You Hit Like a Girl

Charlotte Lafleur, a native to a small boarder town in Northern New York, has played hockey her whole life. It was her life. Her earliest memories were from skating on the pond with her family and pick-up games. She had five brothers, who all played in college or the farm towns, but she also had a little sister who is training seven-days a week to earn a spot in the north-eastern conference to compete in figure skating. Charlotte’s whole life revolved around ice and hockey. When she learned that she wouldn’t be drafted past college, she felt as though she wasted her childhood on a dream that was one pair of balls, a beard, and a penis away. Countless hours of training, before and after school practices, no time to spend on vacation or with friends, no junk food, bruises, cuts, and broken bones have all gone into a hopeless dream.
After high school, Charlotte went to college and got a degree in elementary education. She got a job for teaching first-graders in a suburb of Boston. Behind hockey, teaching was her second love and she put her life into making her students learn and have fun while doing it. She incorporated games and rewards into her lessons, and more often than not, they are hockey related. She even received a signed Bruins Jersey to give away to the child with the most improvement at the end of the year. She loved her job, but she hated how her first goal in life was dashed because she had boobs, granted they were small, but they were still there.
The last year, relationship wise, was more or less perfect as well. She had been in a relationship for seven months to the fifth-grade teacher, Maxwell. Their relationship was virtually perfect for Charlotte. He was chivalrous, gave gifts, paid for dinner, didn’t try to force her into sex, and he wasn’t a complete ass to everyone.
Charlotte thought her life was the best it was ever going to get. She had a great boyfriend, a great job, and a happy life. The only thing missing was hockey. Little did she know, when all of the things that made her life enjoyable fall apart, the one thing missing has a chance to rise.

