ForumsArt, Music, and WritingBurning Ice (by: Acmed)

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acmed
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acmed
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Well, here's my novel that was originally for NaNoWriMo, but lost pace with the word count. I wasn't gonna finish it by the 31st. BUT! It inspired me to continue it anyhow! So, the first chapter of Burning Ice:


Chapter 1: Painless Agony
Michael Lambert first looked at a glass wall on the boards of the rink as he got the puck behind his team's net. After a large hit from behind, he saw shattered glass and empty bleachers. All's he could hear was a ref's whistle for icing (and the broken glass). Anything after that moment was black.
Opening his eyes slowly with many blinks to get his vision back, Michael was back in the locker room. He didn't see much lockers, just teammates surrounding him, and a doctor next to him checking his heart rate.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty." His teammate Grant Sullivan said, slightly sarcastically. He was a good friend of Michael, but had a dead serious expression planted on his face, "Nice job taking that hit. Without you, we lost the game." Michael hadn't realized he was out cold for the rest of the game. It was only half way through the first period. He was probably their star defender. The backup defenders barley see any ice time, but they did today. They all lost their man on every breakaway, and cost the Hillside Eagles the game. It was lucky their goalie only gave a 5 point blowout, and nothing worse.
"I know how to take a hit, Grant." Michael replied.
"You also know how to avoid a hit, Mike! That guy was far away enough for you to run a marathon!"
"It was an icing call, play was over anyways!"
"It doesn't matter if you..."
"Ladies!" Coach Adkins interrupted loudly, "Settle your argument at teatime, okay?" Michael was standing up again, stretching and yawning, like he took a sudden 2 hour nap. He acted like this comes as often as breathing. But it really did.
Every since the day Michael could speak, he would say "Hockey" or "Check" or "Knock Out" every so often. He could not only take a hit; he could hit as well. Playing hockey in the basement with his dad when he was four years old, was like playing in the NHL with Niklas Kronwall. As his dad was on his knees playing mini sticks with his future NHL star, he'd receive a full on body check by his violent checker of a son. Of course he never said that. He started skating at age 5, played in toddler and children hockey leagues ever since. Although he got often game misconducts for checking (which isn't allowed in younger leagues), he was a great defender, who scored more than his great friend Grant, who played left wing. Once the 11-12 season started, he crushed bodies from every inch of the boards and ice. He set a peewee league record of minutes in the penalty box (most of them roughing, boarding, and crosschecking).
As a junior in high school, Michael was used to hits he gets on the ice. Most people find it scary, but Michael found it to test his man inside him. He got an A+ at that. Only a B- student at school, he kept his grades up to play his game of hockey. He reminds himself of this every day. Not socially retarded, but not the biggest fan of many other students. He had a few friends in his high school years, but they're all hockey fanatics. Which is the only thing Michael sees inside his friends. It's not like he gets talked to, but more of "if I hear you mention hockey, I'll go and talk to you". He was a bit undefined on the radar for quite some time. He wasn't at all ever noticed, that nobody had the time to bully him with threats or fists (maybe because they hear about his record of hard hits from hockey). It only made school worse for Michael with a limited amount of people to talk to.
It was going to be another brutal day at the prison so called school, Michael had thought to himself. As much as he acted like he usually did in school, he was deep down excited about hockey practice after school. But his hatred of learning kept him from showing it. As the first bell rang at the same time Michael walked into his day's worth a nothing, he slouched down the main hall passed peppy cheerleaders flirting with the cool jocks that seemed to notice Michael as much as they notice a gust of wind in Italy. Better yet to say: they ignored him. His locker was probably at least a mile from all 6 hours, which got him to class barley 7 seconds before the second bell rings. His locker is a piece of crap. You have to put in a wrong combination to at least un-jam it. He needs 8 large tugs to get his locker open. It was practice at school. To his misfortune, everything that happen once to a few kids, happened all to him every day.
As Michael approaches his locker as an invisible force, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It didn't feel like a rubber band snap sort of tap, but a light tap from another someone. That someone could be anyone, as most of his friends are slightly embarrassed to talk to him anyways. He turns slowly, but casually, as he didn't want to knock away a chance of someone to talk to. He finally saw the force who got his attention, and almost jumped from shock. The eyes were looking AT him for some particular reason. And even more shocking: they were female eyes. She smiled as she could tell Michael was indeed not expecting this. It proved Michael was indeed socially retarded to any human being...
