What You Work For

The plane ride to Vancouver was somber, to say the least. Eventually, the camera crew got tired of filming us quietly chatting, sleeping, on our phones. I was among the latter for the first hour we were in the air.

By the time we boarded the charter, my phone had buzzed at least five times. Before we took off, I managed to check and see what was up. I had a voicemail from both Lucy and my parents, those could wait, I decided. Two texts from Mark and a text from Ava.

I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Mark’s snarky attitude, so I opened Ava’s text first.

‘New Message From: Ava
Will you please respond to your brother? He’s freaking out over here.’

Surprised that Mark might be worrying about me, I opened his two messages next.

‘New Message From: Mark
Why the fuck aren’t you playing? Did you get hurt?’

‘New Message From: Mark
Seriously, why aren’t you playing? No one tells me shit!’

Figures, Mark would be out of the loop.

‘New Message To: Mark
Relax. I’m not playing at all during preseason. I don’t have time to fill you in, we’re about to take off. Call Jeremy, he’ll tell you.’

Before the flight attendant asked us to settle in for take-off, Mark managed to get in one more text.

‘New Message From: Mark
Why does no one bother telling me things that are important? Do you not trust me as much, Ollie?’

Okay, that one stung a little bit. Sure, Mark and I had never been super close. He was always the one antagonizing Lucy and me growing up. I was closer to Jeremy because we had hockey to bond over and Lucy was my only sister. But Mark felt like I didn’t trust him? I thought over the past few years we’d grown closer. Hadn’t we?

Deciding that my thoughts were too depressing for the current mood of the cabin, I stowed my phone away and looked to my left. Again, I’d gotten the aisle seat with Duper by the window in my row. To our left were Kuni, Geno, and Cookie, all of whom were passed out. Maybe following their examples would be a good idea. We had an early skate in Vancouver and I had every intention of being on top of my game.

We laced our skates and headed out into the tunnel. Or, I tried to anyway. Instead, I was pulled off to the side where they finagled a mic onto me. It was tucked up beneath my jersey and pads and the wire was wound around my waist to fit my short body. This was just fucking wonderful. I really had to watch my mouth now.

“You got a mic on?” James asked as we rested for a second after the round of suicides.

I nodded, huffing and puffing. “I doubt they’ll get much usable recording. I’m always either swearing or trying to breathe.”

He barked out a laugh. “You do have a bit of a mouth on you.”

“What do you expect?” I asked as we lined up for the next drill. “I’m a woman in a man’s world. I have to fit in.”

For the next hour and a half, I did just that. I played end-to-end, working with my line, which consisted of Duper and James on my wings. I wasn’t quite sure why I was centering them in practice, seeing as they would have TK with them during games, but I certainly wasn’t going to argue.

“Shoot out!” Dan blew his whistle and we all lined up, ready to go.

No one wanted to start the season off on the wrong foot, and that included losing in the shoot-out at practice. It got me thinking, though. What if I lost? The guys often times had to grow out facial hair or some other odd punishment. I could do the Hawaiian shirt or buying everyone a meal, but the mustache? No, I didn’t think that was possible.

Eventually, I got my shot past Flower, leaving the last few guys to try. Just the few thoughts that had formed in my head before the shoot-out continued to get me thinking. What about the playoffs? No beard for me, of course. What could I do?

“Bug!” Dan’s voice rang through the locker room and to me in my spot in the trainer’s room bathroom.

“Yeah?” I poked my head out the door. I had just gotten my pads and shirt off and was left in my leggings and sports bra.

“Cameras want to see you. Put your mic pack on and get out here,” he called from his office.

“Fuck,” I muttered as I strung the cord along my body again. I glanced at my discarded shirt. There was no way I was putting that sweaty thing back on and I certainly wasn’t putting my street clothes on until I had a shower, which would take me a good ten or fifteen minutes. Guess I was going as I was.

Just as I had suspected, my appearance got me a few looks and even a joke or two from TK and Jordan.

“Ow ow!” Tyler called as I walked past his stall. Or more like stormed past.

Instead of swearing, I smacked his head. “Watch it.”

And all of a sudden, I was very self-conscious in my sports bra and leggings.

*****

After they had placed makeup onto my damp skin, the PA gave me an overview of what they wanted me to talk about.

“Just be yourself. The questions we’re going to ask you are just simple, basic questions. Restate the question in your answer and we’ll be all good,” she explained.

I nodded, feeling like I was back in high school with all the restating. I was good at talking usually; I’d gotten good grades in public speaking and had done well when it came to the aspect of arguing in court during my pre-law studies at Penn State.

As the camera began rolling, I settled into my seat and got ready for the first question.

“Why do you play hockey?”

That was basic? I could give a really in depth answer.

“I guess the reason I play hockey is similar to the reason I breathe, as cliché as that sounds,” I smiled a little. “I mean, growing up, hockey was all I did. My oldest brother played and I wanted to be just like him. And as got older, I realized that I was really good. It wasn’t just a hobby anymore. It got to the point where I knew it was going to be my life in some way.”

“To you, what’s the best way to describe playing?”

“The best way to sum up playing for me would be the adrenaline rush,” I said. “I think it’s similar to all players and professional athletes. Ask any of us, the feeling you get stepping out onto the ice for a game is incomparable. I love it.”

“Is it better scoring a hat trick or an overtime shoot out?”

“An overtime shoot out goal over a hat trick, any day,” I responded instantly. “No contest.”

“One last question,” the PA said. “Is the NHL ready for a female player?”

Were they?

“They’re gonna have to be,” I smiled a little deviously. “Because I’m coming one way or another.”