Playing By The Rules

2. Jennifer

When we arrived at the arena, the scoreboard indicated that the game was well underway. The teams were tied at two, and several minutes remained on the digital clock. These numbers meant little to me, except that it wouldn't take long until we were able to leave.

Even from a young age, sports and I didn't mix. My father, like the other five and a half million Minnesotans, was a die-hard hockey fan. He would turn on the television and cheer for the Wild whenever they played. We went to a few games, as he tried to share that interest with me. It didn't work. Eventually, my parents split up and sports became a non-factor when I stayed with my mother, who shared my indifference towards the topic.

This was my first hockey game in years. Aside from the fact that I never had a passion for sports, Oakcrest's arena was not the most flattering building in the city. Affectionately dubbed The Smoke Zone by the students, the nickname aptly described the conditions of the place. Smokers often hung out behind the bleachers, leaving behind the ever lingering smell of cigarettes. Cigarette butts and other trash could often be found under the seats.

Cigarettes weren't the only problem. The building itself was old and it showed. Years of usage resulted in slowly peeling wall paint. Minneapolis' humid weather also took its toll, with heavy rainfall leaving water stains on the ceilings. Everything about this arena felt uncomfortable.

We found a seat in the top row of the bleachers behind one of the nets. Madison sat to my left and I set the manuscript down to my right. Our section was mostly empty, with a handful of girls near the bottom and two middle aged men in tracksuits in the middle. Most of the spectators sat behind the benches, where they could take photos with the players and talk to friends they knew on the team.

The game was fast paced and I quickly lost track of the action. Having watched hockey in the past, I knew what the puck was, but I didn't know where the puck was. It was tossed around at such a high speed that it became invisible to me, and the only thing I saw was twelve people skating around in circles.

Not understanding what was happening, I lost the motivation to pay attention and began people watching. What intrigued me most was the pair of men in tracksuits a few rows down from our spot. They definitely weren't students, and they didn't seem like parents.

I might not have the strongest fashion sense, but I knew that tracksuits weren't very popular in high school, so these two men felt a little out of place. Perhaps they were some odd relative of some player.

One of them, a middle aged man with graying hair, began to speak. "You see that Dawson kid? He has excellent speed and agility. Very shifty on his skates."

"What impresses me most is his hockey IQ. Very smart with the puck. Sees the game well. You can teach someone to skate faster; you can't teach them to play smarter."

The usage of sports jargon left me feeling even more confused than before. All I knew was that these two men were knowledgeable about the sport and that there's someone named Dawson who was excellent at hockey.

I nudged Madison, who was busy taking pictures of an unsuspecting Nick. "Hey, Madison, who's Dawson?"

"Who?"

"Dawson. You know, the really good hockey player?"

Madison thought for a moment, then frowned when she came to a conclusion. "Caleb Dawson?"

"Sure?"

"He's one of the Chargers." She shook her head in disgust. "Nick's linemate, actually. I hate that guy."

Now this was interesting gossip. That kind of stuff hardly ever piqued my interest, but this was coming from my best friend, so I felt a sense of curiosity tingling my nerves. "What's his problem?"