Thin Ice

chapter five

Friday afternoon, I'm leaning against the gym wall along with all the other sophomores and freshmen who are waiting anxiously for the upperclassmen to finish their side conversations and focus. Will is beside me, swallowing roughly as he tries to calm his breathing.

I stare right ahead, my eyes boring into the wall directly across from us. Hanging under the words State Championships and Ice Hockey are several years, including last's. I remember everything from that championship season, every practice and game and conditioning session, all the extra work and blood and sweat I poured into those few months. I remember everything it took to earn that championship.

Rolling my shoulders back, I continue breathing evenly, in through the nose and out through the mouth.

All summer, I woke up early to run. I dragged everyone out with me before dawn to run for miles on end, then went on to sprint later on in the day. I hit the gym every damn day, did pushups until my upper body was so sore I couldn't lift my hands to eye level. I did enough curl-ups to harden my abdomen into a wall of muscle.

I did it all in preparation for today.

Breaking the freshman record last year which was set by Hunter three years prior isn't enough. I want to set the sophomore record this year. I want to do better than anyone ever has on this damn test.

The seniors and very few juniors are gathered together on the floor a few yards away, talking and stretching in a rough circle. They just finished their test a few minutes ago. While the other underclassmen were in the locker room getting ready and shitting their pants, I was out here, watching coach administer the test and call people out when they were done. I used so much energy encouraging the others that I almost thought I wouldn't have enough left to run it myself. Then my adrenalin kicked in, and now I feel like I could tear down a break wall with my bare hands.

Will didn't think I should watch. He thought it would make me nervous, mess up my mentality. It didn't.

I clench and unclench my fists, still staring at that same year, imagining this year's number right along beside it.

From the corner of my eye, I see Hunter push himself off the gym floor. He brings his hands above his head in a slow stretch, and the movement draws the hem of his shirt partway up his stomach. His abs gleam with sweat, and while on another day the sight may have distracted me, now I couldn't care less.

He strides forward until he's standing directly in front of me, in the center of the line. A hush falls over the gym.

Hunter did exceptionally well in the test, not that I was surprised. He works just as hard as I do, and he's a natural; if hockey weren't his everything, he'd be a runner. He made it all the way to number twenty-two, just one away from reaching the all-time record that he set last year. He probably would have pushed past that point if his arms didn't start cramping, causing him to collapse in the middle of a pushup.

I swipe my tongue along my lips, blinking once. My gaze flickers from the reminder of last year's state championship to Hunter's stern face. Coach Mac, Tig, and Coach Wilson were present for the first session of the test, but then they had to go attend a meeting for the winter sports coaches, leaving Hunter and the other seniors in charge.

He claps his hands together, and the sound echoes in the silent gym. "I'm sure you all know how this works." He doesn't sound out of breath, and yet I know he must be exhausted. He pushed himself hard. "I'll explain anyway."

Gesturing with his hand in a sweeping motion, he says, "This is our annual run test. The object is to go for as long as you can, pushing yourself as hard as you can go. If you let up, you're done."