Page 137 of Against All Odds

One of the little kids raises his hand. “How many laps, Coach Aidan?”

“Um…I’ll let you know when to stop.”

I expect that answer to go over about as well as canceling practice, but the kids surprise me by not voicing a single complaint.

I’m even more surprised by their skill level. Better than I was at this age.

Hastily, I tug my phone out of my pocket and searchkids hockey drills. I scan through the results, grimacing when the first five all involve using cones.

I don’t have any cones, and leaving the kids unattended to go search the rink for some seems like a bad idea.

I try to think of the drills Coach has run us through during practice recently, but my mind is blank. It’s like driving somewhere yourself versus sitting in the passenger seat. I remember certain details, but not the whole drive.

We practiced zone entry and stick handling yesterday. I don’t think I can replicate that at a less advanced level.

I’m not keeping close track, but they’ve probably skated at least twenty laps by the time I decide they can’t do that all practice.

I stick two fingers in my mouth and whistle, enjoying the awed looks as the kids skate over.

“We’re going to play a game of three-on-three,” I decide.

Playing a game is better than drills, right?

The kids seem undecided.

“Who is playing on first line?” one kid asks.

I have no clue what his name is. They all introducedthemselves at the start of practice, but there was no way I was going to memorize names and faces in one go.

“What’s your name?”

“Cody.”

He says his name like I should know it. His confidence kinda reminds me of Hart.

“Why are you asking me which line you’ll play on, Cody?”

“Uh…” He glances around at his teammates. “’Cause I wanna know?”

“The only thing you need to know is that I’m the coach today. Everyone on the center line.”

They all skate toward the red streak instantly. Even Cody.

I pick up the bucket of pucks and skate after them.

“Change of plans. Make the shot, stay standing. Miss, sit.”

I skate down the line, handing each of them a puck. Stop at the home bench and whistle.

“Go!”

The first player shoots. Misses, grimaces, sits.

The second player shoots. He misses too.

Third does too.

Maybe this was a bad idea. I’m trying to teach them an equalizer—it matters if you make the shot, not what line you’re on when you take it—not decimate their confidence.