Rougher and Tougher
Chapter One: Draft here I come.
I sighed as I stared intensely at the ceiling, listening to my sister's soft snores in the bed next to mine. I was trying to figure out how I could possibly play today. Play, meaning how would I handle being turned down in front of so many players in the draft. How I would handle humiliation in front of the prospects of this draft. I would get to Montreal, they'd figure out that I was a girl and would send me back. The scout never mentioned anything about me being a girl, which- I thought was weird since, I wasn't hiding anything; my hair was out and my stick was taped with pink camo tape. Those things were probably a dead giveaway that I was a girl. Even my teammates stared at the scout like he was insane.
I rolled over to look at my alarm clock. It read 2:30 am. I had to get up in half an hour, drive my old beaten up truck into town, to the Sept Iles airport and jump on a plane that'd take me to Montreal. I shivered at the thought of plane's. I hated planes. I have a fear of them, truth be told. I mentally laughed at myself, I wasn't afraid of any person, any player but, there was two things that actually scared me. My parents, and planes, plus spiders which didn't count because three quarters of the population were scared of spiders.
"Jordan, temps de se réveiller!" My mum said loudly, pounding on my door in the process. [TR: Jordan, time to wake up]
I blinked at the clock, and realized it was 2:52 am. I had sat there staring at my alarm clock for more than 20 minutes, wasting time I could be sleeping.
My mom popped her head in, and smiled warmly. I just groaned.
"Maman, cinq minutes de plus." I begged, pulling the large comforter over my head. [tr: mom, five more minutes]
"Cinq minutes pour toi sont une heure pour le reste de nous." she said, and pulled the duvet from over my head. Her smiling face was refreshing, as I thought she was scowling.....like she usually was.
"Peut-être," I muttered, as she pulled the covers and piles of warm blankets off my legs. I shivered and she chuckled, patting one of my legs as she perched herself on the edge of my bed.
She was wearing a polka dot dress with a long sleeved cardigan overtop. I couldn't see her feet but I knew she was wearing small 3 inch heels she wore to the bank almost every day. Her blonde shoulder length hair was curled to perfection, and her bangs coming to just above her eyebrows. She looked beautiful, to say the least.
She was from Quebec city, and moved here to teach however, she was fired because of budget cuts. While she was walking home from getting fired, she ran into my father; literally. After 3 years of dating, they got married.Three years after, Mom had me, then 5 years later they had my sister, Delanie, then 2 years after that they had Marcus, my brother. I'm 18, almost 19, my sister is 13 almost 14 and my brother is 11 almost 12.
"Celeste, honey, where are you?" My dad's english carried itself up the stairs, and his muffled footsteps echoed closer.
He was an englishman from British Columbia on the West Coast. He was one of the many reasons I was put into the only thing I loved more than my family. Hockey. He had taught me to skate when I was 2 on bob skates. He did the same with both his other children, but he took more care with me because, I was his first born. I was a natural born skater. Offensive defenseman is what they called me, but they didn't realize that I was blocking shots, stopping breakaways, and preventing turnovers. Many called me the girl Bobby Orr. However, I couldn't measure up to the greatness of the best player that ever graced this earth.
"Up here." My mother called, as my dad paused in the doorway. It was still dark outside so the light from the hallway casted a eerie shadow over my father's face.
However, I could tell he was smiling.
"You do realize it's already three." My father said, and my mother jumped up.
She pursed her lips together as she turned back around. Her eyes were surprisingly calm, like the ocean. People said I had my mother's eyes, I didn't see it.
"Shower. Now." My mom commanded, and I nodded, trying to hide a small smile. My mom was nice and understanding but, she absolutely hated being late. She actually made me change in the car once for hockey and baseball because, we were running 5 minutes off schedule.
She smiled back, as she gently pushed me out the door, past my father who was trying not to burst out laughing.
I headed to the bathroom, passing my brother's room in the process. It was cracked open and through the small gap, I could hear barely audible crying. My brother never cried, not even as a baby; not even when he broke his arm when a defenseman landed on it. He was only nine then.
I paused, debating if I should go in or not. He told me when our grandfather died, whom he was very close with, that he hated crying in front of people. Showing weakness, as he said it. I told him it was good to show his emotions and it was healthy to cry but, he wouldn't believe me. That was the only time I saw him cry. ever.
I decided for it. For all I knew he'd cracked his skull open on the floor from falling off his bunk bed.
I pushed the door open a tiny bit and peered inside. My eyes adjusted to the light and there, I could see my brother's tear streaked face. He was gazing at me, through the darkness.
"Hey, Marcus." I said, coming closer to sit on the edge of his bed.
He sniffled, "Why do you have to go, Jords?" He asked, using my nickname that everyone called me by.
