Thin Ice

Let's make a wrong a right, because this was pretty damn wrong

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So I am wrote this chapter via my mom's iPad, and now I'm uploading it through her iPad as well. That means that there are probably more mistakes than usual, so I apologize in advance. WRiting on a plane isn't exactly easy....

Also, formatting might be off

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Dear god, I wish I had brought some water with me.

I was ten minutes into my tryout, and I was already sucking wind. Now, I was in pretty good shape from my season, but Coach Hannover had me doing straight-up sprints. As a warm-up, I'd done a few easy laps around the ice, and then the hard drills had started.

First, Coach Hannover timed me doing suicides, and then he'd timed how fast I could skate backwards around one lap of the arena. Then, if that wasn't enough, he decided that I would also get timed doing circle drills.

It also didn't help that the entire Ice Devils team was sitting in the stands, watching my tryout. Dane hadn't been lying when he'd said they were there, and they weren't exactly quiet either. There was a lot of whooping and cat calls sounding from the stands, and usually I could tune these things out. However, today, I was all too aware of their presence.

After I finished my current set of line drills, I looked to the bench where Coach Hannover was standing, along with the assistant coach, Coach Marshall. Coach Hannover leaned over and whispered something to Coach Marshall, which he then wrote down on the clipboard he was holding. I was actually surprised that he was taking notes on my tryout seeing as he was firmly against this whole thing.

Suddenly, Coach Hannover threw a couple pucks onto the ice. "Show us your shot if you even have one, Rogers," he called, and I bit into my mouth guard harder at the smug, doubtful look on his face to keep from saying something I'd regret. However, I was also sadly appreciative that he actually said the right last name, so I skated slowly and confidently up to the pucks.

I pushed them towards the net and pooled the six or so pucks in the slot. Then, I hunched over and rested my stick on the middle of my thighs as I looked at the net. I forced myself to concentrate on the net, and then I stood up and stick-handled one of the pucks for a moment.

"Any time now, Ro-"

I let the first shot rip, this time opting for a slapshot, which I'd spent a long time on since I was a defenseman. It settled nicely in the right top shelf of the net, and I smirked happily to myself before letting another puck loose.

After using just my slapshot for the first round of shots, I collected the pucks from the net and brought them back up to the slot. Then, I changed to my wrist shot, which was no doubt my strongest shot. I spent hour after hour shooting against the door of our garage, sometimes with Nick, and we'd broken quite a few windows.

I shot puck after puck at the net, every single one finding its designated resting spot, and after retrieving the pucks, I let out another round of wrist shots. It was important that I showed Coach Hannover my strongest shot last, because that would be the most lasting memory of my tryout.

Just as I finished cleaning out the net for the third time, Coach Marshall called my name. "C'mere Rogers!" he yelled as Coach Hannover looked over the clipboard. Both of their mouths were fixed in grim lines, and Coach Hannover was looking intensely at the notes on the clipboard.