Stolen Jerseys / ✓

0.03: chapter two

I scoffed again, this time louder, "I really don't need you to tell me what I'm doing wrong. Quite capable of figuring that out."

"Yeah?" she snapped back, and I could practically see her temper rising. I couldn't help but smirk at that, "Because you kept doing the same exact thing all game. After the first ten times you almost fell, one would think you'd learn from that. Apparently not, huh?"

I rolled my eyes, ignoring what she said, "And this is coming from a girl who only knows about hockey because her dad's the coach, right?"

I felt bad after saying that. I knew Elle knew about hockey. I had heard about her before; she played for another school and she was, apparently, absolutely amazing. But the words were already out there, and I had no intentions of taking them back. Even if she looked like she was about to explode on me.

I scratched the back of my neck, waiting for the snap that was sure to come. But instead, Elle just took a deep breath and gave me a small smile that, if anything, was more unnerving than the look she had when she looked close to snapping. I frowned now, unsure if I should wait, or turn the other way and sprint the hell out of the stadium.

"All right," she said slowly, eyeing me, "all the players are like you, Scott. Cocky and so sure about themselves. But hey - time will tell, huh? We'll know if you're worth anything when the cuts come out."

I shifted from foot-to-foot and nodded, "We'll see, won't we?"

She didn't say anything; instead, just turned and started walking across the rink. I glared, because of how damn easily she could walk across the ice. Grunting under my breath, I shouldered my bag again and started walking towards the door. I didn't even want to think about Elle, honestly. From the few minutes I had talked to her, I learned she was pretty damn annoying.

I was about to step out the door when the sound of someone calling my name made me turn around. I sighed and spun, leaning my bag-less side against the side of the door. Elle stood half-way across the rink, head held high as she looked at me. I raised one eyebrow, even though I doubted she could see it and waited to see what she wanted.

"Don't be too much of a prick to ask for help!" she called, and before I could respond, she was back to speed-walking across the ice.

I rolled my eyes and slipped through the door, brushing her comment off. She really couldn't have just said I should ask for assistance. She had to add in the fact that I shouldn't be 'too much of a prick' to ask for it.

I shook my head, trying to get the conversation I had with her out of my mind. I didn't want to think about someone so infuriating. I blinked in an attempt to clear my mind and looked at the two hallways; one to the left, one to the right, and I had absolutely no idea where I was supposed to be going. I bit my lip and decided on right. Right's always right.

My feet echoed down the hallway, and before I could turn around and go the opposite way, I bumped into someone.

I stumbled backwards, the weight of my bag almost taking me to the ground. Balancing myself out, I dropped my bag to the floor and rolled my shoulders. I blinked and looked in front of me, seeing Coach Monroe straightening out his dress shirt. He gave me a small smile, but I could see the annoyance in his eyes. I frowned and shot him an apologetic smile.

Coach Monroe raised his eyebrows, one hand holding onto a briefcase by his side, "You stayed after for some practice, eh?"

"Yeah," I said, because I did intend to stay for practice. But an annoying person had come and disrupted my plan, "I figured mine as well, y'know? Getting some extra practice will be good for when tryouts come up."