"Because," I paused, taking his hand in mine, "Hockey is the only thing i'm good at, and besides I'll be back before you know it. I'll be bugging you, and practicing with you, and going to college in town."
A small tear slid down my face, "They won't take me, Marc, you know that. The NHL is for boys, but I have to at least try."
He nodded, as he wiped his tears, "Give me a hug, Marc," He wrapped his arms around my waist, and squeezed like hell.
I chuckled, and told him that I must go take a shower. I was going to miss my family that was for sure.
I didn't know what it was about people on airplanes but, they all seemed either stressed or very, very annoyed. Me, on the other hand, I was too worked up to be stressed or annoyed. I hated airplanes- no, I had more like a fear of airplanes. They were scary, okay? Big heavy machinery wasn't supposed to fly, no matter how aerodynamic the bugger was.
I sat down on the last row of the red eye flight to Montreal. I secretly hoped no one sat beside me, since I had the window seat and I didn't like asking people if they could get up so, I could go to the washroom.
I first noticed how strangely uncomfortable the seats were, not that I was complaining but; they could of been softer since I was wearing a freaking dress. Yes, my mother being the mother she was, made me and I mean, forced me to wear this god awful dress, and equally horrifying heels. The dress was okay, okay as in not my type but, surely, someone else's. Mother argued that the guy players were going to be wearing suits, so I would have to look equally mature and talented as any other hockey player. I made a face at the dress as someone coughed.
My eyes snapped up, and landed on a very annoyed looking teenage boy. He wasn't a hockey player I knew, that was for sure; he looked like a snowboarder since he was rocking long hair and the 'i-don't-really-care' look. He had a lanky build, but I thought I saw some sort of 6 pack under his baggy shirt as he lifted his duffle bag into the overhead bin, not that I was looking.
"Hey," I said, trying to be friendly. He just looked at me, then smiled. I hadn't noticed that he had a kind of foreign aura to him. Swedish, I would've guessed or Swiss.
"Hiya." He said, sitting down in the aisle seat. I was right in some aspect, he did have a Swedish accent.
"Sweden?" I asked, studying his face; He nodded. He had sharp features, piercing blue eyes, and long blonde hair; pulled into a ponytail.
"Came here.....snowboarding" He said, and I smiled. Nailed it.
His eyes raked my figure, and he raised an eyebrow at the dress. It was a little too revealing for my taste but, it wasn't what normal people would describe as slutty.
"Why dress?" He asked, and i rolled my eyes,
"Hockey," I answered, "Going to Montreal for the draft." He looked blankly at me, and I smiled.
"Isn't that boys only?" He asked, and i nodded.
"I'm about to change that."
I rolled over to look at my alarm clock. It read 2:30 am. I had to get up in half an hour, drive my old beaten up truck into town, to the Sept Iles airport and jump on a plane that'd take me to Montreal. I shivered at the thought of plane's. I hated planes. I have a fear of them, truth be told. I mentally laughed at myself, I wasn't afraid of any person, any player but, there was two things that actually scared me. My parents, and planes, plus spiders which didn't count because three quarters of the population were scared of spiders.
"Jordan, temps de se réveiller!" My mum said loudly, pounding on my door in the process. [TR: Jordan, time to wake up]
I blinked at the clock, and realized it was 2:52 am. I had sat there staring at my alarm clock for more than 20 minutes, wasting time I could be sleeping.
My mom popped her head in, and smiled warmly. I just groaned.
"Maman, cinq minutes de plus." I begged, pulling the large comforter over my head. [tr: mom, five more minutes]
"Cinq minutes pour toi sont une heure pour le reste de nous." she said, and pulled the duvet from over my head. Her smiling face was refreshing, as I thought she was scowling.....like she usually was.
"Peut-être," I muttered, as she pulled the covers and piles of warm blankets off my legs. I shivered and she chuckled, patting one of my legs as she perched herself on the edge of my bed.
She was wearing a polka dot dress with a long sleeved cardigan overtop. I couldn't see her feet but I knew she was wearing small 3 inch heels she wore to the bank almost every day. Her blonde shoulder length hair was curled to perfection, and her bangs coming to just above her eyebrows. She looked beautiful, to say the least.
She was from Quebec city, and moved here to teach however, she was fired because of budget cuts. While she was walking home from getting fired, she ran into my father; literally. After 3 years of dating, they got married.Three years after, Mom had me, then 5 years later they had my sister, Delanie, then 2 years after that they had Marcus, my brother. I'm 18, almost 19, my sister is 13 almost 14 and my brother is 11 almost 12.
"Celeste, honey, where are you?" My dad's english carried itself up the stairs, and his muffled footsteps echoed closer.
