7-7 was the score that took our team into overtime. Screams and cheers sounded across the could stadium. Players skated skillfully across the scratched ice, every move they made was carefully planned. This was the last chance. Number 96 was the holder, skating with his old hockey stick in hand, down the ice to the goal. He puttered with it for a moment before raising his stick. He brought it down to the puck with force, shooting it right into the goal.
8-7
He turned around on his skates with a smirk on his face as he scanned the screaming crowd. He took his helmet off and placed his hand on his lips, giving it a kiss then blowing it to the audience.
He other teammates skated rather fast to reach him. He threw him onto two of the guys shoulders, holding him above their heads in celebration. He outstretched his arms with pride as the other players sprayed their water on him. They let him down from the too of the bunch and let him skate around the rink for his victory lap. I stood as close to the glass as possible as he skated by, he noticed and shot a wink my way. Everybody in the stands was gone but me, the boys had gone into the locker rooms to change. I walked out, slowly, onto the abandoned ice. I shuffled carefully over to the middle of the rink and did a full 360 view of the empty arena.
I admired the view of it until someone cleared their throat behind me.
YOU ARE READING
number 96 :: lrh
RandomLuke Hemmings, nothing but a normal teenage boy. He plays hockey, and goes to parties. He had many plans, but the small girl that came crashing into his life was not one of them. He never knew what their friendship would turn into or how much of an...
