Breaking the Mold

I sat with my coach at his desk. His eyes were wild with excitement; his face did not let on to what might be making him so happy.

“You wanted to tell me something,” I pressured.

“Yes. Right, right.” He shuffled some papers around, glancing at the pictures of our various Beanpot championships. I smiled the same, victorious smile out of some of them, hair changing length through the years.

“Acelynn, I received a letter in the mail about your recent performance…”

“Listen, sir, if it’s about that fight with the guy from UNH, I’m sorry. He kept cross-checking me and cheap-shotting everyone else,” I explained in a rush, heart pounding.

“No, no, Acelynn, it’s good. The letter was simply informing me about your option to get into the NHL Draft this year.”

My jaw dropped; he couldn’t be serious.

“I figured you’d say yes, considering your family background, so I took the liberty of telling them. I hope you don’t mind,” he added politely as an afterthought.

“Thank you, sir!” I jumped out of my seat. “Thank you a thousand times over!” I shook his hand and ran out of the locker room, right to my classy apartment north of the campus.

I dialed my brother’s phone number, praying he’d pick up.

“Hey, Ace,” his familiar voice greeted me. “What’s up, little sister?”

“Jordan, you’ll never believe what coach just told me.”

“You’re gonna be in net for the rest of the season?” He laughed.

“No, doof. He pulled me into his office, talking about my ability as a three-way player, and he tells me I’m gonna be in the NHL Draft!” I squealed in excitement, jumping up and down.

“No way, Ace!” I could hear his excitement, see the smile spreading from ear to ear. “You’re gonna be the second girl in the league!”

“Second?”

“Yeah, ‘cause, you know, Sidney’s the first and… oof,” he said, a clatter and shouts following.

“Hey, Acelynn,” the deep voice of Sidney Crosby said. “Now, what’s going on?”

“I’m gonna be in the Draft!”

“No way! That’s amazing, Ace. First girl ever, no matter what Jordan might say.” He, too, was genuinely happy for me. “Now, I assume you still have to call your other brothers, so I’ll let you go. See you when we come up to Boston next week, ‘kay?”

“Bye, Sid. Send Jordan my love.”

“Will do.” He hung up. I punched in another number and waited eagerly for him to answer.

“Ace, baby, what’s going on?” My eldest brother’s silky voice comforted me; calmed me down.

“I’m gonna be in the draft,” I said, the smile not disappearing just yet.

“For real? That’s awesome! I mean, I guess we taught you pretty well!”

“You guys can’t take all the credit. I learned a lot from Cam, Marc, and Hank on the goaltending part. ‘Cause last time I checked, none of you were netminders.”

“But who hooked you up with those guys?”

“You did,” I sighed. Eric had this way of finding ways to get credit for everything.

“Exactly. Now, I’m not gonna tell Jared, ‘cause he’ll be pissed. And Jordan, Marc, and I’m assuming Sidney, because we all know Jordan can’t keep his mouth shut, understand that they can’t tell anyone. But Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“Pray a Western Conference team picks you. ‘Cause all these Staal vs. Staal matchups get annoying. ‘Kay, I gotta go. Practice. Love you!”

“Love you too, Eric!”

After Eric ended our conversation, I dialed one last number.

“Little sister!” Marc’s always-cheery voice practically busted my eardrum. I held my phone away from my ear.

“Hey, Marky Marc!”

“What’s up? You okay?”

“Better than okay; I’m gonna be in the…”

“Hold on, text.” I waited a few moments.

“You’re gonna be in the draft?!?” His voice was appallingly surprised.

“Okay, who ruined it? Second of all, why does that shock you?”

“Jordan,” he said. I rolled my eyes. “And, well… it’s… you’re this incredible goalie-slash-defensewoman-slash-forward, but… I’m gonna sound sexist no matter how I say this, huh?”

“It’s ‘cause I’m a girl, right?”

“Yeah. Sorry, Ace. Not only that, but you’re the youngest out of all of us…”

“By three freaking minutes,” I interjected.

“Yeah, but still. Jared’s the older twin. Anyways, I thought it’d be Eric-Jordan-me-Jared, maybe you, but never Eric-Jordan-me-you, maybe Jared.” I heard someone shout in the background. “Ace, I gotta bounce. Dubi and the gang invited me to a lunch dinner thing.”

“No problemo, bro. Talk to you soon.”

“Yup. Love ya, Ace.”

“Bye, Marc.”

I hung up, sighing.

It was gonna be a good year.