Chapter 22: Number Thirty-One

The league's rink had banners from twelve years of championships hanging in the rafters.

Lena had never stood under them.

Nine goalies were on the ice for the tryout, and she knew by the third drill that two of them were better than she was.

One of them was the young goalie with the red braid, who had been at Harbor Ice the week before.

"Hi again," the girl said, and tapped Lena's pad with her stick.

"Hi."

"Try not to be better than me."

"I'll try."

The coach from the radio call stood at the blue line with her clipboard.

She had kept her job.

She had been told at nine that morning that the owner who might have fired her was in a lawyer's office, and she had not stopped smiling since.

"Shooters, line up," she said. "Ten shots each. Goalies rotate."

The first skater wound up and snapped one at Lena's glove side.

She caught it.

The second went low.

She dropped, and the puck hit her pad.

The third came so fast she only saw the flash of the blade.

It rang off the post.

"Close," the shooter said.

"Not close enough."

By the fifth drill, her legs were burning.

In the sixth, a tall forward with a heavy shot hit her in the ribs, and she went down on one knee.

The whole bench winced.

Lena stood up.

She took her time.

"Again," she said.

The forward looked at the coach.

"She said again."

He shot.

Lena stopped it with her chest.

The sound it made against her chest was wet and heavy, and the bench went quiet, and she grunted, and she didn't move.

"Again."

He shot nine more.

She stopped seven.

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