Boston, August 2nd, 2012
“Max?” Charlotte asks.
“Yeah, Babe?” He looks over, blonde hair matted with sweat.
“Where are we going?” Charlotte asks, rowing towards the beach, Max beside her.
“You’ll see. Just wait.” Max said splashing her with his paddle, soaking her left arm and part of her face.
“Max! Don’t do that! I can’t get dirty! I have a board meeting tonight!” She says, putting distance between Max and herself.
“Don’t be a spoil-sport, babe. You know I love you. Pull up to that dock and I’ll help you get out. I have reservations for lunch in twenty minutes at the boat house.”
Their lunch is enjoyable and went by fast. It is half-way through dinner when Max leaves to go to the restroom. Five minutes pass, then ten, and finally fifteen before Charlotte leaves to check on him. She knocks on the door, “Max, Hon, are you all right?”
She listens, no answer, just muffled movements, a bang, and muffled voices. Charlotte takes a breath and walks in. The room smells of sweat and men… in a really bad way. Max was not in sight, the window was open, and one stall door was still swinging on its hinges. Charlotte pushes it open; to see a young waitress, dressed in only her undergarments and skirt that is rumpled. She had bad ‘sex’ hair and looked really embarrassed.
“NO! No no no no no! He didn’t. He wouldn’t! Hell, he can’t.” Charlotte says, looking out the window to see Max hiding under the window frame.
“YOU ASSHAT! I HATE YOU! WHY? WHY DID YOU DO IT WITH THAT TRAMP! I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME! NOT HER, JUST ME! YOU FUCKING SHITHEAD! WHY AM I SHOCKED, ALL MEN ARE CHEATING, LYING PIGS! ITS OVER!” Charlotte screams, trying to hit him through the window with tears streaming down her face. She runs out of the restroom, out the restaurant, and down the road.
The tears are flowing freely now as she sits down at the bus stop, she has to get back home, eat ice cream, call her mom, and cry for a few weeks. People walk past her, but try to ignore the distraught and puffy-eyed lady who is crying like a crazy woman at a public bus stop, who wouldn’t bypass that? O.K., so take out the nuns, Mr. Rodgers, and maybe even some old ladies, and no one would stop.
It took fifteen minutes for the next bus to stop, and when it did, it was empty, except for a group of teenagers in the back that were too enthralled with their phones to notice. Good. The ride takes a long time, more people get on the bus when the bus reaches the downtown districts, it’s mostly tourists and business men, but they all left Charlotte alone. Her crying is almost gone; all that is left is a stream of clear tears that occasionally fall on her bag she clutched to her stomach.
The run to her apartment isn’t far, and she makes it home before her annoying roommates. Thank the Good Lord for that. She grabs a bag of chips, pops in Miracle, and lies on the couch. Her tears come freely now that she is at home; her eyes are red and puffy, her cheeks red and wet, and the couch is a mess of used tissues, pixy sticks, and Gatorade bottles. She watches the movie through twice, before watching her second guilty pleasure, The Breakfast Club.
When her roommates walk in, Charlotte picks up her stuff, walks to her room and starts to pack. Boston is a painful reminder of Max and how no one will be faithful to her. She E-Mails her boos, buys the cheapest plane away from Boston and gets started packing. Charlotte grabs her drawers and empties them into giant cardboard boxes that she kept from moving in the first time; next she grabs her hockey bag, bedding, cookware, and keepsakes from the rest of the apartment. Her roommates stand shocked by the TV, as she grabs all of her stuff.
“I’m moving out. Max cheated on me.” Was all she said before she left dragging the last of her boxes with her, not caring if she left stuff behind.
She grabbed a cab, dropped her boxes off at the post office, and heads to Regan to catch her flight to Chicago. Chicago… a new start for her and a new beginning for Charlie. Charlie, is her alternative to boys, as well as her job.
Charlie would try out for a place on one of the farm teams underneath the Blackhawks, act like a boy, and be a boy. Charlotte called the one person she knew in Chicago, her oldest brother, Steven, he would know what to do.
She picks up her phone, and dials the number, chewing on her lip nervously, “Steve? It’s Charlotte, I need your help?”
“Hey, What’s wrong Char?”
Charlotte wipes tears from her eyes and continues, “Max cheated and I left Boston. I’m on my way to Chicago as we speak. I sent my stuff to an apartment I bought on the internet and I will be there late tonight. I need help.”
There is an audible sigh, “Char, I’m sorry Max cheated, I will pick you up from O’Hare and drive you to your apartment when you get here. What else do you need?”
“It’s hard to explain. Trust me. It is a strange request. I need you to speak to Joel for me and tell him my plan. I plan on playing in the league as a boy in disguise. I know I can do it, and you should too because you have seen it before. That’s all I ask from you, help me, Charlotte, become Charlie. Teach me the ins and outs of being a dude, help me with my appearance, and call Joel. That is it.” Charlotte spits out before he can argue.
“Are you sure about this? I can’t help you if you get in trouble. I can persuade Joel and get you a try out, but it is going to be hard and demanding. Are you 100% sure you want to do this?”
Charlotte takes a deep breath, “Yes, Steve. I’m sure. I don’t want to be held back from my dreams because I’m female.”
“Fine. I’ll do it. Meet me at the baggage claim when you get here. We have to start soon.” Steve says before hanging up.

Charlotte takes a deep breath and falls asleep against the plane window in the middle of the flight. Her dreams are of Max, hockey, and surprisingly, her new teammate, Patrick Kane. Charlotte is afraid of her new job, but still anxious as well as curious of what Steve could possibly have up his sleeve for Charlie.

