GREYSON
Coach taps my arm, and I hop up onto the wall dividing the rink from our bench. My replacement, a junior named Finch, skates toward me and practically dives over. A split second later, my blades touch the ice and I’m off.
I move into position, my muscles stretching and warming back up. I’ve had precious few breaks—all the starters have been rotated out, giving us a chance to breathe, but then we’re right back in. The other team is faring no better.
This game is testing us. The Knights haven’t been fighting fair, and I have the sneaking suspicion the refs aren’t on our side. Because of that, I’ve played the second period with my head screwed on right. Sweat soaks down my back.
Still, I love this sport. My blood sings, adrenaline pumps, and the roar of the crowd just makes me fig
