Cinderella in Skates (20 page)

The ref drops the puck and the game is underway and I let my eyes follow the movements without really seeing them. I'm lost in thoughts of -- what else? -- Shane and Wisconsin and everything we've done together in few months that I've been living here.
 

It doesn't make sense to me. He hadn't even thought enough of me -- enough of us -- to give me a real explanation for what happened. I don't even care that he stopped coaching me. I just want to know why he had to walk away from me all together.
 

I pull myself together and glance up into the stands, trying to see if I can catch sight of my parents who'd insisted on coming even though I'd told them there was a zero percent chance of them getting to see me play. And that's when I hear it -- the sound of the ref's whistle, the audible gasp that rises up among the crowd and then nothing but an eerie silence echoing throughout the rink.
 

I snap my attention back to the ice.
 

Coach Dobrov is halfway to our goal with the trainer close behind as players from both teams gather around something just to the left of the net.

"What happened?" I asked the girl to my right.
 

"Erica saved that shot with her head," she says, not taking her eyes off the scene in front of her. "And she hasn't gotten up."
 

I swing my head around to watch. Erica's down?

No, no, no. She has to get up. Has to be okay. I can't
really
play tonight -- I'm not ready.
 

Coach Dobrov motions to our bench and the next thing I know, a stretcher comes out onto the ice and they're strapping Erica on it and I'm watching but not really seeing what's happening because all I can think about is what's about to happen next.

Coach gathers us around for a quick timeout.
 

"Erica will be fine," she says. "I know the stretcher looks bad but it's just a precaution we have to take with head injuries. She's awake and moving and all that good stuff." She looks over at me. "Natalie, you're in."

"I'm what?"

I know it's next man up or whatever but it's still surreal to hear Coach D say it out loud. I reach under the bench and pull out the goalie mask I didn't think I would have to wear tonight. I can feel the eyes of all of my teammates boring into me -- do they think I can do this? Do they feel as hopeless about the game tonight as I do?

I'm not sure I want to know.

The ref blows his whistle and the third line and second defensive pairing skate out onto the ice. I'm about to follow when Coach Dobrov snags the sleeve of my jersey.

"Natalie," she says. "Breathe. Relax. You can do this. Remember I've seen you in your individual practices with Shane Stanford. I know what you're capable of. I trust you."
 

Coach D's words had been filling me with confidence up until the mention of Shane's name and suddenly his face is all I can see.
 

He's rattling me again at a time when I really can't let him become a distraction.
 

Will that ever go away?
 

I try to shake it off and skate out onto the ice to a smattering of applause, but I'm pretty sure maybe ten people in the stands tops have any idea who I am at all.

Puck drop comes back at center ice and Ivy wins the draw and my teammates skate down to the opposite end of the ice. I blow out a sigh of relief; I won't be tested immediately.
 

I try to focus on the play unfolding in our offensive zone. One of the girls winds up and slams a shot toward the other team's goalie and the red light flashes, the goal horn sounds and we've scored!
 

The scoring line goes down the bench, high-fiving everyone before they come back to center ice to restart the game. I'm just grateful for the goal support.
 

We win this face-off too and once again, the play heads away from me and my mind heads away from the game. I wonder what Shane would say if he could see me in the net in the middle of a real game. Heck, I wonder if Shane will even find out about this. I know I won't tell him and I'm not sure there's anyone who will.

He'd have to be looking for actual info about the game if he's going to see my name in the box score and why would he do that when all he wants is to get away from me?

He walked away. I still can't believe that, not really. And he quit as my coach when I needed him the most. And, yeah, I sort of understood why he did it but he'd
always
known that I wanted to move back to Arizona from the very first day.

It's not my fault he didn't want to believe it.

So, yeah. I guess I kind of think Shane wronged me here.
 

I'm just so defeated. It doesn't have to be like this. We were good together. Are good together. Could still be great together.
 

But he's...what? Too scared? Not willing to try?

After everything?

The next thing I know, I hear shouts, the tapping of sticks against the ice and the goal horn. I snap to attention -- we must've scored again. An extra goal will go a long way in helping me settle in for the rest of the game.

But when I look up, I see the celebration happening right in front of me. My teammates are staring at me and the crowd is silent except for a low grumble rumbling through the stands.

I stand up and even though I know what I'm going to find, I turn around and look at the net behind me. Sure enough, the puck's resting comfortably at the back of it.

I've given up a goal -- and I hadn't even realized play was coming my way.

Coach Dobrov is screaming from the bench, but I can't hear what she's saying. Judging by the look on her face, that's probably a good thing.
 

"Wake up," snaps one of my teammates, and I can't blame her.
 

I'm horrified, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment. I know I'm lucky there's no goalie in line behind me because my butt should be on the bench after this.

I keep my eyes focused on the ice as my angry teammates skate back to center ice for another puck drop. Just before the whistle blows, I glance up at the scoreboard and realize it's just 1-1. It's a new game, fresh, like the one I came into after Erica's injury.
 

We're not out of this. There's time for me to recover.

I force myself to watch the puck as it bounces around the ice between sticks. The Lady Tigers corral the loose puck and push it up the ice toward me. I crouch down into the position Shane taught me and wait.

 
Their left winger skates up and around the face-off circle then crashes hard to the net, trying to poke the puck through my five-hole, but I'm ready for it and slam my legs together. The rebound squirts away from me -- Shane wouldn't like that -- but it's gathered up by one of my teammates who takes it up toward our offensive zone.

Phew.

I've made a save. The first one in my hockey career. And hopefully not the last.
 

