September 2003
Eighteen months later
“I don’t want to play with girls,” I bitched to Phil.
I knew I sounded like a five-year-old boy. We were in his family room, hanging out. We were still good friends, even though Phil had a steady stream of cute girlfriends. I didn’t think he got that serious with anyone though. Whatever, it wasn’t like I minded.
I kept talking. “I can’t believe I won’t be playing on the same hockey team with you guys this season.”
In the spring, Coach Jerry had spoken to my parents about switching me to girls’ hockey. He told them I might be a good enough player to have a chance at a U.S. college scholarship, but I needed to get seen by the right people. Which meant trying out for a girls’ rep team this year.
“Me either.”
Phil was playing his Fender guitar without being plugged in, but I knew he was noodling around and still paying attention to me.
“You know, I figured we’d have a good shot at the championship this season. Ian McGuire would be our goalie, and you’d be our top centre instead of Alexander what-his-face. He is such a tool.”
Phil nodded, but even he wasn’t into discussing hockey as much as I was. I had put the whole issue to the back of my mind all summer, but now that September had rolled around, I was starting to get worried. What was it going to be like, playing with a whole new team in a whole new league? New situations made me nervous.
“Girls can be so bitchy sometimes. I hope that the team won’t be all cliquey and weird.”
“I bet they’ll all love hockey as much as you do, and you’ll make some great friends. Plus I won’t have to worry about you being surrounded by guys all the time.”
“Worry? I’m not interested in guys like that, so don’t waste your time.”
“Just checking in.” Phil smiled. “Hey, do you want to hear the new song I wrote?” He was always writing music.
I nodded. “How come you never write lyrics?”
I would have preferred to hear him sing and play, because he had a cool singing voice. He sang other people’s stuff, but not his own.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I want to, but it’s tough to get inspired the way I do for chords and stuff.” Phil plugged into his amp and started playing. I closed my eyes, listened, and relaxed. It was helping me take my mind off my worries.
My hockey tryouts went pretty well. I ended up on the top female team on the North Shore, the Avalanche. It was a little weird because they had all been playing together for a while and I was the only rookie on the team. I wasn’t the best player, but I was definitely one of the better ones. Over the summer, I had really amped up my gym training, and it was paying off on the ice.
My biggest issue had to do with hitting. In boys’ hockey, I was used to hitting. Here we were allowed to contact other players, but not to hit. What exactly was the difference?
I took two penalties in our first game, and our coach, Peter Miller, went nuts on me. He was a screamer, not like Jerry.
I found the whole game different: the passing was better, but the shooting was weaker. The goaltenders seemed to be better, but maybe that was because the shots weren’t so hard. Sometimes, I felt that the intensity was lacking. Boys would kill themselves to make a tiny play like keeping the puck in the zone, but girls seemed to be more in control. A little out of control was good in my books.
Unfortunately, there was some girl-gang thinking in the room. The team’s captain, Laura Armstrong, was a really skilled player, an aggressive centreman with a powerful shot. She was also a capital B-Bitch, and she didn’t like that I had come in and taken the place of one of her friends. On the ice, if I was open, neither she nor her close friends would pass to me. Since she was a big playmaker, that was going to be a problem. It was pretty stupid, but the coach hadn’t noticed yet so I hoped it would get straightened out. I could care less if they snubbed me in the dressing room, but if I couldn’t make a difference on the ice, what was the point of even being on this team?
One Thursday night, early in the season, the whole team was waiting at the arena because of some confusion with ice times. Laura decided that I needed to pass some random initiation rite.
“We all did something when we were rookies, so now it’s your turn, Kelly,” she declared.
Bullshit. I was willing to bet that Laura’s initiation was a handshake and a welcome to the team. I was also sure that she had cooked up some plan to humiliate me.
“Initiation rites are a throwback to prehistoric times,” I said. “I’m not doing it.”
“Well, if you’re afraid. It’s too bad that you lack the Avalanche spirit.”
“I’m not afraid, it’s stupid. And what’s in it for me, other than looking like an idiot?”
Laura frowned. “Why should something be in it for you? You’re part of a team and you should act like it.”
“No, you should act like it. You’re the captain.”
She really bugged me, all my life I’d been a team player but usually the team goal was about hockey wins and not popularity.
“How do I not act like a captain?”
“Well, like Sunday’s game. Late in the third period, I was wide open on the half boards, and you insisted on dishing off to the other wing. We lost the puck and a scoring opportunity. I don’t care if you like me, but on the ice you should use every player, that’s how we win.”
Suddenly, there were some whispers and a bit of head nodding. Clearly I wasn’t the only one suffering from Laura’s selective ways. She flushed pink and then tossed her hair.
“Okay, if you pass an initiation rite, I will pass to you more.”
“Not just to me, to everyone when it’s right and not only your friends,” I insisted. April always called me the patron saint of lost causes, but this was a chance to make the whole team better.
“Sure.” Laura started smiling, and I figured that she had a task in mind she knew I could not pass.
“All right, fire away,” I said, crossing my fingers that I wouldn’t have to streak the rink.
She pointed to the next sheet of ice where some guys our age were standing after their game. They were rep players, dressed in suits.
“See that guy—the cute blond guy. You have to get him to kiss you, in front of us. And you have to get a date with him.”