Thin Ice

prologue

"We cannot become what we want to be by remaining what we are." - Max Depree

A pretty little girl with electrifying green eyes watches on from the stands, acting as the lone spectator to the pee-wee hockey practice taking place in the recreational rink in the local park.

Boys, all of whom are older than her, crowd the center of the ice. They're laughing boisterously, enjoying themselves and having a blast, and all the little girl wants is to join them.

Not yet, her father said. You're too young. You have to be eight. That's the rule; no exceptions.

She's only six. Two years seems a long time to wait. For now, she is stuck taking ice skating lessons, learning to move as fluidly on the ice as she does on land, if not more. She enjoys ice skating, sure, but more for the progress than the sport.

The girl doesn't want to be an ice skater: she wants to be a hockey player.

Practice is drawing to an end, and within minutes the coach dismisses them, and almost all the boys skate off to the side of the rink and clamor onto the bleachers just a little ways down from her. They're still laughing as they change out of their pads and skates.

Sighing, the little girl's chin drops into the palms of her upturned hands.

The coach left the ice, too, and only one lone figure remains. Compared to the other boys, this one is rather small and unassuming. And yet, watching him closely, the girl recognizes him as one of the more skilled players.

After a second of hesitation, she sees the boy not only remain on the ice, but pull on his helmet and begin to skate along the sides of the rink, controlling the puck with his stick.

The girl perks up. Is he going to keep practicing?

Maybe she can be in his practice.

Jumping up, the girl scurries down the bleachers and darts around the cement lining the ground until she reaches the entrance onto the ice.

Realizing she doesn't have any skates, the girl pauses. She wants nothing more than to race out and talk to the boy, hoping that he'd give her a chance to play, but she isn't sure if she can with her sneakers.

Resolve wavering, she's ready to turn back and leave.

Before she can, however, the boy spots her. Almost immediately, he redirects himself until he's skating her way.

She doesn't have the chance to get nervous, because in no time he's standing right in front of her.

The girl has to tilt her head back only slightly to look him in the eyes. For an eight year old boy, he's rather short and scrawny. But, she decides, he has pretty grey eyes.

Pretty grey eyes full of curiosity.

"Who are you?" He asks. "Are you someone's sister?"

She shakes her head and jabs at her chest with her thumb. "I'm Alison. I watched you play." Suddenly nervous, the girl scuffles her feet. "You're pretty good."

An air of arrogance overtakes the young boy. "I know. I've been practicing." The confidence dies down as he cocks his head and watches her. "Do you play?"

Alison frowns. "No. I want to, but Daddy says I can't."

The boy scoffs. "That's stupid. Why not?"

"Because I'm not eight." She sighs as if the weight of the world were on her fragile shoulders. "He says I have to be eight because that's the rule and there can't be any exceptations." The girl pauses.

The boy nods with an expression so serious that most would find it amusing. The girl, on the other hands, just matches his expression (and body positioning, although she does that much more discreetly).

He continues to be quiet, and the girl isn't sure why he isn't saying anything, until he finally does. "Well, you can practice with me. I don't have any rules."

"I don't have any skates." The girl says dejectedly. "Or a stick. Or anything. It's all at my house."

"How far is your house?" The boy scratches the back of his neck before shaking out his hair. "We could walk and get it."

The girl shakes her head. "It's far. And Daddy said we can't stay too late today because his friend is coming over." Her voice drops to a whisper. "I think she's his girlfriend, but he won't tell me that."

The boy's eyes widen. "Oh."

Another long second passes. "Well, I have an old pair of skates in my bag. They may not fit you, but you can try. And there's a bunch of extra sticks. I'm sure you can borrow one." When the girl's face brightens with excitement, and boy places his stick gently on the ground and slips off his skates, he takes her hand and pulls the girl behind him. Once they reach his hockey bag, he digs through it to find the old, smaller pair of skates he mentioned. He hands them to the girl, who wastes no time in sitting and trying them on.

They don't fit, not really, but they're skates, so they'll do.

In no time at all, the boy and the girl are playing their own little pick up game on the ice, just the two of them. The boy doesn't go easy on her, it's just not in his nature, but it doesn't matter to her because she keeps trying her damned hardest until she finally gets a point of her own.

She's cheering loudly after scoring, and the boy looks as pleased as one can after losing a round. The loud sound draws the attention of the coach, who's talking quietly with one of the parents, and he glances over to find his daughter and his player goofing around.

"Ali?" He calls. "What're you doing?"

The girl turns to her father and grins widely, all three of her cheek dimples on display. "We're practicing." The boy nods proudly at her side, and the girl, still riding on the emotional high of scoring her first ever goal in any type of competition, doesn't even care that she has yet to learn this boy's name.

After all, there's plenty of time for that.

Her father hesitates before smiling softly. "Okay. Just be careful, sweetheart."

She barely even hears the warning as she turns back to the boy. "Agai-"

The boy drops the puck onto the ice, and he's off. Alison, who hadn't been expecting him to start, yells out, "Hey!" and races after him. She's a step too slow, however, and he fires a shot into the goal. "I wasn't ready! You cheated!"

The boy scoffs. "Did not!"

"I wasn't ready!" She repeats insistently. "It doesn't count."

"Stop being a baby." He snaps, glaring down at her. "Of course it counts."

Her eyes dart to the puck, a curious expression on her face, before she looks back at the boy. Suddenly overwhelmed with fury, the girl stomps her foot. "You're such a meanie!"

"Poop head!" He fires back, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can't believe I-"

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, the girl darts forward and steals the puck from where it sits right in front of the boy, then starts skating toward the goal.

His jaw drops, and without another word he follows behind.