The Cocky Hockey Captain

Chapter 9 ● In Your Face

Tryouts day arrived and I was so ready for it.

Not.

The most terrifying thing about it wasn't really that I was years behind on preparation compared to all the other boys, or that I was, in fact, not a boy. No, the worst thing was that everybody was trying out. Everybody. Including the asshole I'd learned had gone to World Junior last summer and won gold for his country.

In a shocking twist of events that surprised no one, he was the first one to try out. Coach Joe Martel, whom I'd literally just met, called out in a voice that brokered no errors, "Dean Hyde."

Said boy had the gall to look shocked that he was being called out first. As though everybody here wasn't gathered to see him crush it for the rest of us to try to then pick up the remnants for ourselves. He skated out of the bench and stopped next to the coach. A series of orange cones had been placed across the ice from goal to goal. There was also a smattering of pucks that didn't seem to follow a particular order.

"Alright everybody, listen up," coach said with his megaphone voice. "Dean here is going to be first on the first drill. All of you are going to follow the exact same sequence."

He then proceeded to explain as he exemplified. Starting by one end of the ice he said, "You're going to start here, evading every second cone. I don't want to see any pretty eights in here, this is not an artistic ice skating competition." Once he reached the center line he did a feint and spun around. "Here you're going to pretend you're facing an opponent on the way to the goal. If you don't do this sequence correctly, I will dock points off of you. And of course," he finished up, "You're going to do this while handling the puck, which you're going to shoot at the goal. If you don't score, I'll dock points off of you. And don't take your sweet ass time, because I'll time you and if you take over 60 seconds to do this, I'll dock points off too."

Of course.

Shane lifted his hand, and the coach motioned for him to ask his question. "What if you're a defenseman?"

"I don't care. Defensemen also have to know how to score, or at the very minimum know how to pass accurately so that the strikers can score." He grabbed his whistle, ready to let it rip, but thought best of it. "Any other questions?"

It wasn't necessarily that I wanted to raise attention to myself, but I did have a question. I raised my gloved hand slowly and he noticed me. "Um, hi. You mentioned-" Repeatedly, I added in my head. "That you'd dock points off. Does that mean we start out with a certain number of points?"

"Good question," he conceded with a nod. "You all start with 100 points each. Whoever keeps the 100 points will be made captain. The two best scores that follow will be made assistant captains. Is that clear?"

We all looked at Dean first and then at each other. And then, because I was a little shit, I raised my hand again.

"What if no one keeps the 100 points?" I made sure to smile sweetly at Dean and enjoyed the fact that he seemed to be wishing for my swift demise from his spot on the ice.

"Then I guess we'll have three assistant captains this year." He swiveled over to face Dean and with no warning let the whistle off.

I had a fraction of a second to enjoy that, but Dean was a lot faster than my satisfaction. It was inhuman how he zoomed in and out of the cones. I couldn't count, but I was sure he was precise in doing so after every second cone. He feinted and twirled, not dropping the puck for a single second. I blinked, and next thing he had already scored his goal.

"Fuck. Me," I murmured.

"Brian Levesque," coach called without any further ado.

As one boy went, the other came. Dean casually sprawled next to me on the bench, even though there was plenty of room on the opposite end. He gave me a smirk and said, "Good luck, runt. You'll severely need it."