Aspiring

Over the next few weeks, Tyler Marchand got himself accustomed to his new life as a college student. He was now 18 years old and into his second season with Boston College. Things were looking up for him and he was loving his life. He had a great first season with B.C., getting 88 points total. He had 48 goals and 24 assists.

At practice, during his second season with Boston College, he was getting to know his new linemates and teammates a lot more. He was quickly becoming a showoff on the ice with his skills, but also the favorite of the fans and the Coach. Coach loved to use him in every situation, power play, penalty kill, being down by two or more points, you name it.

"All right, come on boys, give it all you got!" Coach got everyone's attention. “Don’t let them into your heads!”

The players lined up into two groups and Tyler joined at the end of one line while his friend, Patrick Cleary, joined the other. Zack, Fiyero, Bryan were also out on the ice. Each line started on the wall edge of the left and right wing circles. A pile of pucks sat at the starting point for the drill- the two dash lines that indicated the face off positions.

The first two trainees snagged pucks on their way towards the net, pivoted so they were skating backwards diagonally through the face off circle, and shifted their weight in a crossover to pivot again and skate forwards towards the goal.

When in front of the goal, they each took a shot, trying to get the puck past the goalie, Andrew Carpenter. After their turn at the double pivot, the two players glided to the end of the line and the next two took their turn.

Tyler kept a careful eye on each player, as they ran through the exercise. This was a simple drill for him; it was similar to a game children played in primary school to show off how quickly they could change direction and keep control of the puck. He wasn't memorizing the pattern; he was studying how the players moved and noting what received a nod from the coach or a slight misstep that added a scribbled note to the ever-present clipboard.

Patrick's line had one more player in it than Tyler’s, so he'd be going before the captain, Fiyero. Great, just what he needed. A coach evaluating his performance and Fiyero Milan watching to criticize him later. The centerman took a deep breath and shoved the annoyance down. He had dealt with people scrutinizing his every move, for his whole life. This was no different.

He quickly and efficiently ran through the double pivot drill, doing it much more swiftly and neater than any of his counterparts and teammates.

"Not bad, Marchy, sweetie," Zack complimented as he passed him and he started his turn.

Tyler's eyes narrowed, playfully and he wrinkled his nose up. Did he mean it or was he being facetious? That stupid accent of his made everything he said sound slightly condescending. He returned to the back of the line and watched as they started the next exercise, the cut and shoot.

Fiyero had been impressed with how Tyler had handled the double pivot. He was clearly more skilled than any of the other players currently on the ice, with the exception of himself of course. They'd only been able to play together in one game back in Tyler’s freshman season, before being separated and Tyler was placed with Patrick Cleary and Zack Greene, who both complimented him nicely too.

The few practices they'd had together since he came to Boston College hadn't been enough to give him an idea of the centre’s full capabilities. It was nice, having this chance to watch his younger teammate with other players and evaluate how he could handle himself on the ice.

"Listen up!" the Coach began. "We've had our play time with warm ups and drills. Now, let's do some two on two scrimmages! Good job, “Carpie”; get back to the goalies at the other end of the ice and send the next guy for the crease." He turned and looked each of the centers and wingers in the eye. "Zilchy and Fiyero, you're on one team. Patrick, Tyler you're the other. Each side scores a goal, then rotates out when I say."

“What about me, Coach?” Zack asked, raising his head up, proudly and arrogantly.

“Sit on the bench, because you can’t quit your mouth at the moment and I don’t want you playing right now either.”

“Awe.” He headed to the bench and sat down. He folded his arms and pouted, looking more upset than a child who had been caught sticking his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. (Or Val Nichushkin in the Russia-Norway game.)

Each player skated to the ice and took position as their name was called. Tyler thought it odd that they had chosen to split the players up like this. Why had they divided the left wings out from the rest of the forwards? Maybe it was because they were mostly a crazy bunch of lefties?

During a short water break, Tyler was talking to Patrick, when the team pest decided to skate up and chat them both up. He smacked both in the arm, Tyler a little harder.

"Not bad, sweetie," Zack’s taunting pesky voice spoke again.

"Don't call me sweetie, Greens." For once, he didn't sound annoyed or angry, like he normally would; it was just more of a reminder that he didn't like the nickname. "You were pretty good too."

"I have my moments." He surveyed the fruit bowl, basket of bagels, pile of potato chip bags, and rows of water and Gatorade cups. "So, what'd that guy say that got you so worked up?" He took a cup of the bright blue liquid and studied it before taking a drink.

"He thought he could push me around," Tyler snorted in derision. He knew that Zack was talking about the spat he had the night before on the ice. He had accidently ran into the other team’s player and the guy happened to want to knock the snot out of him.

Patrick inhaled a little of the liquid, as he started laughing at that. Zack joined him. The laugh quickly turned into a cough, as he tried to expel the fluid from his airway. Tyler slapped him on the back a couple times, trying to help.

"Better?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Just the thought of someone thinkin' they can push you around." His eyes twinkled at the idea and he chuckled a little more. "Guess he's never seen you fight."

"You haven't either." Tyler smiled, as he took a bite of an apple.

"No, but I've heard about you taking out that Andrew guy in Halifax in the Shoot-Out. Anyone who can win that many times and also destroy someone like that, isn't someone to mess with. You are a mighty fine hockey player, there, Tyler Marchand."

"Hm." His head tilted a little to the side, as he studied him thoughtfully. He apparently came to some conclusion, as he nodded to himself. "I wonder how long a break he was giving us."

"Dunno. We probably shouldn't wander off too far, just in case."

Tyler looked down at the other end of the rink and saw the goalies practicing.

"Want to go see what Carpie's up to?" he suggested. “Maybe pick on him a little? You know, the usual?”

"Not a bad idea," Zack smiled deviously, rubbing his fingers together, "Marchy." The glare from Patrick, he received at the idea and agreement, was both expected and welcomed.

So, the trio of best friends set their drinks back down and Tyler polished off his apple and they skated over to Andrew Carpenter for some fun.