There’s no way the Sabres are gonna get the top pick this year unless they make huge, unprecedented trades. It’s not gonna happen. There’s no way it’s gonna happen.
But I still need to show them I’d be worth it.
FIFTEEN
The world narrows to nothing but the face-off dot and the puck in the ref’s hand. The Eagles’ center is paying more attention to chirping me than he is to the puck, pretty much handing me the face-off win. I pull the puck back to Dorian on my left and we explode down the ice, our tape-to-tape passes powerful and flawless.
Zero finds an opening within the first ten seconds, firing a rocket through a gap in the defense that goes wide. It rebounds off the glass, right to my glove. I drop the puck to the ice at my feet and send a wrister toward the net. A defender gets a skate on it and leaves it for his goalie to cover as Zero and Cauler bear down on him. Cauler wins the next face-off right to Barbie, setting him up for a one-timer that hits the back of the net a second later.
The five of us go to the bench with the crowd cheering like we scored five goals. Dorian practically punches me in the fist when I offer it to him. “Now that’s hockey!” he cheers.
I sit between Cauler and Zero on the bench, all three of us looking up at the jumbotron replay and catching our breaths. It looks like something off an NHL highlight reel. Not even twenty seconds in and the Eagles are already pulling their goalie in favor of their freshman backup, Ralph Lu.
Cauler elbows me and leans over to say, “’Bout time they replaced the sieve.”
The fact that he’s acknowledging last night’s message at all makes my face flush.
After that first shift, the Eagles buckle down on defense and push back harder than we expected them to. Doesn’t help that Ralph Lu is some kind of goaltending prodigy. The scouts have gotta be loving him right now. We throw fifteen shots at him in the first period and go into the intermission with nothing to show for it outside that one goal.
I look up into the stands on my way into the tunnel. The twins are taking a selfie together. Mikayla, Bailey, Sid, and Karim are all huddled in close to talk over the crowd. Jade’s leaning forward to drape her arms over Delilah’s shoulders in the row in front of her, and Nova’s talking to a few of the women’s team excitedly. Mom and Dad both look at me, smiling and waving when they have my attention.
I’m walking too fast, and by the time I see them, I’m already stepping out of sight without waving back. I kind of feel bad about it.
We have to reevaluate our entire game plan during intermission. We came in expecting to skate circles around these guys, but the goaltending switch has made them into a completely new team. Like they saw what Lu was capable of after that first shift and it inspired them.
Panic sets in halfway through the second. There are pro scouts watching us be shut down by one of the worst teams we’ll face this season. The Eagles take advantage of our frustration. At every face-off, they’ve got something to say about my personality, about my face. Every check into the boards is followed by a comment on my height and how easy it would be to break me in half. Every stoppage in play brings on the prediction that I’ll never be as good as my father.
My silence only spurs them on, but I’ve never been very good at chirping.
Cauler finally, finally, puts the puck away with five minutes left in the second, unassisted and absolutely beautiful with a toe drag through the crease and a flick of the wrist that sends the puck straight back and into the water bottle on top of the net, breaking it open so it sprays all over Lu.
It’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen. I can imagine him walking to the stage at the draft after being picked first. Holding up one finger in all the press photos to show his rank with me beside him holding up two.
I know it’s ridiculous. I know one single goal isn’t going to determine our draft order. But when I watch the replay, with Cauler beside me smiling and soaking in the praise of our teammates, I feel sick to my stomach.
* * *
IT GETS WORSE.
It’s late in the third and I am desperate. I have no points and there are Sabres scouts in the stands, and Cauler is showing me up left and right. We got comfortable with our two-goal lead. Sat back on our heels, watched the Eagles come back to tie it up.
The Eagles. The fucking Eagles.
This was supposed to be a blowout. A chance to pad our stats. And now we’re about to go into overtime with a team that only won six games last season.
Coach calls a time-out with less than a minute to go, and we gather around the bench only to be bitched at. “We are not going to be a team that plays down to our opponents’ level,” he shouts, pointing down for emphasis. “We are going to play our game, no matter who we’re up against.”