teammates and I pushed into the locker room, which smelled like week-old pee and congealed sweat, and I plopped down on the bench next to my bag. I pulled off my helmet and pushed my bangs off of my forehead, since they were matted with sweat which was dripping down into my eyes.

“I’m coming in!” my head coach, Coach Tanner, declared, and a moment later, he walked into the locker room. “Congrats on kicking ass, guys!” Coach Tanner said with a smug grin on his face. Coach Tanner wasn’t afraid to make his disdain for the Razorsharks, especially their head coach, known.

The locker room was full of cheering for a moment, and then Coach Tanner gestured for us to settle back down. “Guys,” he said, “You all played a fantastic game, but there’s one person I want to single out.” Coach Tanner turned to me, and I couldn’t help but grin, which I always did when I was in an awkward situation or embarrassed.

“Kelsey, I’ve had the pleasure of coaching you for the past four years,” Coach Tanner stated, and he had a proud look on his face. “I know you’ll do well in Clarkson, but you always have a home on this team.”

“Thanks, Coach,” I said, my smile widening.

“Don’t leave us, Kelsey!” I laughed at Kelly’s outburst, and my teammates started to shout words of agreement.

“Well,” Coach Tanner drawled after a moment, “I’ll let you ladies get undressed.” He gave me a mock salute before turning and walking out of the locker room.

With a warm, happy feeling throughout my chest, I yanked my snarled ponytail out, along with a good chunk of hair. Then, I pulled it into a tight, sweaty knot at the top of my head, and I started to take the rest of my gear off.

I tugged off my jersey, and I brushed my fingers against the Cyclone logo emblazoned across the chest. This was the last time I’d wear the jersey in a game, and it was a somber thought. I didn’t have to give it back, though, which was good because I otherwise would’ve just stolen it for myself and nostalgic purposes.

I slipped my elbow and shoulder pads off, and after throwing them into my hockey bag, I rubbed some deodorant under my arms. Yes, I was just going to go home and shower, but I was still a girl, and I needed to fend off the hockey stench that followed every hockey player after a game.

Then, I pulled my skates from my feet and knocked the half melted ice off of the blade using the rubber floor of the locker room. I dropped them into my bag, and then I shimmied out of my hockey pants and socks. After a few more minutes, I was completely out of my gear, and I pulled on the pants of the warm-up suit that every girl on my team was required to wear before a game.

“Kelsey!”

I looked up from my sneakers, which I’d been tying, to see every single one of my teammates looking at me with a grin that told me that they knew something I didn’t. I stood up straight and put my hands on my hips.

“If you guys are going to shave my head, tell me now,” I stated, and Kelly laughed.

“Nope,” she replied, smiling, “We just have a going away present for our dear little Kelsey.”

“Is it lethal?” I asked, and Kelly shrugged.

“Dunno,” she replied simply, “You’ll have to open it.”

Then, without warning, she threw a wrapped present at me, which hit me square in the face. “Warn a girl!” I cried with a laugh as I picked the present up from where it had landed on the locker room floor.

Since I wasn’t a patient or suspenseful person, I ripped the wrapping paper off of the present, which looked to be a plain white t-shirt. Frowning, I unfolded the shirt and turned it around, and then I grinned broadly.

On the back of the shirt, everyone on the team, including Coach Tanner, had signed their name and a little message. Kelly, being my best friend, had taken it upon herself to write in the middle of all the names, my last name and a big number four, as if it was a jersey. I could tell it was her from the fact that there was no marker outside the lines, and she was a perfectionist.

“Aw, guys!” I squeaked, sticking my bottom lip out as I held the shirt against my chest, “You guys are the sweetest!”

Instead of putting on the t-shirt I’d worn to the game, I tugged on the team’s gift. Then, I opened my arms for a hug, and my whole team came running at me. Some people might call this dumb, since it was just a sports’ team, but I went through a good chunk of puberty with these girls. We’d seen each other at our bests and worsts, and like I said before, we were a family.

I didn’t really want to say goodbye.

I pulled out of our giant group hug turned mosh pit, and I pulled on my warm up jacket. “I’ll miss you guys,” I said, and my eyes started to blur slightly with tears.

“Are you going to cry?” Kelly asked, looking equally as tearful.

