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RYLEE HANSON (narrative)
The sound of my skates carving into the ice filled my ears as I chased the puck into the offensive zone. My ribs burned, but I ignored it, focusing on the black disk sliding just ahead of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Amira yelling, her stick tapping the ice.
"Larry! Up top!" Amira's voice came from the blue line.
I faked a pass to her, watching the defender bite on the move, their stick shifting just enough to give me an opening. Perfect. I cut left hard, feeling the ice bite under my blades as I made a beeline for the net.
The goalie squared up, crouching low, their glove twitching in anticipation. My coach's voice boomed from the bench. "Take the shot, Hanny!"
I barely registered the shout. Everything slowed as I wound back and snapped my wrists, sending the puck sailing toward the top corner.
The sound of the net snapping was the best thing I'd heard all night. The light above the goal flared red.
"YESSIR!" I shouted, thrusting my fist in the air. My teammates swarmed me before I could even turn around.
"That was insane!" Fabien practically yelled in my ear, gripping my shoulders. "Did you see that fake? You froze her!"
I couldn't stop grinning. "Saw it. Felt it. Nailed it."
The scoreboard flashed 3-2, and the crowd roared behind me as I skated back to center ice. Only a minute left. We just had to hold them off.
I crouched low for the faceoff, locking eyes with the other center. The ref dropped the puck, and my stick shot out, snapping it back to Hailey on defense. She caught it cleanly and sent it up the boards as I bolted forward.
The last sixty seconds were a blur of chaos. Their goalie was gone, replaced by another skater, and every pass felt like it was coming too fast, too close.
"Rylee, heads up!" Maddie yelled.
I twisted just in time to avoid the hit, chipping the puck out of the zone. I didn't even look to see where it landed—I just kept moving, shadowing their top scorer.
The horn blared, and I froze mid-stride. For a second, I couldn't breathe. Then it hit me: we'd won.
A tidal wave of teammates slammed into me, shouting and laughing as the crowd erupted. My chest heaved as I leaned over my knees, grinning so hard it hurt.
We'd done it.
After the chaos of celebration on the ice, I shuffled into the locker room with the team, still buzzing with energy. My ribs screaming from the game, but I didn't care. Every hit, every sprint—it was worth it.
Coach gave us a quick post-game speech, but I barely heard him. My mind was still replaying the game-winning goal and the adrenaline was slow to fade. After a fast shower and a quick change into sweats and my team hoodie, I slung my gear bag over my shoulder and headed out of the locker room.
