AAOOOSC! Wheatie Bits!

E. 1. "Newest Of The Prairie" (1/5)

September 2013

Black shoe-cladded feet step on the equivalent black, spongy floor.

An olive skin-coloured hand runs its fingers against the smooth, marble wall.

Hazelnut-coloured eyes filled with awe slide from side-to-side bearing the reflection of the lights from above.

Looming on the other end of the hallway is a doorway brimming with a warm, welcoming light.

A teenager strolls into view and stops yards from the doorway, staring out at it.

He blinks, his mind churning with all the subtle information being displayed at him. "Whoa," he breathes out.

His vision gets lost in the golden-tinted doorway.

"I can't believe it. I'm in the major junior leagues. I am officially playing professional hockey." He pauses his excitement-rising statement as another reality settles mentally.

He then continues in his regular, soft, Canadian-accented tone: "Although it's not the NHL, it's one step closer to it." He lets out a chuckle, running his fingers through his thick, light brown voluminous hair. "It's not like as if I can go into it right now; I'm only fifteen." He then drops his hand and lets out a sigh. "Ohhh. A new chapter in life..."

With that, he treks toward the doorway and enters it, being engulfed by the calming light.

On the other side is a modest locker room: The massive, golden Brandon Wheat Kings logo is plastered on the grey carpeted floor. Lining the light grey-coloured walls are wooden stalls bearing organized hockey equipment and the most noticeable piece of equipment: the jerseys. Although, they were merely the basic practice jerseys ranging from yellow to green to black with the Western Hockey League logo ironed on it, yet it is still a grand sight to witness according to the rookie.

"Hey, rookie!"

He peers ahead of him, spotting an older, tough-appearing teenager with slicked-back blond hair marching up to him.

He stands still with a held breath, anticipating the veteran teammate's intentions.

"I'm Ryan Pulock, captain of the Wheat Kings." He holds his hand out.

He instantly lets relief wash over him with the comfort of the teenager being the captain. "Oh! Hi!" He shakes his hand. "I'm Kale Clague!"

"Kale, interesting name, eh?" Ryan lets go of his hand. "Well, I hope you'll have a good rookie year here." He then whips out a piece of stick tape and hands it out to him. "Here's my phone number. Add it into your contacts—I arrange the team get-togethers; we get together for stuff like pizza lunches."

Kale's eyes light up. "Pizza! Great!" He takes the stick tape and scans at the row of numbers scribbled on it with black ink. "Thanks!"

"No prob, kid." He then points his finger toward behind Kale. "And your stall's over there. Second one to the edge."

Kale peers behind his shoulder, spotting the second stall left of the doorway. He turns back to the captain. "Okay, thanks!"

"See you on the ice." With a hearty pat on his shoulder, Ryan turns around and lumbers back to his seat.

Kale excitedly whirls around and darts to his assigned stall. He halts in front of it and land his eyes on the drilled nameplate. He immediately recognizes the name: KALE CLAGUE.

"'Kale Clague.'" He then lowers his eyes, landing them on the black practice jersey with the large red and white WHL logo staring back at him.

He gingerly picks up the light, smooth sleeves of the jersey, admiring it. "My name...my WHL jersey..." A big, toothy grin grows on his face.