Determination

I hit the sack soon after that, acknowledging the need for a good night sleep tonight. And after 3 melatonin’s, I was able to do that fairly easily.
 
When I woke up I peeled off my clothes and jumped in the shower, giving myself a pep talk. Honesty, personality, humor, charm. Not too much charm. You can’t be too charming. It’s hard for me to come off as charming anyway.
 
I dried my thick brunette waves that are usually stuffed in a pony tail behind my head, stuffed in my helmet. I let them fall around my shoulders to frame my face. Interestingly enough, I looked like a little kid. Like I was going to school or something.
 
“Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.” I said to myself. I put on a New Jersey Devils jersey, with number 14, Adam Henrique on the back of it. Great player that Henrique kid, but the opposite of a good look. I needed something nice, with personality, but not charming.
 
I decided on a plain gray tee shirt and jeans, plus a black hoodie and sneakers. I ran down the stairs to my dad, who looked like he was dressed for another day at work. “Should I wear this Dad? I have no idea what they want me to be wearing! Or expect me to be wearing.”
 
He nodded, “Don’t overthink it March. It looks fine. The pancake on the table is for you.”
 
I scarfed it down, my heart rate picking up. I packed up all my hockey gear, jersey, skates, pads, stick and gloves. They might ask me to play, even though they probably won’t. Be prepared always. Especially it’s the biggest day of your whole entire life.
 
I got in the front seat next to my dad, and we sat there quietly for about thirty minutes. “So March, you seem rather subdued, considering everything.”
 
“I’m as nervous as hell,” I admitted. “I have no idea what to expect. What if they hate me?”
 
Dad scoffed, “Nice joke. You will have to be yourself, no faking anything, and absolutely no lying. I know you won’t, but you have to show them the 100% March Wilson. You have to be you no matter what goes down in that room.”
 
I nodded, “I know. And that’s why I’m scared. I don’t think they’ll like my personality. I’m not the most charming, I’m not the prettiest, I’m not the sweetest, and I’m not the kindest. I’m not the best.”
*                      *                      *                      *                      *
I walked into the building with my dad, meeting Coach Harrison at the door. “Hey Kevin,” Dad shook his hand. “Thank you so much for grating my daughter this opportunity!”
 
I gave my coach a smile, “It was all you.”
 
He just beamed, “Okay, I got a very detailed email from Ray Shero.  They want to see you skate after having a conversation with you. It will be sort of like an interview. How you feeling, March?”
 
“Nervous as hell.” I said for the second time today.
 
He laughed softly. “It’ll be okay.”
 
Suddenly, two guys came out of an elevator. One had grayish hair and kind eyes, looked to be in his mid 50s. His eyebrows made up his expression, along with a dimple on one side of his face when he smiled at me. The other man wore glasses and had a pointy nose. He gave me a small grin, and his eyes smiled at me just as much as the rest of his face did.
 
“March Wilson?” The younger man with the glasses asked us.
 
I couldn’t speak; I was in a state of shock for a second. “Um, yeah.” I finally said, looking down at my suddenly interesting black, purple and white sneakers.
 
He gave me a bigger smile and extended his hand, “Dan Bylsma, coach of the Pittsburgh Penguins. This is Ray Shero, the Pittsburgh Penguins GM.” A bit star struck, I shook both of their hands. Dad and Coach Harrison shook hands with them as well.
 
“Alright March and crew, you can follow us. Mr. Wilson, do you want to stay in the waiting room or come into the meeting room. You’re only allowed in the meeting room if you are silent unless called upon.” Ray Shero motioned us forward.
 
“Mind if I sit in Ms. Wilson?” Dad asked me with a smile.
 
I blushed at ‘Ms. Wilson.’ “Please just call me March. Sure Dad whatever you wanna do.”
 
We rode the elevator up to the 11th floor of the building, and Coach Bylsma and Ray Shero sat down in big, black chairs in corners of the room, bringing them forward. They gestured me, Coach Harrison and Dad to do the same, which we did. Coach Bylsma and Ray Shero moved their chairs so they were sitting behind a big, brown glossy desk.
 
“Alright March Wilson. So, let’s just ask you some questions about yourself. What are your grades like?” Mr. Shero asked me.
 
I answered, “They’re pretty much all A’s, except I have a B in science.” All honesty. They took down what I said.
 
“What’s your favorite subject in school?”
 
“Probably math. I like logical things.”
 
They both nodded, and exchanged a look. “So, now we’re going to talk about hockey, and you. Do you like the Pittsburgh Penguins?”
 
I couldn’t just say no, right? Honesty. 