"Hi", the mystery girl had said, "I'm Jackie. Jackie Westbrook." She stuck out her hand with long nails painted hot pink at the ends of her fingers. She had a blinding smile. Trying his best not to be awkward or anything, he took the hand and shook it normally. So far so good.
"I'm Michael Lambert," He replied with a smile, "It's great to meet you." His facial expression was calm and relaxed, but really a drum solo was going on in his chest.
"You must be new here, do you need help getting around the school or anything?" Jackie had asked. Michael had thought she was kidding. He then realized what was happening.
"Ummm," Michael started, "I've been a student in the district since kindergarten." Jackie Westbrook's facial expression turned into a mild shock face into an embarrassing laugh and smile.
"I'm so sorry," It was obvious she felt bad. Michael couldn't notice that. He was too busy thinking about human interaction he hadn't felt in quite some while, "I've never seen you around school before." Shocking. Michael thought. It's been early January and still only 10 people in the school knew his name (only 4 know his last name).
"I just seem to slip a little under the radar," Michael said. He couldn't fail to throw away a conversation with a girl who talked to him without saying the word 'weirdo'. "But I do need help finding room 78. They changed my schedule recently, and I don't know where it is." Lies. Michael could walk the school blindfolded to every class. His schedule had never really changed either. Just a little strategy to take a long walk with the girl. Jackie Westbrook was pleased to do so.
"Of course I will. I owe it to you. Besides, my first period is just down the hall from there." Jackie waited patiently with her blond hair reflecting of the ceiling lights. Michael, trying not to star, quickly grabbed his stuff from his demented and sad locker, and walked away without just the company of himself.
"So I see you play hockey." Jackie mentioned as they walked slowly down the small hallway towards class. Michael had noticed he was wearing his Hillside Eagle hockey jersey from the game last night. Luckily, it didn't smell.
"I do. I play here, for the Eagles. I'm the star defender," Michael remembered most girls either like tough hockey players, or muscular football players, so he felt much more confident than before.
"Really? Sweet! I've been to a few of the games before. My boyfriend plays center." When Michael heard the words 'My Boyfriend', he was shattered. Maybe he shouldn't get his hopes up too much next time he meets a girl. "Ryan Roberts ring a bell?"
It did ring a bell. That center had never scored once in the past 3 years Michael had known him, but gets all the fame from the school for his hit. He stapled gun people to the boards like papers to a billboard. Just like Michael. He never scores, even if there were a breakaway with a down goalie right into the slot. Michael can shoot from the blue line and make it. And every guy who had ever came to him in the neutral zone, got pass him effortlessly. Lucky for Ryan, Michael was there to stop their offensive chance. But nobody cared for the number 45 defender in the back, they cared about the cool jock who played center as an assistor. Michael found him a pathetic loser. Knowing that the girl he recently just met had a relationship with him, made it feel so much more personal.
"Yeah. He's a great center," told Michael, lying upsettingly. For every great play he would get, Ryan would give him a good old punch in the gut as a reward. And boy did he feel proud to have such sportsmanship. He had reached his destination to room 78. So much for a fun filled conversation he was expecting.
"There you go. Mrs. Smith U.S. History." Jackie said smiling, not knowing the fire burning inside the socially beaten Michael Lambert. She waved and walked down the hall to her class. He was then feeling less excited for hockey. It wasn't about Ryan Roberts, but just feeling upset.
And speaking of Ryan Roberts.
Michael never felt a blow to the nearby lockers coming at all off the ice. Brutally hurt to his back, he looked up to see the eyes of someone he'd seen before, but knew who he strongly disliked.
"Out of the people you never talk to, you decide to talk to my girlfriend?" Ryan had said sternly. An evil grin widened upon his face, "You know you can't impress anybody who isn't in your imagination."
"I can beat the hell out of you if I wanted to, Roberts." Michael snapped, still aching on trying to get up, "I'm the star player..."
"And who's getting all the love now? I AM! Because I'm not a ******* who doesn't speak to anybody. I'm social, I'm loved, and you can't keep up with this 'I'm a better hockey player'. I'll shine this year, and you'll be bowing on your knees."
Michael got up finally got up. More man than he ever felt in his life, "You want to put your money where your mouth is?" Michael gave him a shove. It wasn't hard enough for Ryan to fight back, but left with words of wisdom:
"You'll be sorry!" Ryan had left the building... Or at least the hallway. Well. Michael thought. It was fun while it lasted. A girl talking to you, than a hit from the lockers and threats of getting beat up. But it was worth it. Shaking off the slight pain in his left shoulder, he strutted into class.

