Hockey Book

Chapter 4: Hornets VS. Silver Bears

Parker

As soon as we enter the Kingston University ice rink, I'm hit with a wave of icy air that stings my eyes and a loud chorus of excitement. Immediate regret settles in my gut as my eyes rove over the packed stadium. There's hardly any room left for us to sit, but Ashley grabs my hand and leads me through the sea of parents and college students and sits us down next to a younger girl with dark hair and big brown eyes.

The players are already on the ice and warming up. I jump as pucks continuously knock into the glass that separates us from the players. Ashley managed to snag us seats only three rows back from the ice and I can almost smell the sweat coming from the players.

"So, which team is ours?" I lean over and ask Ashley only to realize I've just interrupted her conversation with the dark-haired girl she sat us next to.

"Oh, the ones in the silver and purple jerseys. The ones in the orange and black ones are the Miami Hornets. They're rivals. Also, Parker, this is Molly." She leans back in her seat and directs my attention to the dark-haired girl. Her rosy cheeks and chocolate eyes take up most of her face with a round button nose sitting in the center. She smiles back at me and waves a hand shyly.

I flash a half smile back at her before turning my focus to the ice.

"So, Chris is number forty four." She points him out. He just took a shot on the net and is now skating around to rejoin the line. I see his jersey number with the last name Ziegler stamped just above it in block letters.

"Okay." I nod. I've never been to a hockey game in person, but I've watched a couple on TV. I first got into watching sports when my parents got to the point in their marriage where screaming at each other at the top of their lungs was their own version of family night. My little brother and I would hide in the basement and turn ESPN on full blast. I never cared what sport was on, only that it drowned out my father's favored slew of obscenities. A couple of times it was hockey, other times it was football– it mattered very little. But at least now I know a little bit about the game because of it.

As soon as the game starts, the crowd shoots to their feet as they scream and yell at the players. We're forced to stand as well in order to see, and I cross my arms irately as I watch the game take off. It's intense, really intense, as the two teams fight to gain possession. I try to keep track of Chris, but such a simple task becomes far more difficult when another player on his team starts to resemble him. Number twenty three with the last name Ellis stamped above it skates very similar to Chris. They look similar in height and they both seem to be playing in the back.

After the first period ends, I discover an easy way to pick the two players apart when I can't see their numbers. Chris plays with a stick lined with a small strip of green, whereas number twenty three plays with a pink one.

The score is tied at this point, still zero to zero, and the crowd has yet to sit or stop screaming. Ashley is watching, though she seems more interested in talking to Molly than anything else. But I can't seem to tear my eyes— it's so intense. The puck pings from one end to the other in the blink of an eye and it's a lot more difficult to follow the game when there's no camera zooming in on the puck, and no replays to show you what the refs considered a penalty.

It's only the second period and already five players have been sent to the penalty box. Number seventy six on our team, last name Anderson, has been in the most, and honestly I'm enjoying watching him play. I mean, he doesn't seem nearly as good as half his team, but he delivers some devastating hits that draw gasps from the crowd. It's pretty entertaining.

The only problem is they sub out so quickly I'm struggling to keep up. It's during one of these line changes that the Hornets slide the puck right past our goalie and take the lead. After this, the game becomes even more intense. The crowd is booing the Hornets with every chance they get and even calling their players out by last name for more personal diatribes.