Sophomore Surge

by K R Collins

  Anger bubbles up inside her. Every single one of them talk about compete and grit and toughness in their interviews as if those are the foundation of a hockey player, but where are those qualities now? They’re coming up on the most important twenty minutes of their whole season; hell, of their whole careers, and they’re giving up?

  Her fingers brush the seams holding the A to her sweater. Nelson talks quietly with Garfield. X isn’t speaking to anyone. Rocky, the player they brought in from the Toronto trade, stares at his hands as if wondering how he went from a playoff contender to this team.

  Spitz meets Sophie’s gaze from across the room. He nudges J-Rod who looks up and catches her gaze. Next it’s Teddy. And once Teddy’s watching her, Lindy looks over. One by one, her teammates turn to her.

  “We got sloppy.” Before her censure can break them completely, she continues. “We were up by one, and we thought it would be enough when there was still forty minutes left to play. We’ll have to work hard in the third period, but we know we can score on them, and we know we can win.”

  “Two goals in twenty minutes?” Kevlar scoffs. “If Toronto can do it, so can we.”

  “Lauer’s weak glove side,” Merlin adds.

  “He’s good down low,” Rocky tells them, “so elevate your shots.”

  Coach Butler clears his throat. Sophie hadn’t even noticed him by the doors. “Maybe I should let you handle the game plan for the third period.”

  Sophie’s not sure he’s serious, but Witzer takes him at his word and says, “Convert on our breakaways. We have to take advantage of the opportunities we create. We’re hesitating or waiting for support and it gives Toronto enough time to make it back and play defense.”

  “We need to hustle harder on defense,” Spitz says. He stares at the floor as he says it.

  Kuzy nudges him and offers him a small smile. “We should shot block more. Help Lindy out.”

  Lindy throws a lazy salute in their direction.

  It’s Merlin who says, “So…play hockey. Easy enough.”

  Laughter ripples through the room until they’re all relaxed and ready for the third period.

  Sophie wins the opening faceoff clean. She knocks the puck back to Merlin who carries it into the zone. When no one challenges him, he hazards a shot on net, and it clangs off the goalpost. Jefferson, a Toronto defenseman, tries to clear the puck, but Sophie intercepts the pass and slings the puck to Witzer. They manage four good shots on goal before Lauer finally manages to cover up.

  Sophie switches out for Rocky’s line. She chews on the edge of her mouth guard as Big Red shoots, gathers his own rebound, and shoots again. He doesn’t elevate the puck enough, and Lauer easily kicks the shot away. Needham gathers the loose puck and breaks his team out of the zone.

  Zinger hounds him the whole length of the ice until he forces a turnover, and he passes up to Rocky who chips the puck deep and chases, giving the rest of his line a chance to change out.

  A couple of shifts later, Nelson goes down on one knee to block a shot. The puck bounces off his shin pad and skitters to Jefferson who rifles a shot off Nelson’s helmet and out of play. Garfield grabs Jefferson by the jersey as the trainers run out to help Nelson off the ice.

  They take him straight down the tunnel, and Spitz glances back as they go.

  “He’ll be okay,” Sophie promises. “They’re following protocol.”

  “Jefferson aimed for his head.”

  “Don’t start anything,” Kuzy tells him.

  Spitz mutters something in German, and Kuzy fires back in Russian. They knock shoulders and grin. Trusting Kuzy to keep their young defenseman levelheaded, Sophie turns to her linemates.

  “We’re scoring a fucking goal for him,” Merlin says.

  Sophie grins. “Do you have a plan or do you want to hear mine?”

  Witzer hands her two water bottles to use as players, and she grabs another couple until she has enough pieces to diagram a play. By the time Coach Butler calls their line, they know what they want to do.

  There’s three minutes left in the game when Sophie plasters Matty to the boards so Merlin can grab the puck. She holds her former captain there until Merlin’s free. She breaks away to plant herself in front of the net and battles Jefferson for position. He cross-checks her so she elbows him back. She has three minutes to keep their playoff hopes alive. She braces herself for Jefferson’s next shove and holds her ground so she’s blocking Lauer’s view when Kevlar unloads his shot.