“Nope,” I replied quickly, “No, I’m not.”

“You can cry,” she said, her lips curving into a small smile, “It won’t make you any less of a hockey player.”

I snorted and wiped my eyes quickly, and I let out a deep breath. I hefted my hockey bag onto my shoulder and grabbed my Warrior stick off of the wall where I’d leaned it. “So long, bitches,” I said, grinning as I walked towards the door.

As I walked out of the locker, a chorus of goodbyes followed me, and I couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face. I hurried down the hallway and up a flight of dirty, concrete stairs, and I walked through a door that led to the lobby.

I’d grown up playing hockey in this ice rink, and maybe I’d come back, but not for a while. Leaving sucked, but I didn’t linger, since that would’ve made things worse.

I readjusted the straps of my hockey bag on my shoulder, since they were digging into my shoulder painfully, and then I walked outside to the front of the rink, where I spotted my dad’s Honda Pilot waiting for me.

“Hey Kelsey,” my dad called as I threw my hockey bag into the trunk.

“Hey,” I replied, and I shut the trunk door and then climbed into the passenger seat next to my dad.

“Did you say your goodbyes?” my dad asked, and I nodded.

“They made me a t-shirt,” I stated, playing with the hem of my t-shirt.

“Nice,” my dad replied with a grin, and he pulled out of the ice rink parking lot. I put my feet up on the dashboard of the car, which my dad had told me countless times not to do, and I sighed.

I felt bad for my dad, since I knew he didn’t want to take me away from my team four weeks into the season. However, his job wasn’t something you could fight, especially since he was the sole provider for me and Nick. My mom ran off with some bartender when I was five, which was fine with me because of what I remember of her, my mom was a cold workaholic.

“You played a good game, Kelsey,” my dad said, breaking the silence when we were only a few minutes away from our house. “That penalty was fine, seeing as you were protecting Kelly, and the pass at the end was perfect.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, grinning happily. My dad grew up playing hockey, so getting a compliment from him on my game held some weight.

A few moments later, my dad pulled the car into our driveway, and I climbed out of the car. After grabbing my hockey bag from the trunk, I followed my dad into our pretty much empty house. My dad had already moved almost everything from our house to the new one two days ago, save for some clothes I’d thrown into a duffle bag, some air mattresses, and anything else I wanted on the way to the new house.

I dumped my hockey bag in the middle of the living room, and I laid my gear out lazily so that it could air out. Then, I hurried up stairs and down the hall to my bedroom. What had once been a room covered in dirty clothes and posters was now bare except for an air mattress, a bag of clothes, and my laptop.

I managed to take my shoes off before collapsing on the air mattress. Yes, I was going to take a shower, but at the moment, I was exhausted. In nine hours, I was getting up and leaving for New York. As a hockey player, I was used to getting up at the crack of dawn to drive five hours somewhere, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it.

As a teenager, sleep was as important to me as internet access.

After a moment of just lying sprawled on the air mattress, I groaned and rolled over onto my back. No part of me wanted to drag my sore body down the hallway to the bathroom, but unless I took a shower now, I’d have to do it tomorrow before we left for New York. That meant I’d have to get up even earlier.

That wasn’t going to happen, so I reluctantly stood up and walked down to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and stripped out of my warm up suit, and then I stepped under the warm spray. As I washed off my sweaty, gross body, I almost dozed off twice. This wouldn’t be the first time that had happened to me, either.

I managed to finish my shower without nodding off, and I quickly wrapped myself in the only towel in the bathroom. Then, I hurried back down to my bedroom and changed into a pair of pajamas. Without bothering to comb out my damp, slightly snarled hair, I curled up on my mattress and sighed happily.

Within moments, I was asleep and snoring.

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look! I posted something! 

Guys, I love ice hockey. I've played the sport since I was four, and my sister and brother both played. When I was trying to figure out what on earth I could right, Steph (imallergictoidiots) said something about how ice hockey was a cool hobby for a girl, and that's when I realized that I should write something about it.

I understand that a lot of people might not know some of the terminology I use, so if you have any questions, I will try my very best to answer them. I also put a link about the basics of hockey as the external link, so you can look at that.

Song on the side is Stompa by Serena Ryder. It is soooo good!

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