You Hit Like a Girl

Thanks again! I love the reviews and Stats…. NEARLY 200 of you have read this! Woo-hoo, I think that’s ok because of the small fan base. This is my next chapter and I don’t know what I have planned yet so if it isn’t good, sorry. This is going to be a filler Chapter between the beginning and end of the lockout. Also, ST. PAT’s is real, but I know nothing about it. I just pass it a lot so I chose it, my cousin also goes there, so most of the information I get from him. Forgive me. HANG WITH ME HERE, PLEASE?-CR

SEPTEMBER 25th, 2013- St. Patrick’s High School, Chicago’s Northwest Side
It is my second week of school as a permanent substitute in the history department of the Catholic school. Most of the teens are normal and respectful, which makes my life a lot easier. I have jumped around the department a lot, and on days I am not working I drive and work with my brother and his team.
I am trying to stay in shape, so my morning routine is to get up, go on my run, go to the gym box for thirty minutes, do pull ups, squats, and weights, go home shower, eat a light breakfast with loads of protein and go to work. After work I go home, work on building more muscle so I am not so small, eat, and then fall asleep wishing for the lockout to end. My classes think I am a man, which works because it is an all-boys school.
The school wasn’t very large, about 1,000 boys, but they still had competitive sports teams, so when I told my classes that I was a Hockey player on my weekends, they bothered me to help coach their Hockey team, which was semi-bad. The coach contacted me in hopes of getting some help at practices and games as a Co-Coach. I would like to help out, but with my schedule the way it is I don’t really have time.
“Eh, Mr. C! Back again already?” A tall boy shouts from the hall as I enter my next classroom. I think his name is Orwell, no Owen. It’s Owen.
“Sure am!” I reply setting my bag on the floor behind the desk. I am nervous; my next class is an A.P. European History Class. I know nothing about in-depth European history. I know the basics, like WWI, WWII, and the stuff I have lived through. Thankfully the class is small and is just notes and a lecture that he has written out for me already. The boys start to flow into to the room, some wave and smile; others just sit down and talk amongst themselves.
The bell rings and I start, “Hey, I am Mr. C, your substitute for the day. I’m going to warn you, I know nothing about this, Queen Christina of Sweden. So hang with me.” I start out joking a bit, but in all reality I am clueless about this person. I know she is Swedish and that’s about it.
“We’re taking notes, so get ready for that,” I say, pulling out my laptop that connects to the projector for notes and wait for the boys to start writing the first slide. Thankfully, this class is an A.P. level class and no one complains because they willingly put themselves through this torture.
“Queen Christina was the ruler of Sweden after her father’s death in 1633. She was raised as Protestant because of her father’s part in the 30 Years War, but however she converted to Catholicism and caused controversy…” I start reading directly off the notes, which I soon realize are bare bones. SHIT! I stop and laugh, “Guys, I know nothing about this subject. Sorry, can you get the outline done and fill it in during this class period, because, I don’t really think that I am going to be of any help to you.”
They groan and start writing more. I feel bad that I am so helpless in the situation, but I don’t really know anyone who is Swedish that can help me with the confusing history and convoluted wars on religion. I sit down at the desk and flip on the radio, trying to make up for the extra work the boys have to do. I pull out my phone and check my texts…
‘Charlie, haven’t heard from you a lot. How are you? - Stally.’
I start my reply, but then stop, smiling from my brilliance. ‘Stally, want to do me a huge favour? Do you know a lot about Queen Christina of Sweden?’
I wait and get a reply less than a minute later, ‘I know a bit about her, we learned about her all the time in school. What do you need?’
‘I have to teach a class on her, and I know nothing! HELP? Want to Skype and I will e-mail the outline to you so you can give the information to the class…. PLEEEEASE?’
I e-mail the outline and desperately hope for a reply. Instead of a text, I get the Skype call on my laptop. I click answer and prepare myself for something around the lines of what the fuck, but instead I get a tired looking Stalberg, sitting in a well-lit kitchen.
“Hey dude, are you really going to help me?”
He smiles, “Of course I would help you Charlie! Well, it’s more like I feel bad for those poor students that are stuck with you,” he jokes pulling a hand through his hair. AUGH, THAT HAIR!
“Thank you. Wait one minute while I get everything set up.” I say, while standing up and syncing my computer with the projector again. “Boys, I have found a resolution to our problem. I asked a friend of mine to Skype and teach the class for today. I figured he would know more than I because he is from Sweden. His name is Viktor, or Stally, whichever he likes more.”
I turn the lights off, and sit in the back of the room, placing my laptop on the podium so Viktor can see the whole class. He looks uncomfortable, but starts talking anyways, “Hey guys, I’m Stally, So Queen Christina was an important Patron of the Arts, as well as the Enlightenment…”
Viktor wins over the class with his snarky comments and sarcastic nature as well as his general knowledge of the subject. The boys thank him once he is done, as do I… profusely, and the guys start to file out of the room, whispering, “That was Viktor STALBERG, like the same from the HAWKS?” or, “How does Mr. C know him?” and my personal favourite, “I always thought hockey players were dumb, but apparently not.”
The next few weeks went normally, and soon word got around that I knew people on the Blackhawk’s well enough to talk with them on Skype. Students start to ask me about the team and how I know them, but I always said it was from my old roommate at college and that I can’t spill the beans on the guy’s hobbits. After the coach heard about this he has been bombarding me to join the team as a Coach, yay?
“Charlie! Come on, you have to help me coach, the guys would be ecstatic and I am sure you know a lot of training and drills that could help us? Please? I understand you are very busy, but it would make a huge difference if you could come to one or two practices a week?” The coach, Adam, asks for the billionth time. It is early before school, and I have had no caffeine.
“Fine, I’ll help. I will see you guys at the rink after school. I have my stuff in my car, but please I have got to go to my room now,” I lie, trying to get out of his reach that is almost like a hug. He must be really desperate.
He wasn’t lying, the team was bad. They were all physically fit, some a bit small, but that was fine, but they just didn’t know what to do. The lines were messed up, the plays were convoluted, and they made slow line changes. At least it can all be fixed. My first week with the team I fixed the lines; I moved some of the boys to defence and made new lines, one with speed and another that was more aggressive, and one that was equally aggressive and fast. After a month, the team had started to win games and work together. They say it was my fault, but it was really just them dong the work and me fixing the plays for the team.
It has been two months since I joined the school, and no one ever suspected I was a girl. I think I was more comfortable around guys now, but I also think I act like a guy now more than ever before.
Months pass and I feel like I will never get to play again. First quarter ends and is soon followed by the second quarter in December. Things were starting to seem better with the lockout, which made me happy. Christmas break was also coming up, but I wasn’t going home to visit my family because I didn’t want to break my routine or deal with my brother’s and their interrogations and pity talks.
Finally after the holidays it was the week before semester finals when the NHL said they had a deal, it was January 6th. Coach Q was the second person to call me, behind my mother who wanted to tell me to be safe and to talk about a new peach cobbler recipe she has, which I couldn’t care less about. Our first game was on January 19th in Los Angeles, giving us a little under two weeks to practice. Thank god I stayed in shape.

