The second period flew by as the teams went back and forth across the ice. No one scored. Not even Mackenzie could sneak a shot into the net.
Kyla felt dizzy and exhausted from chasing the puck. She heavily huffed in and out. Her building frustration was making it even harder to breathe. By the end of the period, the score was still tied at 1–1.
The third period didn’t start out any better. Thirty seconds in, Tamika missed a drop pass from Mackenzie. By the time Tamika realized she’d skated past the puck, the Marauders had scooped it away.
“Adams!” a voice shouted above the noisy crowd.
Kyla didn’t have to turn to see who was yelling. It was Tom.
Tom charged down from the stands. “Put Fire on the ice!” he cried.
Kyla glanced at Coach Adams. The coach sat as rigid as if she’d been frozen in place.
“It’s all your fault, Tom,” Kyla hissed quietly to herself.
At the next line change, Kyla’s heart was still pounding in fury. She’d been removed as starter and was playing a position she didn’t want. She’d gotten an unfair penalty. And now Tom was butting in — again. She skated onto the ice, trying to shake off her anger.
In the defensive zone, the Marauders took a shot and missed. A Storms defender came up with the rebound and passed to Ali.
In a flash, Number 22 charged after her. As the two grappled along the boards, Kyla saw the Marauder’s stick rise above her shoulders and connect with Ali’s elbow.
FWEET! “Penalty on Marauders Number 22 for high-sticking!” the ref called.
Number 22 skated toward the penalty box. As she whizzed past Kyla, she stuck out her elbow and slammed Kyla in the shoulder.
“Unsportsmanlike conduct!” Kyla cried.
But the refs hadn’t been watching. No penalty was called.
These Marauders play dirty, Kyla thought. We have to win this game.
“Power play, Ice Storms!” the announcer called.
Kyla gripped her stick as she skated into position for the face-off. And this is our chance.
Snagging the puck, Kyla slid it to Mandi. Mandi surged toward the goal but missed, and the Marauders picked up the rebound.
Ana held off the goal attempt, dropping to the ice and putting her knees together in a butterfly position. A Storms defender spun the puck to Kyla, and she took off as fast as she could.
Kyla whipped past the blue line. The goalie was caught off guard, surprised to see Kyla coming at her with such speed.
The goal was wide open. Kyla slid her bottom hand down the stick, brought the blade behind her back leg, swept her arm forward, and flicked the puck off the blade. A perfect wrist shot.
Except it wasn’t perfect.
Ping! The puck hit the side of the cage and shot out into the stands. Kyla could only stare at the goal, totally stunned. The ref blew the whistle to stop play.
A deafening cheer rose from the Marauders fans at the missed shot. Kyla crouched forward, head in her hand, as the cheers rained down on her.
I missed, she thought, gasping to keep the sobs in her chest from breaking free. I had a perfect chance, and I missed.
Kyla lined up for the face-off, but she was still shaking from her missed attempt. The Marauders center took the puck easily.
“Be quicker on the draw!” she heard Tom shout.
Kyla tried to calm herself as she skated to the center line. Maybe there will be another chance, she thought, glancing at the clock. Twenty seconds left of the power play.
The Marauders took aim at the goal, but Ana knocked the puck out.
Five seconds left.
Ali gained control of the puck. She glanced around the ice, looking uncertain. Kyla skated into her view, ready for the pass.
Three, two, one.
Number 22 slid out of the penalty box and charged toward Kyla. “Nice shot, rubber wrists!” she teased.
Ali lobbed the puck in Kyla’s direction. Number 22 swung her stick over Kyla’s and hooked the puck.
“Gotcha, rubber wrists!” Number 22 taunted.
All Kyla’s built-up rage hurtled through her like a volcano. Stay calm, said a tiny voice in her mind.
But her body didn’t listen.
Kyla slammed Number 22 against the boards. The other girl threw down her stick, grabbed Kyla’s shoulders, and whipped her around until both players fell onto the ice. Kyla spun onto her back, and the Marauders player fell on top of her.
Whistles screeched from all directions, but Number 22 was still gripping Kyla’s shoulders and glaring down at her. She swished something around in her mouth.
She’s going to spit on me! Kyla realized. She shoved the other girl off just as a long string of drool slipped onto Kyla’s helmet.
Two refs pulled the girls apart. “Penalty, Number 18, for roughing!” one ref called.
Kyla was not surprised. As she got to her feet, she waited for the next penalty call. But none came.
“She threw me to the ice!” Kyla shouted to the ref. “And spit on me!”
But the ref’s face remained solid. It was as if she hadn’t heard a word Kyla said.
Number 22 grinned as Kyla slid past her toward the penalty box. “Aww, poor baby has to sit in the box!”
It was all Kyla could do to not shove the other girl down again. She gave the penalty box door a good kick and sank onto the seat. Her mind was spinning.
She hadn’t had that kind of fight since she was in little league. Since then, Kyla had always played by the rules. She’d never let her emotions get to her — until now.
Kyla had just let her team down again. And she’d let herself down too.
She glanced over at Coach Rafferty on the bench. I’ve definitely caught her attention now, Kyla thought, but for all the wrong reasons.