  • 57 Replies
manarion
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manarion
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it takes a while to write a good long chapter so give him some time...

acmed
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acmed
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I'm not posting here anymore, guys. You guys can read it when it's published.

skittlezareAWESOME
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skittlezareAWESOME
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You guys can read it when it's published.


Awwwww. It's really good so far. You're really going to leave us on the edge? D:
acmed
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acmed
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Awwwww. It's really good so far. You're really going to leave us on the edge? D:


*sighs*

I'll see what I can do...
MegaIPOD
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I'll see what I can do...

YAY! Good unicorn! Still waiting though....
skittlezareAWESOME
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skittlezareAWESOME
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I'll see what I can do...


YAY! exactly what MegalPOD said!
acmed
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acmed
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The moment you've all been waiting for you impatient hooligans.


Chapter 6: The One who Let it Be
The timing couldn't have been better. Thought Michael inside his own devious little head. He walked into the house, his cheeks red from the bone chilling temperatures. Even though the car and the house weren't that far away from each other, the cold of Ferndale, Michigan had came fast and furious at anybody who dared to enter the outside. Michael took history's word for it. He took off his shoes and jacket and soaked in all of the warm heating the house was filled with. Michael strutted into the kitchen, still excited about that night. He had never had a REAL plan of going out to a place that wasn't Hillside Arena, or Grant's house. He saw his mother cutting out coupons from the paper. She had noticed him walking in and smiled.
"Hi sweetie!" Mrs. Lambert said. Michael tried his best not to be a mama's boy, but he failed ever since. He was a mama's boy, and proud of it. She got up and gave him a big smooch on the forehead. Michael was in the 11th grade, he should've been old enough to just walk in and lay on the couch eating chips. But he never said much. He wants a close bond with his mom compared to the ones who fight with them all the time, "How was your day?"
"Pretty good." Michael said. Nothing really happened that day, which was good news. At least for now. He might be dead by the end of the night if Ryan found anything out.
"Listen," Mrs. Lambert said, "Me and your father are going out tonight. Can you handle yourself on your own?" Michael was beaming on the inside. She would probably disapprove him going out with some girl he recently met. Even with a lie, still would she say no due to the fact that he's been coddled his whole life. He simply nodded and said yes to his mother. She trusted him to be a good boy. Never had he did anything wrong. She gave him a kiss on the forehead and sat back down.
"What time do you think you'll be home?" Michael asked, trying not to be suspicious.
His mother sat and thought for a minute, "We're going out to dinner with some friends at 7:00, then the bar. We should be home around 10 or 11. I'll call when we're on our way home." Michael let out a sigh of relief, but made it sound like just him breathing. He never wanted his parents to walk into a house with no Michael, or worse, a house with Michael and Jackie.
He left the kitchen to go upstairs into his room. He walked in to the ultimate man cave he called it. A man cave, because he was in it a lot, and he is a male. Not much was in there except an Acer laptop, a small Sony T.V, and a lamp. It was a pretty nice lamp though, but nobody seemed to care. Better yet, nobody seemed to KNOW. His parent's were going out at 7:00, and so was he. So what? He can be a few minutes late for picking up Jackie, right? That's what he hoped. He plopped himself on his bed and turned on the T.V. He didn't have anything to do on Fridays, nor did he want to do anything on Fridays. It was 3:00. That means he had 4 hours of doing absolutely nothing. He continued to watch the news as he drifted off to sleep.
...
