First Day (III)

The lunch bell rings, echoing through the hallway as students pour out of classrooms. I'd normally find Abbie, grab food from the cafeteria, and claim our usual spot in the courtyard. But not today. Coach texted the team group chat during fourth period.

I push against the flow of hungry students, heading toward the athletic wing. My stomach growls in protest, reminding me I should've grabbed something from my locker. Too late now.

The smell hits me as soon as I open the locker room door. Sweat, athletic tape, and that particular musk of gear that never fully dries. Home. Some of the guys are already here, sprawled across benches or leaning against lockers.

"Doe!" Sanjay calls out, slapping my shoulder as I walk in. "How'd morning classes treat you?"

"Boring as fuck," I answer, dropping onto the bench next to him. "You?"

"Got Chen for Physics. He's already assigned a lab report."

"That's bullshit."

Sanjay shrugs. "It's fucked."

More guys filter in. Liam and Kyle, our defensive pair, arguing about some video game. Tanner, our starting goalie, looking half-asleep as usual. Jesse, Matthews, and Oliver, the freshman additions to varsity, huddled near the door, trying not to look intimidated.

Rick Hernandez bursts through the door, our assistant captain from last year. He's got a McDonald's bag in one hand and a drink carrier in the other.

"Anybody else starving?" He tosses fries to Tanner, who catches them without looking up. "Coach is ten minutes out. Traffic on Westlake."

The room relaxes slightly. Extra time means extra bullshitting.

"How was everyone's summer?" Rick asks, settling on a bench and unwrapping a burger. "Matthews, you gonna tell them about the twins from Lake Oswego or should I?"

Matthews turns bright red. "Nothing happened."

"Bullshit. Your sister told my sister everything."

"Dude! Not cool!"

The room erupts into laughter and demands for details. Matthews eventually caves, launching into a story about two girls he met at hockey camp. I listen with half an ear, the other half focused on the door, waiting for Coach.

The locker room door bangs open. Coach Daniels strides in, clipboard in hand, looking exactly the same as he did in June, crew cut greying at the temples, permanent scowl, Canucks lanyard around his neck. The room goes quiet immediately.

"Gentlemen," he says, scanning the room. His eyes land on the McDonald's bag. "Nutritious lunch choice, Hernandez."

Rick swallows hastily. "Sorry, Coach."

Coach grunts, then moves to the whiteboard at the front of the room. "Welcome back. Hope you all enjoyed your summer, because vacation's over."

He writes EXPECTATIONS across the top of the board in block letters.

"First expectation. You're athletes every hour of every day, not just at practice. That means proper nutrition." Another pointed look at Rick. "Proper rest. No drinking, no smoking, no ****. Period."

He paces in front of us, making eye contact with each player. "Second expectation, academics. You fail a class, you don't play. No exceptions, no second chances. Senior or freshman, doesn't matter to me."

I shift on the bench. My grades aren't terrible, but they're not great either. Without Abbie riding my ass about homework, I might've flunked AP Bio last year.

"Third expectation, leadership." Coach stops pacing. "I need every man in this room pulling his weight. Last year we made it to state semi-finals and lost. This year, I want the championship."

He turns to the board again, drawing a circle with a C inside it. "As you know, we'll be voting on captain after our second game. Two weeks from now. I want you thinking about who you want leading this team. Who shows up early, stays late, puts the team first, sets the example. This isn't a popularity contest. It's about who you trust when you're down by one with thirty seconds left."

"Last thing," Coach says, capping his marker. "After-school practice today. Full gear, on the ice at 3:15 sharp. Anyone late runs extra."

Sanjay groans quietly beside me.

"We're starting with conditioning." Coach smiles, the kind that doesn't reach his eyes. "I want to see who did their summer workouts and who spent three months on the couch."

Silence.

"Good. Bell's about to ring. Get to class, and I'll see you on the ice."

As if on cue, the lunch bell sounds.

Coach catches my arm as I pass. "Doe. A word."

I hang back while the others leave, some shooting curious glances over their shoulders.

"How was the development camp?" Coach asks when we're alone.

"Good. Worked on my edges, shooting accuracy. Got some time with Coach Miller from UBC."

Coach nods, expression unreadable. "They had good things to say about you. Particularly your ability to command in scrimmages."

I try not to look too pleased. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet." He shuffles through papers on his clipboard. "Scouts will be at our first home game. Boston College, Cornell, a couple others. They're looking at you specifically."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "Seriously?"

"Yes. So don't screw it up."