January 8th, 2013
I roll out of bed, well rested and excited. My bare feet sting from the cold floor, but I fun over to my dresser and change for practice anyways. My hair was growing long while I worked and I deemed it unacceptable, so I had I cut short and styled into a small quiff if I go anywhere that I need to dress up. Today I am just going to practice so I throw on a knit hat, my large coat, and a pair of warm track bottoms.
My bag is sitting on my kitchen floor already packed for the day, just like a little kid does the night before school starts. I grab it and a protein bar from my cabinet before heading to the garage beneath my apartment. After making sure I have everything I head out, locking my door behind me. Normally, I walk places or take the EL, but because it was snowy and cold today, like the past month in Chicago, and because I have my huge hockey bag, I take my car. Chicago winters are cold and brutal, but I like the snow and cold that bites my cheeks, especially in the morning and night time because it is beautiful with the lighting and the reflections from the windows.
The rink’s parking lot looks like a party. Guys are milling around and hugging or shaking hands, waiting to go inside and start working again. I park my car, slide out of the seat, and grab my stuff just before I get, virtually, tackled. Warm arms hug me, forcing the air from my lungs, and keep me from toppling over.
“CHARLIE! Wow, you are more muscular now.” They scream, laughing approvingly. I smile because I am back with the team I have loved and grown close to even during the lockout. I pull out of their grasp and see that it was Frolik and his awesome eyebrows.
“Thanks, it’s good to see you too!” I say walking into the building between him and Kane, who seems not too perverted this time.
I say hi to everyone, happy to see them all. I stayed in touch with the whole team, which made things easier for me. Well, kind of… ok not really, I was still very very very VERY awkward with Toews.
“Charlie, I missed you,” Jon says, leaning down to hug me, his lips press to my cheek and I feel like I am 119 degrees all of the sudden. Goosebumps run down my arms and hands, and a spark flies through my heart.
“I missed you too, Jon,” I squeak out. I start ot put on my gear and smile, I have a crush on Mr. Jonathan Toews.