Ben Federick had walked into the chill rink of Hillside Arena. He had arrived right in time at 6:30 for his first day of training with "the great, 2 year experienced goalie, Grant Sullivan". The backup goaltender for the Hillside Eagles was all dressed in equipment, as he stared at the almost abandoned sight of the hockey rink. The bleacher lights were out, and all that was seen was the frozen playing field. Grant was right, nobody but one kid was there at Hillside Arena. That one kid was shooting a bunch of puck at the empty net. He was making the puck echo all across the empty arena with every shot he took. It hit the twine in the back of the net with every slap shot he took from out wide. After one last laser to the goal, he caught Ben Federick looking at him. He skated over to him, who was standing in the door of the rink that's open during open skate.
"Are you ready to protect that goal with your life?" The figure asked. It had a dead serious expression on his face and in his voice.
"Yes, Grant." Ben replied, and skated slowly to the net as he put on his goalie mask. Right when he was in position in the goal crease, Grant shot a flaming shot at his chest. Ben blocked it easy, but Grant came up with another hard snapshot from close up. Ben knocked it away to the side with his blocker. Grant was impressed.
"Nice warm-up." Grant said to the goaltender as he retrieved the puck from the side of the net, "Try this."
Grant came bolting at Ben with the puck in his possession, as he came straight at him up ice. For what Ben thought he was going to shoot to the left for a glove or leg pad save, he moved the puck the other way that left Ben Federick off guard for a goal he couldn't have possibly have gotten. He fell to his side trying for a desperation save, but as he was hoping to go left, he went right very weakly as the puck went into the net. He got up right away to Grant standing in front of him. Not disappointed, but slightly confused.
"Shouldn't you at least have some of this down by now? You've been a goalie for a while now."
"I'm sorry," Ben replied, "I do the drills and all, but I haven't played in the game for a while. I just need my groove back as all."
"Alright then," Grant said. He knew Ben was trying his hardest, so he didn't push him, "Here's what you need to do: be ready at all times when the guy is in on a breakaway. Follow the puck as fast as you can, but you can't get fooled. To do that, you need to move more slowly to the side he moves the puck on. That way, if he moves it, you'll be ready to go back to position, and if he shoots, you'll be just in the right position for a blocker or glove save."
Grant had said a lot, and to his surprise, Ben listened to every word. He crouched back down in the goal crease, as Grant came speeding up at him once more. He moved the puck left, looking to shoot, but moved it back to the right. Ben was going for the save, but there was no shot, as Grant had faked it back to the left for a shot that Ben couldn't have gotten.
"Be ready at all times," Grant said, as he bolted at the goaltender again. Lightning fast, he was out in front of the net. Ben looking to slowly move left, following the puck, moved back to the right as Grant tried to fool him. It did so happen to, as the puck never reached the right side. It bounced right off the outside of his skate, and back in scoring distance out left. Ben was again scammed by the forward, as he reached out his glove. The shot just tipped off the edge of the glove, but still made it just below the net's crossbar for a goal. Grant didn't say a word as he skated back in position with the puck moving back and forth in his stick's possession.
Focus. Ben simply thought to himself. Focus. He took a deep breath, and confidently got back in the goaltending position. Grant was racing at him, stick keeping control of the sliding puck on the ice. Straight at the goalie, he moved the puck so fast to the other side and back Ben didn't have the time to see it. He went for the shot in the top right corner, which was blocked with the blocker by Ben Federick. He smiled from the inside of his mask as Grant started again. With a few moves and a big shot, Grant Sullivan was denied another goal from the rising goaltender. He moved on to block 8 out of the 10 breakaway shots. And considering it was the best forward the team had, that was pretty good.
"You're doing well, bro." Grant said, "But the night isn't over yet for you. We still got a lot to work on."
Ben replied with a grin, "I'll be ready. You can count on that."