He was an englishman from British Columbia on the West Coast. He was one of the many reasons I was put into the only thing I loved more than my family. Hockey. He had taught me to skate when I was 2 on bob skates. He did the same with both his other children, but he took more care with me because, I was his first born. I was a natural born skater. Offensive defenseman is what they called me, but they didn't realize that I was blocking shots, stopping breakaways, and preventing turnovers. Many called me the girl Bobby Orr. However, I couldn't measure up to the greatness of the best player that ever graced this earth.
"Up here." My mother called, as my dad paused in the doorway. It was still dark outside so the light from the hallway casted a eerie shadow over my father's face.
However, I could tell he was smiling.
"You do realize it's already three." My father said, and my mother jumped up.
She pursed her lips together as she turned back around. Her eyes were surprisingly calm, like the ocean. People said I had my mother's eyes, I didn't see it.
"Shower. Now." My mom commanded, and I nodded, trying to hide a small smile. My mom was nice and understanding but, she absolutely hated being late. She actually made me change in the car once for hockey and baseball because, we were running 5 minutes off schedule.
She smiled back, as she gently pushed me out the door, past my father who was trying not to burst out laughing.
I headed to the bathroom, passing my brother's room in the process. It was cracked open and through the small gap, I could hear barely audible crying. My brother never cried, not even as a baby; not even when he broke his arm when a defenseman landed on it. He was only nine then.
I paused, debating if I should go in or not. He told me when our grandfather died, whom he was very close with, that he hated crying in front of people. Showing weakness, as he said it. I told him it was good to show his emotions and it was healthy to cry but, he wouldn't believe me. That was the only time I saw him cry. ever.
I decided for it. For all I knew he'd cracked his skull open on the floor from falling off his bunk bed.
I pushed the door open a tiny bit and peered inside. My eyes adjusted to the light and there, I could see my brother's tear streaked face. He was gazing at me, through the darkness.
"Hey, Marcus." I said, coming closer to sit on the edge of his bed.
He sniffled, "Why do you have to go, Jords?" He asked, using my nickname that everyone called me by.
"Because," I paused, taking his hand in mine, "Hockey is the only thing i'm good at, and besides I'll be back before you know it. I'll be bugging you, and practicing with you, and going to college in town."
A small tear slid down my face, "They won't take me, Marc, you know that. The NHL is for boys, but I have to at least try."
He nodded, as he wiped his tears, "Give me a hug, Marc," He wrapped his arms around my waist, and squeezed like hell.
I chuckled, and told him that I must go take a shower. I was going to miss my family that was for sure.
I didn't know what it was about people on airplanes but, they all seemed either stressed or very, very annoyed. Me, on the other hand, I was too worked up to be stressed or annoyed. I hated airplanes- no, I had more like a fear of airplanes. They were scary, okay? Big heavy machinery wasn't supposed to fly, no matter how aerodynamic the bugger was.
I sat down on the last row of the red eye flight to Montreal. I secretly hoped no one sat beside me, since I had the window seat and I didn't like asking people if they could get up so, I could go to the washroom.
I first noticed how strangely uncomfortable the seats were, not that I was complaining but; they could of been softer since I was wearing a freaking dress. Yes, my mother being the mother she was, made me and I mean, forced me to wear this god awful dress, and equally horrifying heels. The dress was okay, okay as in not my type but, surely, someone else's. Mother argued that the guy players were going to be wearing suits, so I would have to look equally mature and talented as any other hockey player. I made a face at the dress as someone coughed.
My eyes snapped up, and landed on a very annoyed looking teenage boy. He wasn't a hockey player I knew, that was for sure; he looked like a snowboarder since he was rocking long hair and the 'i-don't-really-care' look. He had a lanky build, but I thought I saw some sort of 6 pack under his baggy shirt as he lifted his duffle bag into the overhead bin, not that I was looking.
"Hey," I said, trying to be friendly. He just looked at me, then smiled. I hadn't noticed that he had a kind of foreign aura to him. Swedish, I would've guessed or Swiss.
"Hiya." He said, sitting down in the aisle seat. I was right in some aspect, he did have a Swedish accent.
"Sweden?" I asked, studying his face; He nodded. He had sharp features, piercing blue eyes, and long blonde hair; pulled into a ponytail.
"Came here.....snowboarding" He said, and I smiled. Nailed it.
His eyes raked my figure, and he raised an eyebrow at the dress. It was a little too revealing for my taste but, it wasn't what normal people would describe as slutty.
"Why dress?" He asked, and i rolled my eyes,
"Hockey," I answered, "Going to Montreal for the draft." He looked blankly at me, and I smiled.
"Isn't that boys only?" He asked, and i nodded.
"I'm about to change that."
Please up
11/27/16