Chapter One

 

 

The town of Lake Placid, New York was quiet, the snow raining from the sky ever so gently, the cold winds whipping me in the face as a shiver fell down my spine.

 The crunch of the snow felt ever so fake until, RING, RING, RING.”

The alarm buzzing in my ears, my fists tighten the grasp I have around my pillow. I smacked the alarm a couple of times. I drew my eyes up and over at the time; it read 7:45. I then looked over at the calendar that was barely hanging on the wall by a very slim piece of tape: USA TEAM TRYOUTS TODAY!

A heavy sigh slid through my lips. I could already feel the pressure building. The tryouts began at noon, I thought as I slid on some sneakers, pouring the very last of the Honey Nut Cheerios into my bowl, devouring the sweet crunchy cereal. I cleaned my dish and put it aside. I heard a trickle of rain splash on the roof. It made me think of all the possibilities that could happen over the course of this one day. Would this be a waste of time? “There’s probably going to be better players there,” I had observed while packing up my gear.

All these thoughts made me think down on myself, but hope was still simmering inside me. Looking at the clock once again, it read 10:30 A.M. I put the heavy bag in the trunk of my used Nissan 200SX. I stuck the key in the ignition, and the engine roared. Soon I was down the street and off to the rink.

The chilled air hit my face as I stepped through the doors. The waiting room was packed.

People were lining the walls waiting to get signed in. “Is this the end of the line?” I asked another guy.

“For sure,” he said, letting out a sigh that looked discouraged. A small frown grazed my lips. Soon I was the last to get signed in

“Name,” the lady said, looking exhausted.

“Lucas Smith.”

          “Birth date,” she said, writing something down on a sheet of paper.

“August 8th, 1961.”

She looked at me and gestured to the locker rooms. I picked up my bag and walked into a hallway lined with doors. I stepped into one, and thankfully, it wasn’t filled to the brim with people. I took my seat, pulling out pieces of my gear one by one, putting them on until I was fully suited. 

“How do you think you’ll do?” a man looking in his mid-20’s asked me.

“I have no idea,” I answered a little startled but still thinking about the question.

“Okay, well the name’s Buzz,” he remarked, gesturing his hand for a handshake.

“Buzz?” I asked, confused about who would name their kid Buzz.

“Buzz Schneider,” he told me with a small smile.

“The name’s Lucas Smith,” I replied; he nodded.  

A whistle had blown, and people were squished, shuffling through the tight hallway. It felt like I was in a tin of sardines. The ice was smooth, and the air was cool. I walked onto the ice as many others did the same. To stretch my legs, I skated around the rink a few times. A blonde mid-30’s looking man stepped onto the ice.   A whistle blew; the tryouts had officially begun.

 

 

 

 

-Elena D.