Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Coach Willa,” one little boy pipes up, “which one is their goal again?”
I point to the net on the far side of the rink. “That one over there. Remember, the one with the red paint.”
The referee blows the whistle to signal the start of the game. I pat the kids on their helmets. “Okay, go get ’em, team!”
As the kids skate off, King leans toward me. “Great job, Coach.”
“Thanks for hanging me out to dry,” I mutter.
“I’d never do that,” he replies with a wink. “I had all the confidence in the world in you, but damn… you were so cute flubbing through that.”
I roll my eyes and move over to the bench. King steps in and chooses the first set of kids to head out to play.
It’s clear that both teams are filled with eager but inexperienced players. The Ice Pups zoom around with wild abandon while the Little Lightning team struggles to even stay upright on their skates. Some kids are skating in the wrong direction while others are tripping over their own sticks or simply chasing each other around instead of focusing on the game. It’s the cutest damn thing and I can’t see how taking on this project has been a bad thing at all.
I watch in a mix of horror and amusement as they try to execute King’s instructions. Izzy manages to get hold of the puck but immediately trips over it, landing in a heap. Another player, Timmy, skates over and tries to help her up but ends up falling himself, their sticks clattering against the ice.
Meanwhile, Ella skates in circles near the center, completely oblivious to the game. She’s singing a song to herself, her pigtails bouncing with each stride.
“Ella! Over here!” I call out, waving my arms. She looks up, grins and gives a big thumbs-up before resuming her skating routine.
The puck somehow finds its way to Max, who gets so excited that he starts skating toward the wrong goal. “Max! Other way!” I shout, trying to redirect him. He stops, looks around confusedly, and then spins in place, unsure of which direction to go.
As the period progresses, the kids’ antics only become more endearing. There’s a moment when the puck slides slowly past the opposing team’s goal, and all the kids from both teams gather around it, staring down like it’s a strange alien object.
“All right, team, let’s tighten up our passing!” King calls out in an attempt to get them to concentrate. “Look at your target. Johnny, stay low! Great job with that pass, Carrie!”
The children eagerly listen to King’s coaching, their eyes lighting up under his reassuring words. His positive energy envelops them, making them feel confident and enthusiastic about learning.
However, Theo’s father is becoming increasingly agitated. “Come on, Theo! That’s not the right way to do it!” His voice grows louder with each mistake his son makes, his frustration clear to all.
“Great effort, Theo! Keep trying!” I cheer from the sidelines, clapping in encouragement.
Suddenly, Theo’s father’s angry voice echoes across the rink. “Theo, what are you doing? Pay attention! You’re embarrassing yourself!”
The other parents shift uncomfortably, stealing nervous glances at one another. King’s head snaps up and a fierce determination burns in his eyes. Without a word, he strides off the ice and heads toward the stands. All eyes watch him in wary curiosity and I follow to either voice my support or calm King down. Not sure which at this point.
“Hey, that’s enough,” King says firmly as he approaches Isaac McVey from the side of the bleachers where he sits four rows up. His head tipped back to look at the man, he says, “I’ve told you before… these kids are here to have fun and learn. If you can’t keep your comments positive, you need to leave.”
Theo’s father looks taken aback but his jaw locks tight, eyes flashing with anger.
“Do you understand me?” King asks, his tone brooking no argument.
Theo’s mother quickly intervenes by placing a calming hand on her husband’s arm. “It’s okay, honey. Let’s just enjoy the game,” she says softly.
Theo’s father mutters something under his breath but nods and sits down. King turns around and walks back onto the ice with ease, ready to continue coaching.
“Nice work, Coach King,” I tell him as we return to the game.
“Thanks,” he responds, but I still see anger simmering as he moves past me. He goes straight to Theo on the ice and I’m not sure what he says as he puts a hand on the kid’s shoulders and murmurs to him, but the little boy nods with a solemn look. Then he smiles and skates off.
The game continues with more funny moments and cheers from the parents. The kids are having the time of their lives, and that’s all that truly matters. As the final buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game, the Ice Pups and Little Lightning gather for the traditional handshake line, their faces beaming with pride. They had a grand score of zero to zero.