Christopher Andrew

The Diary

I walked out of the store proudly holding the bag containing the dresses. I went to hockey practice, but didn’t tell any of the boys on my team about them. Instead, I just shot at the puck with all my might, scoring a goal for the blue team. The guys on my team rushed up and we did the “after goal group cheer huddle” as they patted me on the back or on my helmet. I spit out my mouth guard and shouted out our cheer.

“Hey Bulldogs!”

“Hey Bridges!” the boys shouted back. (We all call each other by our last names)

“What’re we gonna do?”

“Eat up the other team!” they yelled ecstatically.

“GRrrrrrr!!” we all growled ferociously. I quickly skated back to the bench to give the rest of my teammates a chance to score some goals. My coach congratulated me on my goal before I started cheering for my teammates. All of them, not just the one’s on the blue team I was playing for, but each and every one of them. That was one of the reasons I was accepted by them. I wasn’t a hater. That, and I’m one hell of a shot.

Practice came to an end, only when the white team had caught up with us, and we had to have a shootout. My team picked me to be their lead off. White went first. Jack easily skated up to the net with the puck. As he got closer he raised his stick up, and slap-shot it at the net. The puck went flying, and was barely caught by Jeff, our goalie. It was my turn. I was up against Austin. Jeff may have been a good goalie, but Austin was our number one.

I took a puck, and charged the net, gaining speed as I went. Finally I was close enough to take a shot. Austin was great, but he had a weakness. I knew that weakness. I swung my stick, stoping just short of the puck. Austin dropped. I took the time his early block wasted to raise my stick again, and slap the puck for real. It soared, hitting the edge of his glove, nearly being caught, before landing in the net. I raised my fist with the stick in it, high into the air. Everyone on the team went wild. I spit out my mouth-guard and shouted loudly, as to be heard over the team.

“Who’s gonna beat the Woodchucks?”

“We are!” my team enthusiastically shouted back. I couldn’t help, but smile for the second time that day. God I loved these guys.

My mom picked me up, as usual, in her minivan with the bumper sticker that read Hockey Mom. I hopped into her car, throwing all my gear into the back, next to my little sister, Leslie.

“How was practice?” my mom asked.

“Good. I scored two goals, one during the game. The other was in a shootout. I scored on Austin!”

“Isn’t that the boy who tried to get you kicked off the team because you’re a girl?”

“Yeah. I showed him, huh!”

“Good job sweetie!”

The rest of the car ride was quiet, or as quiet as Leslie can be. She yapped on and on about how her day was, how hot it is, and a bunch of other stuff I tuned out.

When we got home, I went upstairs to put my gear away. I heard a call up the stairs from my mother, telling me to come and get my dresses. I heard the gasp from my room. Leslie was shocked. I ran downstairs to be greeted by her bombarding me with questions.

“You have to put them on so I can see!” she practically shouted. So I did. She showered me with praise. Did this girl ever shut up? Then it occurred to me. I’d need a strapless bra for my strapless dresses. I voiced my thoughts.

“You know, I think I have one from my wedding that would fit you just perfectly,” my mother said, rushing into her bedroom to look for it. After several minutes she gave up.