Michael's eyes squinted open as the rays of light lit through his lids. The sun was easily dropping low now, right in front of his window. He looked in front of him to a T.V of a picture of the Friends cast, as the show was just ending. He looked at the clock. It was 6:53 exactly. He heard the voice of the front door opening and the sound of his mother yelling from downstairs.
"Michael, we're leaving! There's some pizza in the fridge if you're hungry! Love you sweetie!" Mrs. Lambert had a very loud voice that could carry for maybe a mile if she tried. Michael heard her loud and clear every time.
"Love you, too, Ma!" He vociferated back, not as loud as her though. She heard him, and closed the door behind her. Michael got up and smelled his shirt. It was a pretty funky smell, and Jackie would probably believe that, too. He took it off, and threw on a nice American Eagle shirt. His jeans were fine, as he was just going out to a friendly dinner. He put on his Degree deodorant onto his foul smelled armpits. He was all set in a matter of minutes. He felt lucky as a guy not to be sitting hours on end getting ready for something as simple as school.
He went downstairs to put on his shoes and North Face jacket. He waited a few more minutes before he left, just in case his parents came back for anything. He sat by the front window as he gazed out on the open road of his block. It clearly snowing lightly as the day had turned to the beginning of the dark cold night. He was thinking the coast was clear, so he walked out the door in his first step of disobeying triumph. He locked it up, and walked as cool as possible to the car. He needed practice, as he was not anything near close to cool. He got inside is black Ford Fiesta (his family was wealthy, but not that good in taste. He had got the car for his 16th birthday, but he paid for half of it), put the keys in the ignition, turned it, and started the car as he drove off on Allen Road.
He had Map Quested Jackie's address at school that day from the school library. He had been anxious that whole day to see how close Jackie was to him. Michael of course didn't mean it in a creepy fashion, as much as it sounded like it. It turns out, Jackie only lived a convenient 1.5 miles away from Michael. He got on Harold Street and drove up the main road to the next few subdivisions. He turned right on Ronnie Lane into a nice neighborhood. With just a few more turns on a few more small streets, he had reached his destination of 18745 Southampton Road.
It was a nice 2 story house. Michael had parked himself on the side of the road, visible enough so that Jackie can see him right outside the front window. Right when the car stopped motion, the front door of the home opened up. Her straight bleach blond hair glistened as she walked towards the door of the car. Jackie got in with a smile on her face that seemed to never go away. No matter her feeling inside, she always looked happy on the inside.
"Hey Mike!" She said cheerfully. She looked the same as she did in school, but Michael didn't mind. He'd rather not have Ryan catch him with his girlfriend wearing a thigh high skirt and a belly and shoulder revealing shirt.
"Hey Jackie," He replied, "You look good."
"Thank you," She replied, while putting her lipstick she recently applied back in her purse. After that moment was a little of an awkward silence, as Michael drove back onto the main road.
After a minute or two of Jackie blankly looking out the window in no conversation mode, Michael turned on the radio. It took a few moments for it to start up, but the music began playing soon after.
"...Help! I need somebody! Help! Not just anybody! Help! You know I need someone..." Michael had left his burned CD of the Beatles in the radio, and was in the middle of the song. Embarrassingly, he reached for the eject button. But a hand had stopped him just before he could.
"Relax," Jackie laughed, "I love the Beatles!" Michael was again completely shocked. A girl who had actually liked his favorite band, and not criticizing on liking old music.
With eyes wide open Michael replies with a, "Seriously?"
"Yeah!" Jackie said back, "Strawberry Fields, Hey Jude, Love Me Do? I love those ones!"
"Alright, alright. Tonight I just declared you the coolest girl I've met," Michael laughed. Jackie was awesome to him. Help had just ended, as the CD moved on the next song. The tune was all too familiar to Jackie, and couldn't help but sing along.
"What would you think if I sang at a tune?" She sung in a small, but hearable voice. Michael joined along.
"Would you stand up and walk out on me?" He had done a weird deep voice to sound like Ringo a little bit. Jackie found him funny. He turned up the stereo, as Jackie sang the next line.
"Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,"
"And I'll try not to sing out of key," In just a few moments, Jackie and Michael had gone completely karaoke, no matter how much they sucked at harmonizing.
"Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends! Mmm, I get high with a little help from my friends! Mmm, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends!" Jackie and Michael sang off tune as the chorus ended. They laughed as they let the Beatles sing for a bit.
"Dang boy, you are awful at singing!" Jackie laughed.
"Like you were any better?" Michael joked, "But as of tonight, I am the walrus."
"No, I'm the walrus," Jackie replied. They have been referring to John Lennon's musical piece he had performed with George, Ringo, and Paul, 'I am the Walrus'. If you knew the Beatles, you knew who the walrus was, "You can be the hippo or something."
"No, no, no, you be the hippo, I am the walrus," Michael said to Jackie. Tonight he would be the almighty walrus, roaming the earth avoiding things of Ryan the predator shark, trying to sniff the fear Michael hadn't had.
He had stopped at a stoplight, as Buffalo Wild Wings was just in sight on the corner. A grump of an old man honked repeatedly and long at the high school junior in a blue Fiesta behind him. He let down his window to see what was his problem. The man was not that big of a guy as his eyes just were seen over the top of the wheel. Angry, confused, and possibly color blind, as he thought the light was green and the "*******" in front wouldn't move. He just let him be. Don't want to flip off an angry old man. You never know; he could carry a cane that could turn into a deadly weapon.
Michael turned back into the car, when he stopped and saw a familiar face. He slowly turned to his left to a beat up white pickup truck. Worse than the pickup truck, was the man inside it.
Ryan Roberts.

