Looking at the world from behind a cage does something to the brain. You see a tiger pacing back and forth and people say he’s bored. I don’t know about that. I think he’s probably just fired up. Ready to break out and take no prisoners. That’s how it is for me anyway, when I put on that helmet and see the world from behind those bars.
My cheeks feel like they’re the surface of the sun. I can feel the sweat beneath my pads, dripping down my back. I’m soaked. My muscles are burning, and I push my feet as fast as they can go. My limbs feel like rubber.
The ball is mine, safely nestled in the pocket of my stick while I barrel for the net. There’s a thumping behind me, the steady pounding of the left creaseman coming to stop me.
“Look who you got, Nick!” Coach is screaming from the bench.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my teammate tearing up the left side. That’s who I got. But I don’t need him. Coach’ll see—I’ve got this.
And then he’s hitting me, the left crease. My right shoulder tenses as he swats at my stick with his.
“Nick!” my teammate screams. “Over here!”
I ignore him. The net is calling my name.
I drop my stick and rip an underhand shot, bottom right—their goalie can’t block it. And then a body, the left crease, crosschecks me on my right side and I’m knocked off my feet.
The whistle blows. Practice is over.
I lie there, staring at the arena’s ceiling. Banners with our team’s name on them, Maplehurst Vikings, hang down from the rafters. Coach is gonna kill me. My lungs swell until they’re ready to burst. I try to ignore the tingling where my shoulder bit the concrete.
“Nick!” My teammate stands over me and takes off his helmet. I see the shaved-head silhouette of Markus, my brother. A bead of sweat from the end of his nose drops through my face mask, and I spit. “I was wide open. What the hell, man?”
He was. I spit again.
“Markus!” shouts Coach Preston from the bench. “Get changed, then come see me.”
I’m a little relieved Coach didn’t ask for me. Then again, he’s said plenty to me today already. I guess he’s finally given up.
Markus sighs and wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve. He nudges me with his foot. “Wait for me by the car.”
When I don’t say anything, he shakes his head and follows the rest of the Vikings to the change room.
I still lie there on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.