The Long Shot ✰ a.b.

1

✰ Adam Banks

"C'mon, Adam, you're not focusing on hockey lately like you should be!"

"You've lost all of your skills that I've given you!"

"You'll never make it into any respectable college if you keep playing like that crap!"

For Adam Banks, his father's harsh words keep replaying in his head like a broken record. The critiques always take a toll on Adam, but lately they've began to be too much for him to handle. Every time Adam plays hockey he's frozen with nerves and fear, desperately hoping to impress his stoic father. If Adam makes the slightest mistake on the ice, the glare his father gives him from the stans is almost palpable.

In an example of his father's overbearing nature, yesterday afternoon Adam had played a fundraiser game for his hometown of Edina, Minnesota. The hockey event was suppose to be all about fun— no where near the spectrum of competitive.  It was simply created to help raise funds for the local school's underpaid athletics program. Adam was very excited to be able to help out and participate for his community.

But for some reason, his father couldn't grasp the big idea of this fundraiser. Mr. Banks didn't understand that it was simply just a friendly game of hockey. Instead, he rather focused on other things, including why Adam didn't score more than 3 goals, or why Adam wasn't trying hard enough, or why Adam played — and quote— like crap.

A cool droplet of sweat cut down Adam's face, distracting him from his thoughts of yesterday's fiasco. He was currently standing in his house's driveway, because his father had practically shunned him to go outside and practice some hockey. His father had told him, specifically, that Adam needed some extra work after the "lackluster performance" he had during the fundraiser game.

So, here Adam was practicing— skates, pucks and all. Trying to make his father proud.

Looking at the goal set up in front of him, Adam began to plot out his next set-piece play; a new skill he had been working on.

"Look out Edina, the all-star player number 99 has taken the puck down the ice. He fakes left, then goes right. He shoots and—" Adam briefly stops his imitation of an announcer's commentary to examine where his shot had went.

The puck flew wide, missing the goal post by a hair.

"And he misses," Adam mumbles to himself, irked that he still hasn't been able to get this skill right, even after the several hours he's already spent practicing.

He precedes to skate over to get the puck from the bushes, where it had ended up in, and retrieves it. Adam then moves back over to his starting spot and places the puck down for another try.

C'mon Adam. Concentrate, he repeats over and over in his head. After running a hand through his fluffed up hair to fix it a little, he determinedly tries again.

"Here comes number 99 —again— skating straight across the goalie. He goes between his legs and shoots—" Adam smacked the puck hard, and thankfully for the blonde boy, this time it lands perfectly into the upper-left corner of the net.

"Score!" He cheers to himself, definitely looking like a fool to onlookers. But Adam can't help it, he's been outside practicing too long not to be happy that he's finally achieved the goal he had set for today.

Before he can go inside and gush to his father about the new move he had finally mastered, Adam hears a familiar voice, tauntingly yelling in his direction.