Slap Shot by Doug Bond

On the road it all got bent. First lost to State and Tech was a bitch too. Fuckers were a lot tougher than we knew. Their big-dog enforcer, Trennier, I remember him from the MHSAA semis couple years ago. He was a UPer, one of those back ass old iron towns on the border. He skated dirty back then. Now he was outta control. Trennier had been doggin’ me all over the ice, every shift. We got a power play late in the third. I saw a chance to nail him on the boards and came flyin’ in hard. There was this sick look on his face, ugly gapped smile opening right before I hit him. I’d no idea that shit, Bjorstrom, was right behind me. Cracked me flat on the glass just as Trennier ducked. They say I was down, crumpled, almost five minutes. Blade cut on my arm’s throbbing while Bjorstrom’s helping me off, apologizing non-stop. He tells me I can ride back down to Detroit with him and his girl. “We’re seniors. Fuck the bus!” She’s got her daddy’s Cayenne. He points her out, couple rows up. Back on the bench I can’t stop looking up at her. Ski jacket curves in tight at her waist; big open eyes, drinking schnapps with her friends. She sees me and before I can look away mouths something to me. I don’t figure out what it is until later. Man, that girl sure knew how to straighten a guy out.

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