The Sound of Ice

2

"So, um, you know I play hockey."

"Yeah."

"I kind of need a math tutor, and Veronica said you were good at math? So if you could... I mean, tutor me, that would be awesome, but it's okay if you can't."

He leans against the doorway. He's only an inch or two shorter than me. "Okay," he says, his voice kind. He smiles. "I can tutor you."

"Really? That would be awesome."

"Sure!"

"Okay. I have to go, I have a game tonight, but... yeah, I'll talk to you later?"

"Okay."

"Thanks." I walk away, exhaling, and the door swings shut behind me. That was easier than I thought it was going to be. 

~

Ethan is cracking up in the car on the way to the arena. 

"Wait, Sam Hughes?" he says. "That kid is way too smart for you."

I frown, glancing in my rear view mirror as someone honks loudly. No one can drive here. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, he's just like, really smart."

"That's good, idiot."

"Yeah, but like, he's really smart." 

"Obviously you're not."

Ethan howls with laughter, and I can't help but crack a smile. This kid is crazy.

~

At the arena, Coach finds me in the locker room as we're dressing up for the game. "Beckett, you find a tutor?"

"Yes, sir."

"You lying?"

"No."

He smiles gruffly. "Good. Now forget about math and only think about this game. You know number 43 is going to be on you all night, he covered you well last time."

"He covered me. I wouldn't say well."

"Don't be cocky, Beckett."

"No, sir."

"You tricked the goalie out last time, he'll be smarter tonight."

"Okay."

"Go for the right corner, he struggles with that."

"Okay."

Coach studies me, pulling at his tie, which is red and blue for the St. Anne Lions. He then nods and walks away, barking at another player.

I pull my jersey over my head, lucky number 21. Ever since my youth hockey team back when I was tiny, I've been number 21. I'm not sure why I like that number so much.

We head out onto the ice for warm up, the stadium already more than halfway full, which isn't bad for a regular season game. The fan base here in St. Anne's is awesome. I was a fan too, before I became a player. My uncle would always take me to the games.

I send a puck flying past Ethan into the back of the net and glance around, chewing on my mouthguard. An overplayed song is ringing through the speakers, and the fans are cheering, wearing red and blue. The air smells like ice and adrenaline, and my fingers are starting to tingle like they do before every game starts, the itch to start playing.

"Alright," says coach minutes later as we're huddled around him. "Chan, watch number 62. Craley, 97 likes the distance shots, so be ready. Gonzalez and Beckett, you two are starting. We need an early goal. Ready?"

Matthew Gonzalez glances up at me. My co-captain. Is he glaring at me right now? That son of a -

"Beckett, Gonzalez, did you hear me?"

"Yes, Coach," says Gonzalez. Coach's sharp eyes shift to me, and I nod. 

"Let's go," Coach says, and we do.

And then everything is sweet ice and dripping sweat and flashing lights and deep breaths and hockey. Everything changes when a game starts. It's like life fades and the spotlight is held solely on the puck. That's the only thing I think about. And it's a nice feeling. My blades slice against the ice, and the puck hits my stick, and the fans are cheering, and it's just nice, okay? I forget everything else. And it's just nice.

"Five goals is impressive," says a smily journalist afterwards in the locker room, holding a mic underneath my face. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail. 

"Thank you," I say. My sweaty hair is stuck to my forehead, and my heart is still pounding a bit. 

"How do you feel knowing that you're the top prospect for the NHL draft?"

I smile and shrug. "I don't know. That's kind of crazy to think about. Right now, I'm just going to worry about the Lions."

"Is it difficult balancing hockey and high school?"

"I mean, it's something a lot of us here have to do. At least half the team is still in high school, so... it can be difficult at times, but... you know, we have to do it."

"And finally, some fans are wondering about your personal life. Any relationships? Or...?" The journalist raises her eyebrows.

"No," I say, forcing a smile. 

"That's all. Great game."

"Thank you."