Austin
By the time Coach blew his whistle, the sky outside the rink had turned an eerie yellow-gray. The kind of sky that made your gut twist even before the first drop of rain fell. Everyone knew the storm was coming. You could feel it in the air - thick, hot, electric. Like the world was holding its breath. Coach cut practice ten minutes early, waving us off with a “Get the hell home before the thunder starts.” Nobody argued. We’d all seen the forecast: the sudden summer storm - flash floods, power outages, the works.
I yanked off my skates in record time, tossing them into my bag without bothering to tie the laces together. The locker room was a whirlwind of slamming doors and sneakers squeaking across damp floors. Lucas had his hoodie half on as he bolted past me, shouting something