“Well yeah!” I giggled, adding “I’m also a Devils fan though.” They nodded, and I brought another smile to Coach Bylsma’s lips.
 
Mr. Shero asked me, “Let’s talk coaching. Who are your coaches and from what ages? Comments will be helpful from both you and your dad.” I looked at my dad nervously.
 
I began, “I learned to skate when I was four years old, and my dad was actually my coach from four to about six. He got me started, taught me to play the game. I learned a lot from my dad. He’s a great coach who taught me a lot of what I needed to know for when Coach Della Pizzara coached me. She was the one who made me really serious about taking up hockey to make it like, a career. Before it had just been for fun. I really worked hard, and she was mean, but I loved her. She coached me really well, pushed me way beyond my limits. I was in pain after every single practice. There were three hour practices everyday, and they got easier and easier. But I was pushed way beyond my goddamn limits with her, and that was a good thing for me. Uh I’m pretty sure she was my coach from when I was like six or seven to when I was like twelve.”
 
My dad cut in, “Coach Emma Della Pizzara was GREAT. She killed these girls, they got hit all the time, and she wouldn’t do anything about it. When I first saw her in action I thought she was unusually cruel. Seriously. She would make all these kids cry, girls and boys. But she worked them REALLY hard, dear Lord. I remember having a conversation, well never mind. But she was the coach for stamina, God she taught those kids they weren’t going to get sympathy from anyone, and taught March to suck it up. Taught all those kids to suck it up.”
 
I smiled, remembering Coach Della Pizzara. She had these piercing crystal blue eyes that chilled you to the bone, and a MAN VOICE. It was so deep and it was snarly too. I remember being terrified of my second coach. I would have stuck with her, but I had been observed at a few events, practices and games and stuff. The observers invited me to go to a more elite level.
 
Mr. Shero and the coach of the Pittsburgh Penguins were taking notes. “More coaches?” Mr. Shero asked us.
 
I thought, forgetting Coach Angela and Coach Martin for a moment. “I was invited to join an elite league when I was twelve, even though you were supposed to be like fifteen and older or something like that. But they had these coaches, Coach Angela and Coach Martin. Coach Angela was my first trainer like figure. I’d work one on one with her. She was so sweet off the ice, but on the ice she was a force. Courageous, fast and mean. She would drive me harder into the boards than anyone, even Coach Harrison here and Coach Della Pizzara, who was a fierce checker by the way. I loved her; she helped me more with skills than aggression.”
 
Dad nodded. “She was great. Real sweetheart. A young girl.”
 
“Then there was Coach Martin. He was pretty nice himself, not not Coach Angela nice."

Dad just nodded his agreement.

"Theeeeeen When I was 14 they moved me to the best trainer I ever had. And I mean EVER. I loved all my coaches, well except Coach Della Pizzara, but I loved her after. But this guy, holy shit best trainer and coach ever. His name was Coach Harrison." I looked over at my coach, who was looking at me with a huge smile on his face. "Seriously though, he's just GREAT. He taught me everything I need to know about everything. I landed in his arms just when I was starting to get picked on for being a girl hockey player in New Jersey. He made me believe I can do anything. He made me believe I could make it to the NHL. I thought he was fuckin' crazy." I said with a laugh, "But look at me now. If there is one person I'll remember forever, it'll be Coach Harrison. He was understanding, really understanding. I'm not sure how, but he somehow knew exactly what goes through my head. It's crazy. He knows I can get bitchy, and he truly knows how to deal with me."

Dad nodded, "And he's crazy well spoken. I honestly don't know how he deals with March so well. I don't get how he never lost his patience even once with her. Because March Wilson can be... A true bitch."

Everyone laughed and I said, "Just because I said I'm a bitch doesn't give you permission to call me a bitch!"

Mr. Shero and Coach Bylsma closed their binder. "Well March, you're a lovely girl. When do you turn eighteen?"

I gulped. This might prevent me. "August 14."

They nodded, "Great! You'll most certainly get an email, I am seriously thinking about adding you to the roster. We've seen a lot of video and you look great out there. I like your personality, you remind me a lot of Evgeni Malkin actually."

Coach Harrison laughed, "Oh Evgeni is muleheaded, just like you March. But she definitely has a James Neal side too.

I smiled. It's all praise to me. "So March Wilson, watch your email and home phone! We'll call and email you later on." I nodded at Ray Shero's words.

We said quick goodbyes, and the second we exited the doors, I screamed at the top of my lungs and jumped into my dad's arms.

"I HAVE AN ACTUAL CHANCE DAD!"