acmed
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acmed
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Chapter 7: That Chuck Norris Feeling
Right when Michael's brain can fit around what was happening, he immediately turned to Jackie from staring out of the window.
"Get down!" He hissed. He had to time to let down the window, so the two had to keep as quiet as possible.
"Why?" Jackie asked confusingly. She then caught the face on the side of the car. She took off her seat belt and started crouching down the floor. It was a tight fit, and Michael had to help. The car was shaking a bit as Jackie struggled to hide from the forward. She was down and uncomfortable, as she was out of sight from Ryan's view.
Ryan Roberts looked over at the ruckus happening a lane over. All is it that he saw was Michael Lambert in his car, nodding his head to the beat of the beginning of "Eleanor Rigby", turned up at a noticeable volume. Michael pretended to just notice him, and waved cheerfully. Ryan gave him an odd look that read, "Cool, bro. Cool...". As the light turned green, he drove off the turning lane to the left, and out of sight for the night. He drove along as Jackie got back up, hair slightly messed up. Michael talked angry, but calm.
"You said he was going to be at anger management classes!" said Michael.
"He drives there by himself!" Jackie snapped.
"Don't you think he might start an all out road rage or something?"
Jackie gave Michael a look, "He's 16 years old, not Incredible Hulk!" The car drove into the parking lot of B-Dubs.
"Just promise to me that there will be NO MORE close calls like that." Michael offered, holding out a hand. Jackie gave a jokingly eye roll, but shook the hand willingly. The two got out into the cool winter night, and headed inside.

