Power Play

Chapter One - Uncharted Territory

As I stepped through the double doors of Ravenwood High, a wave of excitement and anxiety washed over me. The familiar scent of old books and fresh paint mixed in the air. I looked up at a huge banner hanging across the main entrance that said 'Welcome back, Ravenwood Rams!'. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and walked through the bustling hallway filled with students gossiping, laughing, and trading stories of their eventful summer breaks.

This year was different for me. It was a new school and I wasn't just here to blend in; I was ready to make a name for myself. My heart raced as I passed the school athletic trophy case, its glass gleaming under the fluorescent lights. I could already picture my name engraved on a plaque, a testament to my determination. I wanted to try out for varsity hockey this year, I've always been passionate about it. I have no experience, and to be honest, I can't even skate. I've been afraid to skate for a long time because my father died when I was eleven. He had had a stroke once, but a few years later he had two massive strokes that took his life. He wasn't a very healthy man. But a while after his death I found out that during the first stroke, the doctor told my mom that he had a blow to the back of his head that was causing the bleeding. That's the same exact spot where he hit his head when I was around four, he was teaching me how to skate, but I couldn't get the hang of it so I quit very easily. After agreeing to take me home, he fell backwards. And he didn't have a helmet on. He had a cut on his head but he shook it off, and we moved on. But that's why skating has become a fear for me, helmet or not. But that changes today! Nobody and nothing was going to hold me back. Though, I couldn't ignore the whispers and glances from some students as I walked by. I've been a new kid before, and seen new kids come and go. We're always scrutinized at first, unless you're lucky. I could sense the challenge in the air. I was determined to prove myself, no matter how many raised eyebrows I encountered.

As I navigated the hallway, I spotted a group of students gathered around a bulletin board plastered with flyers for clubs, activities, and tryouts. My heart fluttered as I approached the hockey tryout flyer, excitement bubbling inside me. Tryouts were at the end of the day. This was it—the chance to carve out my place in this new school. I grabbed a pen out of my backpack and scribbled my name at the bottom of the list. Just as I finished, a shove sent me stumbling sideways. I turned to see a tall boy with tousled blonde hair and an easy smirk. Maverick, I would later learn, was the teams star player. Their captain.

"Nice handwriting," he said mockingly, leaning against the bulletin board. "But do you actually think you can keep up with us?"

I straightened, trying to hide my surprise with defiance. "Don't ask questions you don't wanna hear the answers to," I shot back, meeting his gaze. His friends giggled a little bit, I tried not to let it bother me. When I shot them a glare they stopped. "What, I have just as much right to the ice as you do."

"Right? Mkay. But let's be real—girls like you don't belong in hockey. Are you sure you're ready to get crushed?" He asked, resting one arm on the bulletin board, leaning over me. I frowned, disgusted by him.

"Is this a sign of low self-esteem?" I asked sarcastically, pushing him away from me. His friends erupted in laughter, while Maverick's expression turned sour. His cheeks went red, and suddenly he had issues maintaining eye contact.

"Whatever," he said, his uptight facade crumbling. "I just hope you don't get surprised when coach McCoy says you won't even make the team in your dreams."

With that weak retort, he stormed off, leaving his friends snickering behind him. The bell rang for first period, and I used my phone to double-check the room number. I pushed my way through the hallways, ducking past people who decided it was a good idea to have a conversation in the middle of the hall. Exasperated, I made it to class just before the second bell rang, and sat down. The first class passed by in a blur of introductions and icebreakers, each tick of the clock making me more on edge. My social studies teacher, Mr. Skinner, had a monotone voice that threatened to soothe me to sleep, but I resisted it. The conversation of my classmates faded into the background as I scribbled notes, only half-listening as he droned on about the French Revolution.