Thin Ice

You, sir, are a sexist ass

~~~~

Excuse the mistakes!

Also, I changed Blair's name to Kelsey Rogers as a personal writing decision! I just wanted to get that out there to eliminate confusion... Also, I recasted her as Claire Julien, if you want to look her up.

~~~~

I looked at myself in the mirror and frowned.

Maybe I was overdoing it just a bit.

I was getting ready to head over to the Ice Berg to find the coach of the Ice Devils, and after taking a shower and fixing my hair so that it was semi-presentable, I’d gotten dressed. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I’d gotten the brilliant idea to wear clothes from hockey tournaments and such to show that I played travel hockey.

However, that idea had quickly taken over my entire outfit. I’d changed into a pair of sweatpants from a tournament in Cleveland, a t-shirt from a tournament in Pennsylvania, and my royal blue Cyclones warm-up jacket. I’d even shoved my feet into my black Bari boots.

Maybe this is too much, I thought to myself with a snort, and I quickly exchanged the sweatpants for some dark jeggings, and I tugged on a white v-neck in replacement of the t-shirt. I kept the jacket and Bari boots, and suddenly, I didn’t look like I was trying too hard.

I stuffed my hands into the back pockets of my jeggings, and I let out a sigh. Then, I grabbed my cell phone and walked out of my bedroom. As I hopped down the staircase, I called out to my dad, who was going to drive me to the Ice Berg.

“Dad!” I yelled as I reached the bottom of the stairs, “I need you to take me now!”

“I’m coming, Kels!” he replied, and I located his muffled voice as coming from the basement. Sure enough, a few seconds later, my dad emerged from the door that led to the basement and laundry room, and he wiped his slightly dirty hands off on the front of his shirt. “Ready?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Let’s head out,” I said, and I followed my dad out of the front door after he grabbed his car keys from the hook next to the door. 

I settled into the passenger’s seat of my dad’s Pilot and drummed my fingers against my thigh as my dad climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the car. He pulled out of the driveway, and as he started to drive down the street, my dad asked, “Alright; tell me where to go.”

“You know where Jefferson road is, right?” I asked, and my dad grunted a yes. “Okay,” I continued, “Then get on Jefferson, and about half a mile after the CVS is the ice rink.”

“Half a mile after the CVS,” my dad repeated as he processed my directions. My dad was pretty good when it came to navigating, which was probably due to the many foreign cities and states we’d traversed because of hockey games and tournaments.

My dad turned on to Jefferson, and suddenly, I got an extremely nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I realized that I was going into this situation hopelessly unprepared, and that was totally my fault. I mean, all I know about the Ice Devils was that a girl could tryout. I didn’t even know the coach’s name, and here I was, going to convince him to give me the chance to try out for his travel team, which was apparently a strong, solid team.

That wasn’t exactly smart on my part.

We passed the CVS, and within three minutes, my dad was parked in front of the Ice Berg. It was a pretty big building, but I could tell just from the exterior that the Ice Berg was a well-kept facility. I’d skated in some major shit-holes in my life, so that was slightly comforting, but it had no effect whatsoever on the colony of butterflies attacking the inside of my stomach.