  Lauer manages to stop it anyway, but Sophie gathers the puck on her stick. She leans on Jefferson, forcing him to hold her weight as she lifts the puck, elevating it despite the tight space. Jefferson steps back so she falls without his support, but it doesn’t matter, because the goal light is on and the crowd is screaming.

  She’s tied the game.

  Merlin hauls her to her skates and squeezes her as tightly as he can. “You fucking beauty!”

  “We’re not done yet. We need two points out of this game.”

  “We’ll get them. We’re fucking doing this!”

  Both teams find another gear and the last few minutes of the game are a flurry of chances on either side. When the buzzer finally sounds, the game is tied 2-2. The crowd, on their feet since Sophie’s goal, stays standing through the shortened intermission.

  They stay standing through overtime, cheering whenever they’re in the offensive zone and groaning every time a shot goes wide or Lauer makes a save.

  Overtime ends without a goal.

  They’re going to a shootout.

  Nelson rejoins them on the bench, and she sees the moment Garfield reaches out to pat his helmet and pats his shoulder instead. She pops her mouth guard out and pops it back in. If there weren’t a dozen cameras on her right now, she’d chew on it. Their entire season comes down to this moment. Three shooters from each team and sudden death if they need it.

  Anticipation and excitement prickle under her skin. She wishes she could take all the shootout attempts. She promised X they were making the playoffs this season, and now is when it happens.

  Lindy’s already in his net, hunched on the goal line, yet somehow still looking big, as if he fills the entire space. Poletti is first up for Toronto and as he skates at Lindy, their goalie pushes off his line to challenge. He looks even bigger now, a fucking wall, and Poletti tries to deke around him but the puck trickles off his stick and goes wide.

  The crowd cheers and chants Lindy’s name as Coach Butler taps Merlin as their first shooter. Sophie pats his ass as he slings one leg then the other over the boards. This is his bread and butter, and he takes the puck from center ice and skates at Lauer, no fancy moves. He forces Lauer deeper into his crease and, once Lauer doesn’t have enough time to react, he snaps the puck past him.

  Now the fans chant Merlin’s name, and he skates back to the bench, a little stunned.

  “Fuck yeah!” Kevlar shouts, slapping his helmet.

  Theo whistles and Witzer smacks a kiss to his helmet. He goes all the way down the bench until he takes the empty seat at the end.

  Needham takes his attempt for Toronto and misses.

  The fans are raucous. If Garfield scores, they win the game and they’re going to the playoffs.

  Sophie holds her breath as Garfield begins his approach from the left. He winds, taking his time, trying to make Lauer commit. But Lauer holds his ground and when Garfield runs out of space and shoots, he catches the puck in his glove.

  The crowd groans, momentarily disappointed, before they begin chanting Lindy’s name again.

  There’s a slight pause when Matty takes his place at center ice for Toronto’s third attempt, before they grow even louder.

  “Fuck,” Theo mutters.

  Sophie’s seen Matty practice shootout attempts hundreds of times. Lindy’s seen it even more. He knows Matty’s favorite moves and how to shut them down. All Lindy has to do is stop this puck and they’ve won.

  Matty comes in hard, moves the puck side-to-side
until Lindy freezes. He scores.

  Fuck.

  “Fournier,” Coach Butler says.

  Sophie climbs over the boards. Merlin hands her stick to her. “You’ve got this.”

  She glances down the bench at X. His expression is neutral, but she sees the way he sits on the very edge of the bench and how tightly he grips his stick. She turns back to Merlin and smiles. “Thanks.”

  The crowd chants her name as she stops in front of the puck. If she scores here, the game is over, and they’re playoff bound. This is the moment her entire season has come down to, her with the puck at center ice, determined to score, and Lauer in his net, determined to stop her.