I can feel myself start to settle down into the flow of the game as the clock ticks on.

Most of the play for the last 6:15 of the period happens away from me so we escape into the first intermission tied at one, and I thankfully haven't managed to ruin the game any worse for us.

We filter into the locker room and gather around the benches to wait for Coach Dobrov's speech. She walks in a few minutes later, not looking all too pleased.

"I've just gotten word on Erica," she says, not wasting time. "She'll be fine, but we have no idea when she'll be able to return. It could be for Friday's game or it could be a month from now." She glances over at me when she says this. "So that means we all have to be prepared to go on without the girl who's been the anchor of this team for the last three seasons. I know you can do this and we'll make it work."
 

I feel twenty different sets of eyes flicker over to me, and I know each girl is wondering just how badly their team is screwed if I'm going to be in net for even one more game.

And it's this feeling of total lack of belief in me that has me longing to have Shane next to me, to hear his voice low and perfect in my ear, telling me I can do this, telling me I'm a hockey player.

A real Wisconsin girl.
 

I shake my head, trying to get the thoughts to leave my mind the same way you do with stray water droplets stuck in your ear after a swim. Not now. Thinking of Shane already got me burned once in this game; I won't let that happen again.

Coach Dobrov wraps up her speech and even though I haven't caught the last five minutes of it, I'm not too concerned. I'm ready to get back onto the ice and shut it all out.
 

I'm going to have to do this on my own.
 

***
 

I don't do it on my own.
 

And we lose, 6-2.
 

Ivy had managed to score a goal just three minutes into the second period and that should have given us enough momentum to really push the pedal down on the other team and win, but I'd given up a soft goal a few minutes after that and the Lady Tigers never looked back.
 

Erica would never have lost a lead twice in one game.
 

I know this because not one, not two but three of my teammates had informed me of it after the game. Only Ivy was talking to me. Not even Coach Dobrov had stopped by my locker to talk about what just happened.

So, yeah.

I'm on my own, all right.
 

Just not in the way I want to be.
 

I pick up my bag and head out to my parents' car. There's two more people I really don't want to see right now.
 

I toss my bag into the backseat first and climb in after it. Dad says nothing, just throws the car into reverse and backs out of the parking spot.

We're almost halfway home and even though I hadn't wanted to deal with my parents, the silence in the car is worse than getting yelled at.
 

"Thanks for coming tonight. You didn't have to."
 

"Wish I hadn't," Dad says.

Mom turns to him and rests her hand on his shoulder. "Phil."
 

"No, Wendy," he says, shrugging away from her touch. "I'm embarrassed. That's my name on the back of her jersey and it's tarnished."
 

"I think you're being a bit dramatic," Mom says. "It was her first game. It's natural to struggle."
 

"Struggle, yes. Give up six goals? Not with my genes."
 

"Phil, enough."
 

"Sorry, Dad," I pipe up. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."
 

My comment seems to deflate my father as he lets out a sigh. "It's alright," he says at last. "Your mother's right. It was your first game. But I expect you to be at the rink early tomorrow with Shane. I don't know what that boy's been teaching you."
 

"This has nothing to do with Shane!" I reply, my voice rising a few octaves. "He's a great coach."
 

"We'll see," Dad mutters.

"But I can't hit the ice with him anyway," I say, slumping back against the seat.
 

"He busy?"

"He quit."
 

Dad hits the brakes at the red light a little too forcefully. "He did what?"

"He quit on me. A couple days ago."
 

"That explains the checks," Mom says.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh," she says, and I can see her squirming even though she's not facing me. "Natalie, your father and I--"

"No, I know about that," I say dismissively. "I know you gave him money to coach me. I don't care. What do you mean, though, that him quitting explains the checks?"

"He, well, he returned them all," she says with hesitation. "This morning, in an envelope in our mailbox."
 

"The last one, you mean?"

"No." Mom shakes her head. "All of them. He never cashed a single one."
 

I lean back against the seat. Shane gave my parents the checks back. He hadn't actually taken the money.

But instead of making me happy -- it really had never been about the payday for him -- all it does is fill me with sadness.

If there was any doubt left before, it's gone now.
 

He really is done with me.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

There's a note on my locker when I walk into school the next morning from Coach Dobrov. She wants to see me in her office before first period.
 

I feel a sinking pit in my stomach even though I'm not surprised she wants to talk. But that doesn't stop the trembling in my hands. I worked too hard for this to get kicked off the team after one bad game.

But wouldn't that be funny if Shane -- who worked so hard to help me secure a spot on the roster -- ultimately is the reason I lose my spot? Because it's easier to blame my bad play on him leaving than it is to blame myself.
 

I quietly knock on Coach D's closed officer door, hoping maybe she won't hear me and I can tell her I tried to find her but she didn't answer when I stopped by.
 

"Come in!"
 

No such luck.
 

I push open the door to see Coach Dobrov sitting behind her desk, her hair pulled back in a severe bun that makes her look even more intimidating.
 

"Hello, Natalie. Have a seat."
 

I drop into one of the two chairs facing the desk.

"I don't think it should be much of a shock that I want to see you this morning," she begins. "But I didn't call you in here to yell at you for your performance, though I think we both know the team can't afford many games like that." She offers me a small smile.

"Believe me," I say. "I don't plan on playing like that ever again."
 

Coach Dobrov shrugs. "Well, you know, sometimes those things happen. But it has to be the exception and not the rule. I spoke with Erica Wunders' doctor last night. Erica will be out for the next month. I'm bringing Clara Stevens onto the roster and she'll serve as your backup."