The pucking rival [english Version]

1 Kian

Once again, I fall asleep during history class. If Mr. Dobróv could make his lessons more interesting instead of just lecturing nonstop for the entire hour, this probably wouldn’t happen.

“Kian, how about you answer the question?”

Yeah… what am I supposed to say? I obviously didn’t catch it. My seatmate shakes my arm vigorously and my eyes open a little. Sleepily, I rub my eyes, hoping to wake up at least a bit.

“Huh? Excuse me?”

“I just asked whether you might be capable of answering the question, Kian,” he says.

Shit. I might’ve really messed up. My grades are already hanging by a thread, and now this too.

“Uh… well… not really?”

He sighs in annoyance, most likely because I didn’t listen to a single word all lesson long. After a short pause, he continues teaching. I pull off my hoodie to get more comfortable, place it on my desk, cross my arms over it, and rest my head on top. Now I just need to close my eyes and—

Before I fall asleep again, I overhear a quiet conversation between my seatmate and her best friend, who’s sitting one row behind us.

“Oh my God! Did you just see his abs? When he took off his sweater, his T-shirt slipped up a bit too!”

Ugh… I’m glad the seating arrangement will be changed soon. Those two notice everything I do. They practically faint whenever I’m in the same room as them.

“Girl! Yes, he looks so good, I can’t deal with this anymore!”

She dramatically fans herself with her hand.

“And on top of that, he plays hockey—as captain! He’s such a dream guy,” my seatmate Stacy whispers.

How can someone be so delusional? Everything in their lives is handed to them by their parents. Having rich parents must be nice… no need to work, no stress at all. And then there’s me—training four times a week at the ice rink and using the college gym outside of practice. The worst part of all this is being popular. All the girls chasing after you, trying to get your attention. They should just leave me alone. All they think about is my body and how to get me into bed.

Stacy’s friend is seriously messed up. It feels like she’s stalking me sometimes. She’s always exactly where I am—at practice, at games, everywhere else too. Whatever. I need to find a way to stop this. Having so many girls chasing you like dogs is exhausting in the long run. And to make things worse, I don’t even like dogs. When I was little, I got bitten by one on vacation—in California. My mom panicked so badly she started hyperventilating while my dad desperately pulled the dog away from me. For the next three years, I didn’t want to see a dog ever again. I was traumatized—until my aunt, for some reason, decided to get a Chihuahua. Exactly. Those little dogs that are more aggressive than I am when someone checks me against the boards in hockey. And just to be clear—I sit in the penalty box more often than on the bench.

Long story short, I haven’t seen her since. I don’t mind dogs anymore. But maybe I associate the girls who chase me with them—since both were traumatic experiences.

As soon as the lesson ends, I head back to my room and grab my sports bag for today’s game. A home game. Which means it’s one of the most important games right now. The opposing team, the Manhattan Lockers, is playing against my team, the New Jersey Players. A lot is at stake.

Midway through the third period, the scoreboard shows 4–4. The game is intense—six penalties so far. Four for my team, or rather three for me and one for my buddy Mike. Two for the captain of the other team.