Crazy

“Well, Miss Westbrook, taking into account your impressive ninety-six save percentage on your high school team, and the ninety-four percent on your club team, we here at the University of Minnesota would be pleased to offer you the position of back-up goaltender on our women’s team. This will include a partial scholarship as well.” My heart sunk.

Mr. Cadwell grinned at me, faltering when he saw the look on my face. I couldn’t help but feel… disappointed.

“I mean this as respectfully as possible, Mr. Cadwell, but I’m going to have to decline.”

His eyebrows furrowed, his face confused. “But why, Miss Westbrook?”

I shifted nervously in my seat. “With all due respect, I don’t want to play for the women’s team. I’ve been playing on boys’ teams my entire life. My club team, my high school’s team in Denver… all boys. I’m really looking into making a professional career out of hockey, and that’s tricky and nearly impossible to do playing for a female team.” I paused for a second, glancing up to see how Mr. Cadwell was reacting. He gestured for me to go on. “I’m six feet tall, one hundred and sixty-five pounds, and my statistics are better than your men’s back-up goalie. Not to sound egotistical,” I said hastily as Mr. Cadwell let out a small laugh, “but I truly believe I could play on the men’s team here and do a good job.”

“Well, you certainly dream big. And I can’t argue with you about your statistics,” Mr. Cadwell replied, leaning back in his plush red chair. He set his hands on the mahogany desk, looking at me straight in the eyes. “I think we could make something work.”

My jaw dropped. “Wait, are you for real?”

He chuckled. “Yes, Miss Westbrook, I am ‘for real.’”

I squealed a little bit before covering my mouth embarrassedly. “I promise I won’t let you down, sir!”

“Now, it won’t be easy getting there. You’ll have to go through tryouts to make the team. I’ll also have to discuss this with the other coaches,” he said, looking at me seriously. “The road to get there will be hard, but if anyone could do it, I think it would be you.”

--

“Hey you little shitheads! Give me a challenge here!” I chirped from the goal, taunting the hockey players who were trying to score against me.

Logan laughed at me from the sidelines. He was done with the practice, having scored on me previously. He was the only one.

“Come on Jonny boy!” He hollered. “Don’t let her block you!”

Jon, the newest addition to the team, was an up-and-coming left wing recently recruited from Grand Rapids, Michigan. He jumped around on his skates and toyed with the puck a little bit before looking at me determinedly. He took off with a burst of speed, stick-handling his way down the ice. The only thing that gave him away was the tiny flicker of his eyes up to the top left corner of the goal. He pushed the puck from right to left, attempting to fake me out before looking to flip the puck above my shoulder.

I deflected it away, flicking it towards Logan with my glove hand.

“And Flick makes the save!” Logan shouted, dodging the puck and using the nickname the team had given me in my first season. As a goalie, I had an unorthodox method of making a save by flicking the puck away towards my teammates. That and the close proximity to my real name, Felicity, and the nickname ‘Flick’ was born.

Jon skated back to the end of the line dejectedly. “Hey, newbie, next time!” I shouted after him.

Twenty minutes later with everyone the team having made a goal (although I might have let a few soft ones in to move things along), practice had ended. I received a few stick tap on my leg pads as I left the ice, heading towards the women’s locker room. I had it all to myself, taking a long, luxurious shower. I could see a new bruise developing on my upper left arm, one of the downsides of being a goalie. If I only got five new bruises during a practice, it was a good one. Even with all the padding, the pucks could still hurt.

I dumped all my stuff into my equipment bag, shoving it under the bench. I put my hair into its usual braid as I went outside where Logan was waiting for me, as usual.

“Flick, could you go any slower?” He asked exasperatedly, giving my braid a tug. Logan was easily my best friend on the team. He was only a year older than me and had been the most accepting when I had first joined. Being a goaltender on one of the best Division 1 teams in the United States was hard enough, but being the female goaltender, well… that was a completely different story.

“You know me, Lo,” I shrugged. “Same place for lunch?” After every Saturday morning practice, we would always go to Manny’s for cheeseburgers. It was a small tradition we had for the past two years.

“Yeah. I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Jon along,” he informed me, waving the freshman over. “He doesn’t know a lot of people on the team really well, and I felt bad. Being Captain and all,” he snuck in, puffing out his chest proudly, “I feel like it’s my duty to make sure everyone on the team connects.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I plastered a smile on my face as Jon made his way over to us, shuffling his feet awkwardly and looking down at the floor. I felt bad for the guy. I knew what it was like to be the rookie of the team.

“Hey, Jon,” I said cheerfully. “Ready to get some lunch?”

His head snapped up, looking startled as he realized I had spoken to him. “Y-yeah.”

Logan gave him a little clap on the back before looping an arm around my shoulder. “Then let’s go!”

--

I let out a quiet moan as I took the first bite of my cheeseburger. “This is literally heaven on earth. It makes up for the hell that is Minnesota in the winter,” I said before taking another huge bite. Logan let out a noise of agreement. We both stared expectantly at Jon who had yet to taste his burger.

“Try it!” I told him, my mouth full of food. He picked it up carefully, taking a tiny little nibble out of it as his eyes widened. “Delicious, right?”

He nodded. “This is the best burger I’ve ever had in my life.”

“And he speaks!” I exclaimed as he turned bright red. “Aw don’t be nervous! I’m not scary, really.”

“You’re the best goalie at the collegiate level, you’re a little scary,” Jon said, loosening up a little.

“You’re too flattering,” I said, waving him off. “I’m not that good.”

Logan raised his eyebrows at me. “Flick, you’re the starting goalie for a men’s team in your sophomore year. That’s impressive.”

I shook my head. “Put hard work in and you get results.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You’re too modest. Anyway, Jon, want me to give you some advice for scoring on her?” He snorted to himself at the double meaning behind his own words. “You can’t look at where you’re aiming. She will always, always, notice. That’s partially what makes her so good – she has a sixth sense for these sorts of things.”

“Your shot was good, newbie. You just looked at the top of the goal and I knew where you were going to go,” I told him truthfully.

“Okay, so I have to shoot without aiming?”

“Not without aiming, per say, but without making it too obvious where you’re looking,” Logan explained.

Jon nodded, a look of understanding coming over his face. We continued to chat after that, Jon becoming more and more talkative as the lunch went on.

“Oh, Flick, I almost forgot to tell you! The NHL scouts are going to be at the game against Boston tomorrow.” I nearly dropped my glass of water.

“What?” I spluttered. “They’re coming?”

Logan nodded excitedly. We both had begged Coach Sherman to put forward an invite to the scouts. Logan was twenty, the oldest a player in the collegiate level could be drafted at. I was only nineteen, but I was ready and eager to play professionally. “So we gotta make this one good.”

I smirked. “Like we don’t make every one good?”

He laughed. “That means you have to set me up for some nice-looking goals, Jonny.”

Jonny nodded. “I’ll try,” he said seriously.

“You’ll get scouted, Lo. Easily. You beat out seniors to get captain and you have the most goals on the team.”

“Aw you’re making me blush, Flick!” He joked. “But look who’s talking!”

I frowned. “I’m a girl. No one is going to want to draft me.”

Jon shook his head. “They’d be stupid not to. Your stats are crazy. You’re probably a better goalie than Patrick Roy!” I quirked an eyebrow up at him. “Okay, well that’s a bit of an overstatement. It’s Patrick Roy. But you’re really good, I swear.”

I laughed. “I hope the scouts think so too.”