  When she was younger, she would spend hours in the driveway going one-on-one against Colby or, if the weather was right, they’d be on the backyard rink. Her dad would come outside at random intervals, and if he crossed his arms over his chest, she knew she had one chance to score. If she did, he would nod, maybe give her some pointers, then go back inside.

  But if she didn’t, she had to go inside with him, and there was no more hockey for the rest of the day. She could practice her stickhandling or do drills in the basement, but it wasn’t the same. If you’re not the best, then you don’t get to play, her dad told her.

  Once, her dad came out early. She and Colby didn’t want to chance missing out on an entire day of hockey so Colby gave her the five-hole. Her dad noticed. Colby never went easy on her again.

  Lauer won’t go easy on her either, but she doesn’t need him to. He comes out to challenge her, glove raised, as if he can intimidate her. She’s already scored twice on him tonight, when he had an entire defense helping him.

  She pushes the puck out in front of her to tempt him. As soon as he jabs his paddle forward to poke check, she pulls the puck back. He’s extended now, out of position, and she flicks the puck over his shoulder.

  The goal light flashes.

  The crowd erupts.

  She throws her stick and her gloves in the air and turns as her entire team rushes her. They hit her at once, slamming her back into the glass where the fans chant “Playoffs! Playoffs! Playoffs!”

  She laughs as she’s hugged and facewashed, and she finds Lindy to hug him and she finds Merlin so she can slap his helmet. Then, through all the chaos and all the noise, she finds X.

  “I promised you.”

  His eyes shine with tears as he pulls her in for a hug. “I should know better than to doubt you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE MAPLE CUP Playoffs.

  Sophie has dreamed of this moment for years. She watched other teams compete for the Cup as a little girl in the basement of her grandparents’ house. She knew one day she would be there. After every season, she and Colby would recreate their favorite moments in the driveway, practicing for the moment they could do it for real.

  And now here she is.

  Only, when she and Colby played make believe in the driveway, they ran through the highlight reel. She didn’t dream of practices more grueling than the toughest games they played all season or of struggling to stay awake in video review. And now, when she collapses in her bed at night, she doesn’t dream.

  She scours hours of game tape on Montreal for the secret to beating the Mammoths. She doesn’t find any. She finds small weaknesses in each game, things they can exploit, but when they take the ice in Montreal, all those weaknesses are gone.

  The d-men are smart in their pinches so they don’t give up odd man rushes, the forwards cut down on their offsides, and LaJoie is a fucking wall.

  Sophie’s matched up against Ducasse, and she’s constantly scrambling to keep up. During the regular season, she felt as if she could hold her own against him, but tonight it’s obvious he’s Captain Canada and she’s in her first playoff game.

  He dodges her check, makes a pass, and crashes Lindy’s net, leaving her to play catch-up.

  Two shifts later, he wins a faceoff before she even reacts. He takes the time to say, “Welcome to the big leagues, kid,” before he’s gone.

  By the end of the period, she feels as if it’s overtime in the second game of a back-to-back. Her eyes sting with sweat, her legs are jelly, and she can’t remember the last time she caught her breath. It’s taken their full effort to keep the puck out of their net. They’ve haven’t had anything left in the tank to try to score on Montreal.

  And they have another two periods of this.

  In Game One.

  One game at a time. She won’t make it through if she thinks too far ahead.

  “This is the effort you’re giving?” Coach Butler demands. “You don’t get a trophy for making the playoffs. You have to earn it. You’re slow and playing scared. They won’t slip up and give you an opening. You have to make your openings. You need to be harder on the puck. All of you.”

  This is when they miss Matty the most, in the silence after Coach’s speech. Everyone looks to X, but he’s sitting in his stall, head bowed to hide his grimace. He knee is bothering him, and he won’t give them the rousing motivational speech they need.

  What would he even say if he did speak up? He hasn’t been here before. Almost none of them have. She finds herself turning to Rocky once Coach Butler’s gone. He made it all the way to the Finals last year. Surely he has some advice he can pass on to them.

  Rocky pushes his hair out of his face and freezes when he catches her staring. He turns, eyes widening when he realizes she isn’t the only one.