"The Chuck Norris Feeling", is what Grant called it. That feeling where you feel absolutely invincible at what you're doing. Heart hard as steel, that nobody can penetrate as you feel like you are towering above all that ever lived, and all that tries to lead you off course. Ben had a serious case of the Chuck Norris feeling.
As the shots came flying at Ben from every angle, he blocked almost all of them from whatever pad, perfectly. Ben Federick was at a 15 blocking streak, the best he had ever gotten. After catching the 16th one in his glove, he took off his helmet to reveal a head of sweaty, black, long hair. It would be 7:30, a whole hour and a half of diving, reaching, and everything else hard working goalies did. Even Grant himself had produced a large amount of sweat. His right arm was beginning to hurt again. It felt like a pull in his muscle, but ignored it.
"I think you've had enough there, buddy," Grant said to the goaltender, tired and out of breath, "Let's get something to drink."
Grant and Ben went out the rink doors right nearby, and through the glass doors leading into the arena entrance. They had a snack bar at Hillside Arena with a lot of picnic benches and tables where most teenagers from the school often hung out. Most couples or friend groups wouldn't find skating fun, so the snack bar was the normal hang out area.
The tired and smelly hockey players got some Cokes, as they sat down on their own bench so people wouldn't have to smell their odor. There was some laughing and gossip happening between a few school girls. The rest of them were talking with the guys with their varsity leather jackets on. Varsity leather basically meant you were popular. But with budget cuts, the athletic board had to get rid of them. The football players still wear theirs from the previous year to show off.
Grant looked at the front double doors of Hillside Arena. He watched as groups of chattering high school students walked through from the cold winter night. The kids have really taken advantage of the rink being theirs. Nobody else came except them. None skated since the name change. But Grant had always remembered the memories there before he was even in grade school. He had even met Michael there.
Ben sat down still covered with goaltender equipment and his helmet laying on the table. He had sweat running down the back of his neck and on his forehead. He took a sip of his Coke and put it down.
"You did good." Grant said without facing him.
"Thanks," Ben replied, "Too bad coach didn't see me."
Grant faced him, "Maybe he'll see you during practice." Grant chugged a bit of his soda, "When was the last time you played anyways?"
"Last year. I played a few games when I was in JV. Maybe if we break Gareth's arm, then I can play."
"We aren't breaking anyone's arm." Grant said, "You play until coach comes to his senses of fair ice time."
Ben nodded his head, "That man even told me I'm probably not going to be having much ice time this year. How pathetic. He should just marry Gareth if he wants him to play so much."
Grant sighed and looked up at the clock up just above the trophy case. 7:45 it read. He looked back at Ben, "Want to bail?"
Ben stood up from the bench and replied, "Yeah, let's head home."
Grant went over to the garbage can to throw out his empty soda cup while Ben put his stuff away in his gigantic duffle bag. Leg pads, blocker, glove, mask, stick, and zip. He threw the elephant back over his shoulder and took his skates by the free hand. Grant started to walk ahead of him.
"Hey", Ben said. Grant turned around, "So, are we like... friends?" There was a pause between the two.
Without any facial expression whatsoever, Grant replied, "Yeah," He nodded his head, "Yeah we're friends." He stuck out a hand. Ben wasn't sure if it was a high five or handshake, so he did a bit of both. The duo then went out the doors of Hillside Arena. Ben Federick had made a friend.

SoccerGirl27
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Nomad

Yaaaaayyyy!!! Not just one but TWO chapters loved it. I can't wait to see what happens between Michael and Jackie keep the chapters comin achmed

acmed
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acmed
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Thank you! But I will tell you, you will be surprised what happens...

MegaIPOD
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MegaIPOD
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Shepherd

MORE MORE MORE!!!!
Joke.
But seriously, this reminds me of the Industrial Revolution, ugh?
Nevermind PX
Nice Chapter though

Darktroop07
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Darktroop07
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Shepherd

Yes thanks you I've been waiting for this for a long time I've gotten hooked with the story XD.

SoccerGirl27
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SoccerGirl27
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You are very welcome. And yay!!! I do love surprises can't wait for the next chapter!!!

zakyman
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zakyman
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Peasant

i thoroughly enjoyed these...

I WANT MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE XD

but seriously, great writing

acmed
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acmed
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I WANT MORE MORE MORE MORE MORE XD


MORE MORE MORE!!!!


I'm working on the next chapter right now. The indents between submissions may be just a little longer.
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