Cinderella in Skates

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."

I smile, happy that Clara will finally get a shot to call herself a member of the team like she'd wanted.

"That said," Coach D continues, "I won't hesitate to play Clara if you can't get it together. I gave you a roster spot after tryouts because I was more confident in your abilities. I still am. But it has to get better."

"I understand, Coach," I tell her. "I won't let you down."

She nods and sits back in her chair. "Is this what you want?"

"What?"

"Hockey. Is this what you want?"

"It's what I need."

Coach Dobrov looks up at me with a frown. "I don't understand."

"I have to play hockey if I'm going to move back to Arizona in June," I say. "It's the deal I worked out with my parents."

"Play or be on the team?"

"Be on the team."

"Well," Coach Dobrov says. "I can't promise anything going forward. I'll coach you as much as I can but the rest is up to you."

I nod. "I understand."

"Good," she says. "Then I'll see you at practice later."

And when I leave her office, I'm more unsure of myself than ever before.





    ***





A few days later brings about our next game, and just like Coach Dobrov had promised, I'm back in net.

It's different going into a game as the starting goalie than it was for me the first time when I was just the back up and didn't think I had a prayer at seeing a minute of ice time.

Ivy told me that some of the girls held a secret meeting before the game and decided that if I played as badly today as I did in my first game, they were going to Coach D to demand that Clara gets the start in the next game.

Great.

No extra pressure or anything.

It's hard going out on the ice with that on my mind, knowing that some of my teammates don't believe I can do it.

But even though I know I can, I keep trying to remind myself that I haven't proven it to anyone else yet. And even though it's enough for me to know that I'm good enough, it isn't going to work if I can't actually do it for real.

In a game.

Tonight's game.

The locker room is quiet, subdued, before the game, and I'm left alone to get dressed and into my pads. Erica led us out onto the ice before the last game, not, according to Ivy, because she was the captain but because she was the goalie.

Coach Dobrov hasn't said anything about that to me.

I'm just strapping my last pad into place when the coach walks into the locker room and calls the team to attention.

"Listen up, ladies," she says. "We're set to hit the ice in two minutes now and Natalie will lead us into the rink. I expect a sharper performance from all aspects of the game. More goals, better defense, improved goaltending. There's not one area that doesn't need to improve. My patience is thin tonight. Don't test it. Let's get out there."

I haven't heard much of what she said past the announcement that I'm leading the team onto the ice. I get it because I'm the goalie but I don't even have the confidence of some of my teammates. How can I be the one to lead them out into the rink?

Do I even want to do this?

I take a deep breath. Ivy wanders over to me.

"You got this," she says, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Pull it together. You already look rattled."

I shake my head. "I'm not. I'm good. Just surprised."

"I told you, it's a goalie thing with Coach D. Has nothing to do with it being Erica."

"It should be someone else."

Ivy shrugs. "Okay, you don't think you've earned this yet. So go out there and prove you deserve it. Easy solution."

"I guess you're right."

"Yeah, usually am," she replies with a grin. "Besides, it's not like there's anything else you can do about it."

I take a deep breath and glance at the ceiling. "You think I can do this?"

"I hope you can," she says, and I can't help but smile at her honesty. "Come on, we've got to hit the ice."

I walk over to my team that's gathered by the door to the locker room and can't even meet any of their eyes as I clomp to the front of the line to lead them out.

Ivy's right.

I don't think I've earned this at all.

But before I get another second to think about it, the student at the door tells me to go and I'm marching down the long hallway and out toward the rink. I can hear faint cheers and claps as we get closer and then, just like that, my skates touch the ice and everyone is out there, and it's over.

I let out a small sigh of relief. One obstacle down tonight. Just sixty minutes of hockey left to go.

The whistle blows. The puck drops. It bounces over to Ivy and the skaters scatter across the ice to make their hockey magic happen.

My eyes follow every motion of the puck, every flick of the stick, every juke of the body, always staying one step ahead of the play, just like Shane taught me.

Even if he's given up on me, I'm still going to make him proud tonight.

The other team skates in, a three-on-two rush, but I track the puck and reach out to snag it with my glove as it flies through the air, trying to get past me.

I don't let it.

A smattering of applause rains down from the stands for my simple save.

"Not bad, Melter!" Coach Dobrov shouts out from the bench.

Play resumes in the circle to my left and we win the face-off and push the puck up the ice. I stand in the crease, watching intently, refusing to let myself get distracted. That's how I got bit last time.

The next thing I know, Ivy sails a pass to our right winger, who promptly buries it behind the other team's goalie. The horn sounds, the lamp flashes and we're up 1-0!

And just like that, I know we're going to win because I know I'm not going to give up a single goal to ruin this feeling now.

I want it too much.





      ***





We cruise through the rest of the first period and all of the second until there are only five minutes left in the final frame of the game. It's still just 1-0. The other team's goalie has really locked it down since that early score in the first, which just means that I have to be even better here down the stretch.