  “I was the fourth line center,” he says.

  “You were still in the playoffs,” Merlin points out.

  Rocky looks around as if still hoping for backup. When he realizes no one else will speak up, he says, “Everything is magnified. Every goal for is huge, every goal against is devastating. Every hit feels as if you’re carrying an extra ten pounds. The teams who win are the ones who manage their emotions and who dig deep when they don’t think they have anything left to give.”

  It isn’t exactly a rallying cry, but she can find something useful in there. The winning team is the one who works the hardest. Concord might be new to the playoffs, but they know how to work.

  They’re energized to start the second period. Sophie wins the opening faceoff and then they pin Ducasse’s line in their own zone. It’s their longest shift in the offensive zone all game, and they force LaJoie to cover the puck to end it.

  She taps Garfield’s helmet as they pass each other. “Your turn.”

  Concord pushes, line after line, until Montreal is scrambling on every shift. Rocky’s line forces an icing and Coach Butler taps Sophie to go up against the Mammoth’s tired fourth line.

  It’s the best opportunity they’ve had all game. It might be the best one they have all night, which means they have to take advantage. She pulls Merlin and Witzer in close. “The team who works the hardest, Rocky said. That’s us.”

  They nod, both of them locked in. She takes her place at the faceoff dot. The Montreal crowd, loud from the start, grows even louder as if they can lend their strength to their team.

  Sophie wins the faceoff. Two Mammoths swarm J-Rod who holds the puck until Witzer is free. He passes and takes a hit for his trouble. They move the puck, keeping it in the zone as they wear down Montreal’s players even more. Merlin plants himself in front of LaJoie’s net and weathers the cross-checks and abuse as Sophie skates the puck behind the net.

  She waits for a defender to chase her and turns sharply. She passes up to X who unloads on his shot. The puck hits Merlin in front and bounces to Sophie’s stick. She shoots, and the puck hits off LaJoie’s shoulder and rolls in.

  She stands there, stunned, even as the goal light flashes. J-Rod skates in, yelling, and it jolts her into a belated celly. They’re up 1-0 in their first playoff game. Merlin and Witzer jump on her and then X hands her the puck. “First playoff goal in Concord history.”

  She can’t say anything as she accepts it from him. Granlund, their equipment manager, will write on it, marking its significance
, a piece of Concord history she’s undeniably a part of. She looks up at X, their first player, and who notched an assist in the history-making goal, and she tries to give the puck back to him. “This is yours more than it’s mine.”

  X holds his hands up as if he won’t take it back. It’s Witzer who snatches it away. “We can fight about it later. We have a game to win.”

  They skate through the fist bump line, and Sophie’s smile grows with each teammate who congratulates her.

  “It’s one goal,” Coach Butler says. “We’ll need more if we want to win.”

  With Sophie on the bench, Montreal matches their top line against Concord’s second. Ducasse wins the faceoff with ease, and Concord collapses down to play defense.

  It only takes two shifts for the high from her goal to wear off. Whenever she looks up at the scoreboard and sees 1-0, she feels a flutter of hope followed by the heavy certainly it won’t be enough. Coach Butler is right; they can’t beat Montreal with only one goal.

  They cling to their lead during the second period, and Sophie allows herself to wonder if maybe Coach Butler’s wrong.

  She’s on the bench when Ducasse scores to tie the game. Her stomach plummets and disappointment hits her hard as the entire stadium celebrates. She takes a deep breath. Teams have scored against them before. All Montreal did was tie the game. There’s still plenty of time left on the clock.

  Coach Butler taps his clipboard on his thigh. “Fournier, you’re up.”

  She knows he wants the top line playing big minutes, and she sets even higher expectations for herself. She scored the first playoff goal in Concord’s history. Time to score the second.

  She loses the faceoff, and they spend her whole shift trapped in their own zone. They keep the puck out thanks to the crossbar, but they can’t clear the zone. Eventually, a deflection out of play gives her line a desperately needed break.