Cinderella in Skates

by Carly Syms

  Once I'm packed back up, I pick up my phone, not letting myself admit how nervous I am to read his response. I check the screen but there's no new text message and the lump instantly rises in my throat.

  No answer to my question about the barbecue tonight. I know I haven't actually asked him anything, but all I really want to know is that we're okay off the ice even if we're no longer something on it.

  With a sinking heart, I pick up my bag and walk out of the empty arena to head home. As I push through the door, I hear someone yelp and suddenly I'm face-to-face with Erica Wunders.

  Of course.

  Like I really need this right now.

  "Done so soon, Natalie?" she asks.

  "Just remembered I don't need the practice," I shoot back.

  Erica lifts an eyebrow. "Is that what you think?" She shakes her head and smiles, and all I really want to do is ask her if I hit her with the door when I opened it. I kind of hope so.

  "No, it's not what I think. It's what I know."

  "I guess you're not that far off," she says, adjusting the hockey bag on her shoulder. "You must've figured out that you've got not shot at beating me out so why even waste your time getting better, right?"

  I feel the pressure of Shane's texts and Erica's catty comments all pushing down on my shoulders and I try to take a calming breath before I snap.

  "See you at practice, Erica," I manage to say before I hurry away from her. It's a lame response and I'm disappointed to leave it at that, but can you blame me? I glance down at my phone screen -- still nothing -- and all I really want is to crawl back into bed and pretend today never happened.

  ***

  I flick on my left blinker and turn onto our street. I've been getting angrier and angrier with Shane after every passing mile and when I see his car parked in his parents' driveway a few houses down, my blood almost boils over.

  I bring my dad's SUV to a screeching halt along the curb, shut off the engine and stomp my way over to the Stanford's house without even thinking about it.

  And suddenly, I'm on their front porch, pressing the doorbell.

  Shane's mom meets me at the door.

  "Natalie," she says, and I don't miss the note of surprise in her voice. "Can I help you with something?"

  "I need to talk to Shane."

  She opens her mouth, then closes it again before saying, "I'm not sure where he's run off to, dear. Maybe you should try his phone."

  "Isn't that his car in the driveway?"

  "It is," she says slowly, and I get the distinct impression Shane's mother is trying to give me the run-around. "But I'm not sure where he went. He might've taken his bike out."

  "Can you check to see if he's home, please? I'll wait."

  Mrs. Stanford raises her eyebrows but nods and closes the front door behind her before disappearing back into her house.

  I stand there, refusing to budge, staring at the door, when I hear it.

  "Natalie?"

  I spin around. Shane's standing at the end of the driveway next to the mailbox. He's straddling his bicycle and looking at me like he can't quite believe I'm here.

  "What is your problem?" I demand.

  He looks taken aback. "What?"

  "You heard me, Shane. What's going on here?"

  "What is this about?"

  I stare at him, stunned that he's trying to play so dumb with me. I don't say anything and don't lift my gaze off of his. When he lowers his head, I know I've got him.

  "Look, it's just like I told you in the text," he says, kicking at the ground with the toe of his sneaker. "I'm too busy to coach you right now."

  "What about the barbecue?"

  He lets out a sigh, and I know then that he hadn't planned on answering my message about it. "I don't think that's a good idea."

  "You're not having it anymore?"

  He pauses for a second too long. "We're thinking about canceling."

  "Don't lie to me, Shane."

  "Nat, this isn't easy for me, okay?"

  "Yeah, giving up that paycheck must be so hard for you."

  He snaps his head up and looks at me sharply. "It was never about the money. You know that."

  "Yeah, so you said," I shoot back. "But you also said you'd help me take over for Erica Wunders and look how that turned out."

  "I need a break!" he yells, and I take a step back. I've never heard him raise his voice around me before. "I have to stop this. It's stupid anyway. Don't you see that there's no point?"

  "Because you think I have no shot."

  He frowns. "What? No, I'm not even talking about hockey, Natalie. You're great at hockey. I'm talking about all of it."

  "All of what?" Part of me had known since I got his text that this was coming, but I still don't want to hear it.

  "You and me," he says, his voice going quiet. "I can't."

  "Why?"

  He shakes his head. "Nat, I can't explain it. It's just too much. And it's pointless. You're leaving. I'm in college. It's not right. Go home."

  He sits back on his bike and pedals the short distance into the garage. I'm still standing on his porch when he presses the button and the door closes between us.

  I'm still standing there when his mother opens the front door and tells me that her son's in the shower and he won't be able to talk to me right now.

  But I'd already known that.

  I won't be talking to Shane again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Gameday.

  It's almost time for Game One. Our first contest of the season and my first real hockey game.

  I'm in the locker room with my teammates but I can think of just about a million other places I'd rather be. My heart isn't in this one tonight. I don't care about hockey.

  It's only been two days since Shane told me he couldn't do us anymore and nothing that reminds me of him feels right now, especially being on the ice. Practice yesterday had not gone well for me. Erica had loved every minute of my struggles and even Ivy had to ask where my mind disappeared to.

  I didn't know what to tell her.

  I lace up my skates, keeping to myself in the locker room, when Ivy comes over and drops down next to me.

  "Doing better today, Nat?" she asks.

  I shrug. "Doesn't matter. I'm the back-up."

  "No, it matters. You could have to go in at any second," she reminds me, but I just roll my eyes. We both know there's no chance of me ever replacing Erica in a game unless maybe we're up by seven goals and then who cares if I play sloppily?

  "Whatever."

  "Natalie." Ivy reaches out and grabs my shoulder. "What the heck is going on?"

  "Nothing. I'm fine."

  "You aren't. I don't know you that well, but I know this much. Does it have something to do with that guy from the weekend? Something happen there?"

  I let out a sigh. "Shane."

  Ivy doesn't say anything, just waits for me to continue.

  "Yeah," I finally say. "We're over."

  "Girl, if I had a nickel every time some guy and I were over, I wouldn't be stressing so much right now about my college applications," she tells me, and I crack a smile. "It sucks now, I know that. But you gotta find a way to put it out of your head for the game. Plenty of time to mope around later."

  "Easier said than done."

  "I know. But you have to focus on hockey."

  "That's exactly the problem."

  She raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

  "Shane was my coach. I'm only here because of him."

  Ivy looks at me with a sad smile. "That sucks, Natalie. I don't know what to tell you other than you're gonna have to figure out a way to make it work tonight. Part of growing up."

  I sigh. I know she's right but that doesn't mean I want to hear it.

  "Come on," she says after I finish lacing up my skates. "Let's get out there. We've got a game to win."

  ***

  I'm sitting on the bench after the National Anthem, glaring daggers at Erica Wunders
as she skates out to take her place in net. Now I get to sit here and think about Shane and hockey and I don't even get the distraction of having actual game action to focus on.

  I let out a sigh from my end of the bench opposite Coach Dobrov and the rest of her staff. I'm essentially an afterthought tonight as the back-up goalie. No one wants to see me in this game.

  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."