Penalty Shot

3

Clay seriously follows me back? George thinks to himself as he scrolls through the pictures Clay has posted on his instagram. They seem pretty standard, quite a few pictures of the beach, and more than enough pictures of his cat. He doesn't seem all that full of himself online.

George slips his phone into his pocket and grabs his usual practice bag. He usually leaves his gear in the locker room at the rink so his practice bag is quite light, only sporting skates and clothes.

"I don't know why you choose to walk everywhere," Karl says as he arrives on the landing. "You could just take one of our cars."

George shrugs. "I like walking places." Putting on his shoes he walks out the door and down the street.

It seemed like his house was placed just perfectly in the fact that it's just off campus in a quiet neighborhood but it's still only about a twenty minute walk to get either to campus or to the sports center where the rinks were. He wasn't lying when he said he liked to walk places and he knew that he could always call either of his roommates to pick him up when he was too far away.

But it wasn't the whole truth either. George couldn't drive. Not legally at least.  It wasn't that he was scared of driving, he just never did it.   He never bothered learning when he lived in the UK, it was just too difficult for him to understand and he didn't have much time, choosing to skate around the neighborhood on his roller blades rather than communicate with people.

Hockey leagues in the UK were scarce.  Boys would rather play football.  George ended up playing street hockey with some of the city kids and competed in leagues with adults.  He applied for university in America hoping it would prove his hockey skills to some use.  With the combination of good grades and even better hockey scores George landed a full ride scholarship in the states.

The wind was gently blowing through George's hair as the glittery white snow glistened in the afternoon sunlight... is what George would say if he was writing poetry.  But alas the wind was whipping around, messing up his hair in ways he did not know his hair would go.  The wind had obviously picked up since his run earlier that morning.  Thank god for coats right?  And the snow? The snow was not glittery or white.  It was dirty from the salts and asphalt of the street.  Gross.

George's phone buzzed in his pocket as he approached the rink.

Karl: Wind picked up u good?  Alex says he hopes your tiny twink body didn't blow away

George huffs.  Alex is up to his shenanigans again.  Why does he even put up with him?  It doesn't make him that mad anyways.  Pushing open the door to the arena he sees a group of freshman standing in the lobby.

It didn't look like their coach was here as he pulled on his uniform and glanced around the arena.  It was a small arena, unlike their competition arena.  There was a few bleachers, no concessions, and it was mostly used by families for free skate and the figure skaters.  

George had actually begun as a figure skater and he had massive respect for them.  Figure skating was hard.  George had begged his parents to enroll him in figure skating classes when he was around the age of five because is close friend was going to do it.  He enjoyed being on ice, and he enjoyed competition, going fast, and thought figure skating wasn't aggressive enough for his preteen angst.  So he switched from figure skating to hockey.  

He never went back.

Marc, one of the fellow seniors on the team approached George, bringing him out of his thoughts, proposing drills to work on with the freshman.  Sure the freshman were good, many on scholarships like George, but they still weren't good enough to lead the team to state once again.

As much as George likes Marc, he wishes he could shut up sometimes.  He has a tendency to keep talking no matter what, often getting off topic.  Somehow they ended up with Marc talking about his research paper on some stupid study done in the late eighties.  

"As much as I love you Marc I'm cutting you off there,"  George said, standing up from the bench, startling Marc.  "We have a practice to run, and some freshman to torture."

Stepping on the ice felt like home.  He pushed forwards on the silver blades, thighs aching slightly from him not stretching prior, the ache soon subsided as he skated a lap around the rink.  A few of the other seniors showed up, most of them opting to stay home like the many of the juniors and sophomores.  It was option Sunday practice after all.  And many of them had girlfriends to spend their time with.

"All right everyone,"  George yells, taking charge of his team.  "I hope you're all warmed up, because for those that don't know, it's a fun Sunday, as always.  Marc and Leo, pick teams, it's scrimmage time.  After a game were going over some passing drills then I will let you out."

And with that the teams break.  Marc immediately picks George for his team.  It wasn't even a minute later that the poor juniors with no life that showed up were forced to play referee.  With plenty of complaining later it was face off time.

Face offs were always George's most dreaded moment, he hated the suspense of trying to get the puck first, and the disappointment from his fellow team members when they failed to get the puck.  Yet he always was in the face off.  His opponent, fellow senior Leo.  

"Bad time to be a Virgo isn't it?" George growled.

"Huh?" 

The puck dropped, Leo was too confused to notice, George swiped the puck away right under Leo's nose, a split second before Leo snapped out of his confusion, probably giving up on trying to understand George.  

The sound of skates scraping against the ice and the shouting of members of different teams filled the air.  It was so much more peaceful playing a nice scrimmage game really refreshed everyone's mind and it was one of George's favorite traditions of the team.  It gave everyone a chance to let their fellow team members know ways to improve their game, their likes and dislikes, and things to work on.

At some point one of the juniors had hooked up the speaker to play music.  It brought the hype in the rink up to astronomical levels.  Everyone was dead tired by the time the "refs" signaled the end of the game.  Nobody knew the score but everyone was content with the outcome.

"Alright everyone,"  George announced after taking a large drink of water.  "Take a few cooldown laps around the arena and leave, get some rest, there's five am practice tomorrow morning and I want to see all of you there."

As everyone started filing off the rink into the locker room George stayed, skating loops around the rink, having since shed his gear on the bench after he dismissed practice.  Only wearing leggings and a short sleeved shirt.  He like cooling down like this.  Being free from the pads gave him a chance to skate and stretch out his muscles, he also liked to listen to music, to put his mind in a different place, away from hockey.  

He continued to skate around the rink until the figure skaters arrived and he would venture back over to the locker room to change.

Stepping off the rink was like stepping into reality.  George hated it.  Almost as much as he hated the notification practically staring at him through his phone.

NEW MESSAGE FROM CLAY