Page 149 of Wild Card 13

The pass was coming.

I jumped the lane.

The puck hit my blade clean.

For one perfect moment, there was nothing in front of me but ice. Then I was gone.

Their point man chased. Carlson chased. Someone yelled from their bench. My lungs opened, legs burning, skates biting hard enough to throw ice behind me.

The goalie came out too far.

I sold a shot high glove, pulled the puck across my body, and slipped it between his pads as he dropped.

The puck crossed the line.

Tie game.

North Metro Arena lost its mind.

I hit the boards behind the net and turned as the sound crashed over me. Mase was first, slamming into me so hard my helmet knocked sideways. Two more guys followed. Someone grabbed the back of my jersey. Someone was screaming directly into my ear.

The Northbend student section threw popcorn like confetti.

The refs yelled.

I looked over the pile of helmets and gloves toward our seats.

Lucy’s hands were over her mouth.

Naomi was shaking her by both shoulders.

Grandma Ruth was yelling at the ice crew.

Mom looked like she might cry.

Kendrick had both arms raised.

Grandpa Hal had abandoned his pencil.

Dad stood completely still, one hand gripping the railing in front of him.

Thane was on his feet. Just standing there in his black Chicago jacket, staring at me like something had finally become impossible to deny.

I felt ten feet tall.

I felt six years old.

I felt like I might throw up.

Regulation ended tied 3–3.

Early in overtime, when I finally jumped over the boards, Eden Prairie had the puck in our zone. Carlson carried it along the right wall, looking for the trailer. Earlier in the game, I would have chased him because chasing felt like control.

This time, I waited.

He tried to delay. Tried to pull our defenseman toward him. Tried to open the pass across.

I cut underneath before he released it. My stick got there first. The puck skipped loose.