The other team will be desperate to pepper me with shots now, hoping to sneak one by or get a lucky bounce. I think back to my rebound control drills with Shane and try to remember everything he taught me. I'm going to need that with me now.

The other team's forwards buzz around my zone, looking for a passing lane to get a shot off but my blueliners aren't making that easy.

And then without warning they find one, and fire the shot and I kick out my pad to stop it but the puck bounces out back toward the right face-off circle and one of their players winds up and sends the one-timer in toward the net. I'm still sprawled on the ground and know there's no chance I'll be able to get back into position to stop the high-sailing shot this time.

I toss my stick up in the air to knock the shot down and just clip a piece of it. It bounces out to one of my teammates who sends it up the ice and out of our zone.

I let out a huge breath, heart slamming against my ribs, and pick myself up and pull it together.

It's still 1-0. I steal a glance at the scoreboard hanging above center ice. Just 3:46 left to go in the game. I should only have to weather a few more storms to get this win.

Play buzzes around the other team's goalie for another minute or so before they're able to gain control of the puck and bring it up toward me to try to notch the tying score.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see their goalie skate to the bench and the extra skater come onto the ice, giving them a man-advantage. I hope my teammates can score an empty-net goal to pretty much guarantee us the win.

The extra skater almost makes all the difference as they're able to skate around and pass, looking for the perfect shot with an undefended player. And then the point person on their power play sees what she's looking for and winds up to blast a one-timer at me.

I'm ready to make the stop but the puck never reaches me. Ivy's dived to block the shot with her leg and it careens down the ice.

I look up at the clock. Five seconds left. I quickly bring my eyes back to the play in front of me but there's no chance for another shot.

And then the buzzer sounds and the game is over and we've won.

"Nice!" Ivy exclaims, skating over and giving me a hug. "I told you. Now you earned it."

"Nice game, Natalie," one of my other teammates says.

We skate to center ice and raise our sticks to salute the home crowd before heading off to the locker room.

Coach Dobrov follows us in.

"Now that's more like it, ladies!" she exclaims, clapping her hand against her clipboard. "Much better. Our offense is going to need some work going forward but the blue line play and goaltending were magnificent tonight." She shoots a brief glance at me. "Well done. Take the weekend off. We'll be back at it next week."

She leaves the room almost as quickly as she came in, and I go back to stripping off my pads and getting out of my sweaty jersey and game clothes.

"That was really nice out there tonight, Natalie," one of my teammates -- I think her name is Eliza -- says to me from a few lockers over.

"Thanks," I say. "I guess I just needed to settle down."

"How'd you get to be so good at hockey?"

I bite my lip. I'd been able to push away all of my Shane emotions during the game but now that it's over and I realize just how amazing of a coach he is, it's suddenly a lot harder to keep it together.

"Um," I say. "I had some great help."

"A coach?"

"Yeah."

"Who was it?"

I sigh but see no point in refusing to tell her. "Shane Stanford."

Eliza looks at me funny. "The guy who used to play here?"

"Yeah."

"How do you know him?"

I really, really don't want to have this conversation. I don't want to think about him anymore and how dumb it is that he walked away from me and how maybe it's my fault for not telling him how much he means to me. But he still never should have gone. Not like this.

"We're neighbors."

"He's so cute. And so amazing at hockey."

I nod. "Yeah, he's really good."

Eliza smiles. "Lucky you. I'll catch you later, Natalie. Have a good weekend." She walks away and I sink down onto the bench, stuffing my clothes into my hockey bag.

I have to get out of here.

My parents wait for me outside the locker room and I can't get to them and get into the car fast enough.

"That's more like it," Dad says when I catch up to them. He ruffles my sweaty, matted hair. "I knew you could do it."

"Thanks, Dad."

"I thought you said Shane quit being your coach," Mom says as we walk out of the building and toward the car.

I nod and take a deep breath to keep myself from snapping at her. "He did. Can we please stop talking about it?"

Will his name ever stop coming up? I need a break. And it's seriously killing my buzz from the win. I want to be happy tonight.

"Does he know someone else on the team?"

"He never said anything about that to me," I say, then I think of Eliza. "But he might. I don't know."

"He was here tonight," she says, dropping a bomb on me.

I stop walking, my stomach twisting itself into knots. "Are you sure?"

"I saw him myself."

"Why?"

Mom shrugs. "I have no idea. I thought you maybe had reconciled and didn't mention it."

"Um, no. We haven't talked at all."

"Oh. Well, isn't that interesting?" she replies in a tone that I don't like. I'm immediately suspicious.

"What?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Nothing, nothing."

"Do you know something?"

"Natalie, I promise you, dear, I'm clueless," Mom says. "I just saw him sitting a few rows away from us. That's it."

We reach the car and I get into the backseat without another word.

Any hope I'd had for a nice, happy evening after the win was dashed the second my mom opened her mouth.

And now I have no idea what to think.