Rookie by Lorna Schultz Nicholson

Author:Lorna Schultz Nicholson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: James Lorimer and Company Ltd., Publishers
Published: 2012-03-16T00:00:00+00:00

The moment arrived. I stepped on the ice wearing a maroon and gold jersey. We were told there would be NCAA scouts at this tournament. I skated hard in warm-up and focused only on hockey. Our first game was against Notre Dame.

When warm-up was over, I took my place on the bench to be the fourth line.

The whistle blew and I watched Rammer and his line. Then I watched the second line, the third line, and Rammer’s line again. Halfway through the period, my line still hadn’t played. The score was 0–0. The shots on net were six for us and eight for Notre Dame, a pretty even game so far.

Then Coach Baker, our forward coach, patted me on the back. “Get ready. Your line is out next.”

We shuffled down the bench. My nerves tingled and my body was charged with electricity. The whistle blew, the gate opened, and I blasted onto the ice.

When the puck dropped, I moved. Keep your feet moving. Keep your feet moving. Ben picked up the puck on my opposite wing and started a rush. I skated with him. Key to scoring goals was driving to the net, getting in front, and moving constantly to get open. Ben passed the puck to Kade, and Kade rushed over the blue line. I swung behind him hoping for a drop pass. Kade saw me, made the pass, and I one-timed the puck. It pinged off the post and sailed behind the net. Ben rushed to the boards and Kade backed him up, so my job was to stay open in front. I kept moving my feet, back and forth, side to side, trying to dodge the Notre Dame defence and get in the open. He kept his stick on mine, holding me back. Kade tried to pop the puck in the net on a wrap-around, and a skirmish happened in front of the net, the puck still loose. The Notre Dame goalie tried to cover the puck but couldn’t, and it remained free in front of the net. I poked and prodded and jabbed, hoping to get a garbage goal. But no luck. The goalie reached out and slapped his glove on the puck, just as I was sent flying to the ice by a Notre Dame defenceman doing his job well.

The whistle blew.

I looked up and saw Rammer’s line coming out. I headed toward the bench. Coach Rennert said nothing to us, but by then I’d figured out he wasn’t a coach who gave many positive compliments. But Coach Baker said, “Great shift, boys. Keep creating chances.”

Once again, my line missed a rotation and sat on the bench. Nearing the end of the first period, we were given the go-ahead again. The score was still 0–0. If we could score, we could go to the dressing room with a lead.

Rammer came toward the bench waving his stick, tired and wanting off. I felt the push on my back. “Go!” said Coach Baker.

I jumped over the boards and raced to get into position.

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