Chicago, August 10th, 2012
Today is the day Charlotte has been waiting to happen for almost 20 years. Finally at age 23 she is now achieving her goal of becoming a professional hockey player. Steve managed to land her a try out under Joel’s insistence that she stay a he until the end of the season for obvious reasons. Steve’s wife, Lorraine, helped her make herself more… manly. She now has short, curly brown hair instead of her long wavy red hair, a full make-up kit to make fake beards, scars, stubble, etc., and the mannerisms of a twenty-something male. Charlotte was always tall for a girl, around 5’9”, but that is short for a guy hockey player, she is also skinnier, all lean muscle, but she has a hockey player’s toned arms, thighs and butt; the team would see her as fast, but small. Charlie has to make up for his small stature in speed, agility, and technique.
The difference between Charlie and Charlotte is astonishing. Charlie looks like a typical guy, while Charlotte is, despite her own belief, a pretty girl. No one should ever guess that Charlie is Charlotte, based on the physical changes, but also on the mental changes. Charlie acted like a boy, ate a lot, slept a lot, swore a lot, and talked like a boy, while Charlotte ate normal portions, unless she was hungry, then she pigs out, got used to the lack of sleep because of her old schedule, felt dirty swearing, and generally acted like a female. If anyone figured this out they would be a genius.
Charlie walked through the rink and onto the ice for the practice. He was the shortest guy on the team, but one of the fastest. The first hour was based on speed and drills with pucks, which Charlie handled with ease, but when they started to play a scrimmage the hard checks into the boards took a toll, a toll that Charlie over came with ease. He felt confident in his practice and felt good walking into Joel’s room after cleaning up.
“Charlie, come in.” Joel said, winking slightly at ‘Charlie’. “Sit, please.” Members of the council and other coaches and doctors are mulling around and doing paperwork around the office. They look preoccupied, but in reality Charlotte knew that they were trying to eavesdrop on her and Joel.
“Thank You, Sir” Charlotte said in a convincing deep voice,
“Charlie, you are on the team. Your talent is so high, with a bit of training and time you may be a star. You are fast and handle the ice with grace, but you take hits harder than most guys because you are smaller, but we can always work on that. Come back tomorrow at Seven A.M. to meet the rest of the team and have your first official practice. Congratulations, Charlie.”
Charlotte thanked him, exited the room and jumped up and down, so happy to be on the team. She starts to shake around and do a happy dance, but runs into a hard body. She looks up, and standing there mildly confused, slightly concerned, and totally amused is Jonathan Toews.
“Uhhh… Hi. I’m Jon. You must be our new rookie.” He says, smiling and leaning on the wall.
Charlotte’s heart flutters, but Charlie says, “Yep. I’m Charlie. May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
Charlotte flushes a bit, “You won’t tell anyone about the victory dance. I’m a bit embarrassed because I’m not exactly a good dancer.”
“No Problem, your secret is safe with me, Charlie. Just play your heart out and we won’t have any issues.” Jon says, before leaving the hall way, slightly suspicious of Charlie/Charlotte.

Chicago, August 10th, 2012- Jon’s POV
I am walking down the hallway towards the rink for a day of extra-training on my backhand. The hall is empty and I am listening to my music, completely oblivious to my surroundings because no one should be here anyways.
My phone vibrates with a text from Coach Q, ‘Found our new guy. He is small but fast. Tell the team to meet here tomorrow for practice fifteen minutes earlier to meet him.-Q’ I sigh and start sending out a mass text to the guys, irked by the earlier practice time.
‘Practice at 7. We go....’ UMPF! Something hard hits my chest. I look down to see a shorter guy with shaggy brown hair and a worn hockey bag. He was doing a ridiculous dance that didn’t look exactly manly, but I can tell he is excited. I smile, trying to stop a laugh.
I stare for a few seconds, containing my laughter and stick my hand out, “Uhhh… Hi. I’m Jon. You must be our new rookie.”
He shakes my hand, “Yep. I’m Charlie. May I ask you a question?” He stares up at me, he is small and toned, but not big. I bet he is fast.
I smile, “Sure.”
His face turns a bit red, I suppress a smile, “You won’t tell anyone about the victory dance? I’m a bit embarrassed because I’m not exactly a good dancer.”
I almost start laughing then, “No Problem, your secret is safe with me, Charlie. Just play your heart out and we won’t have any issues.”
I almost start laughing, so I walk down the hall and into the locker rooms before cracking up. His face was priceless, but he wasn’t exactly a normal dude. I mean sure, he has a deep voice, stubble, and definitely no boobs, but his eyes were bigger, he danced like a girl, he was smaller, and he didn’t look exactly boyish or girlish. Strange. I press this from my mind, knowing he has to be a guy, and pull on my gear. I lace up my skates, and step onto the ice. Home.