The lines were longer than I'd originally expected. They wound around many corners and, it seemed as if it would never end. I groaned mentally as I stood in line behind a boy with buzzed brown hair. I tried to ignore the glances passing players, and players further up in line were giving me. I wished I didn't have to stand here, and waste my time waiting for something that would turn me down faster than a Chara slap shot. If I could drink I would've been wasted a long time ago.

The airport was busy for the middle of the week. Many business men walked by, rocking their polished suits. It made me feel like I didn't belong here, which unfortunately- I really didn't. Where I belonged was in my small ass rink in my small ass town in the middle of fucking no where, practicing with my brother and teaching him everything I know. I let out an exaggerated breath, and ran my fingers through my straightened hair- my mother's doing, obviously. I was wondering how many players were in this fucking line when the boy with the buzzed hair turned around, and his eyes widened to the size of plates.

"This isn't immigration, Sweetheart" His clearly American accent stood out to me like a sore thumb. I didn't even realize that he was doubting me being a player until his words really sunk in.

"It might be hard for a narrow-minded boy like you to comprehend but, I'm actually a player." I snapped, uninterested in, frankly anything he had to say after that point. He gave a dry chuckle, that quickly died out when he finally grasped that I wasn't joking.

"Oh." was the only out of his mouth as he gave me an apologetic look, that I knew wasn't at all sincere.

"Alex," He said, abruptly; "Alex Galchenyuk." He said his name with insane fluency; if it was me I'd have trouble with the ch sound. I quickly begun to admire his accent.

"Jordan," I paused, just like he'd done, "Jordan Smyth." I sounded more French than usual but, that was probably because my last name, and first name were both of English decent, courtesy of my father. English, also, wasn't my first language, and I had a terrible accent.

I hadn't heard his name anywhere before so, he must've played in the OHL or the WHL. I was just about to ask him where he played but, a loud voice blared out the sound of my name. I was quickly embraced in a hug as my scout, I think his name was Robert, wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

"It's Randy, your scout" He said, and I felt a pang of guilt as I realized I'd forgotten his name. Randy, I repeated in my head and gave him a warm smile- my mother always said to use those types of smiles when you've forgotten something or you're being insulted nicely.

"Hi," I paused, giving him a confused look, "Uh, are you here to tell me to go home?" I asked, and he gave a loud, over-exaggerated chuckle.

"No, No, of course not." He said, giving me a wide grin, "I'm just here to make sure none of the other players are harassing you." He eyed Alex like he was a suspect in a horrible crime. I almost laughed.

"No, I'm fine. I just thought I'd be sent home." I grinned widely, and he shook his head.

He nodded, "If that's it- I'll go sign you in and if you could come with me- we'll get your rooming sorted- unfortunately, we couldn't get you an individual room- so you'll be bunking with a Nail Yakupov."

I nodded to him as he turned around, walking away with me closely behind. I turned just in time to see that Alex was waving me goodbye, I waved back but quickly picked up the pace as I was loosing Randy in the large crowd of drafted players. I passed by a bunch of glaring players as we cut straight to the front. I wondered why I was such a big deal. I pushed all the questions out of my brain and focused on ignoring the weird looks, and glances being thrown my way. I wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out.

I was snapped out of my daze by Randy saying something to a receptionist on a laptop in a desk that as labelled 'NHL draft: Airport Sign In'. Well, it couldn't get anymore blunt than that. I was in. In the NHL draft. It was only five days- but it could determine who I was and what I could do. I heard massive amounts of whispering and chuckling amongst the players behind me. I felt myself shrink, I wanted to be alone. On an ice surface. With only a few dozen pucks, a stick, and a net.

"Is it Jordan Smith with an I or Smyth with an y?" The receptionist asked, giving me a smile- I was still absorbed in my thoughts that I couldn't find my voice until Randy poked me on the shoulder.

"Smyth with an y. Jordan Smyth. Of the Baie Comeau Drakkar." I said, and the whispering stopped. I could feel eyes on me, and mouths wide open. I was widely known across the CHL for having the most points in the QMJHL. I knew I was known as a guy, only my teammates and coaches knew I was a girl. It was very annoying. I wondered why that guy, Alex didn't freak out when I told him. Maybe he didn't know me.

I leaned into Randy's ear, and whispered five words,

"I need a rink. Now."

---

The facilities in the Entry Draft were as good as NHL facilities. Way better than my beaten down old rink in Sept Iles. They supplied jerseys, with last names and everything, also socks with blue and white that showed you were from the east. The westerners got red and white. I shivered as I slide out into the recently smoothed ice, and pulled my stick out with me, along with a bucket of frozen pucks. No one else was out yet, since most of the guys were settling first and going to lunch with their families. A gut wrenching feeling came over me, I missed my family so much. I'd been gone before, but never for this long of a time. It was usually three days or less.

I tipped my bucket over onto the ice, and separated one from the others. I flipped it up onto my stick, and snapped it into the net. It hit the net and rolled a few centimeters before toppling over. I took another one, and snapped a slap shot at the net. I missed my brother watching me, and yelling things like- 'harder', 'Imagine if that was someone you hate', 'Faster!'. Until one time I slapped one that took the net of its pegs and made it slam into the boards. That was only 6 months ago. I smiled, and gave a wrister to the top shelf.

"What am I doing here?" I hissed at myself, imagining I was a coach that I'd be facing tomorrow. The combine was only two days away. I'd be in the spotlight, where everyone could judge me- she's a girl, what's she doing here? She'll never be as good as any of the men! Why did she even come? Does she really think she can do it? No. I don't but, I keep surprising myself- so maybe I can.

I plopped down on the ice, losing my will to take anymore shots. I wish I could just talk to my dad, and my brother. All the players had their families here- Why couldn't I? I was alone. When they- If they called my name, I'd stand up all alone- I'd go up all alone- I'd put on the jersey and I'd be what I was before. Alone.

"You know you're wasting perfectly good ice." A familiar voice said, and I rolled my eyes. However, I remembered his voice now. Alex Galchenyuk. I hadn't noticed before but, he had an overwhelming hint of an accent, that I couldn't put my finger on. However, telling from his last name it was probably, most likely, a russian one.

"You can have it, if you want. I don't want to be here when the rest of the draft picks decide to take a skate." I sighed, and rolled onto my knees; pushing up to face those pretty blue eyes. What? It was the truth, he had the purest blue eyes- like mine, only his were actually nice to look at.

I didn't let him respond because, while I was checking him out- I saw that on the shoulder of his jersey he had a Canadiens patch. He was being drafted to the Canadiens?

"You're with the Canadiens?" I almost laughed, then spit on the ice, "Only people from Montreal like the Canadiens." I added, and gave him a hard look. He nodded, but shook his head.

"Yes, I lived in Montreal," He said, giving me a very nice smile, "But, I didn't cheer for Montreal."

I looked at my shoulder, "No one will draft me, so congratulations." I said the word 'congratulations' wrong, and he begun to laugh. I wanted to be serious about the matter but, I just begun laughing too- completely forgetting that I said something that was worth being serious about.

"That's not true though," He said, after we finally stopped laughing, "They're rumors that the Canadiens will pick you up too." I rolled my eyes, and nodded in mock agreement.

"No one picks girls. That is why I had to wait a year to be drafted in the QMJHL" I said, and he gave me a look like he'd won the lottery.

"You played in the QMJHL?" He asked, and I nodded. Wasn't he listening? He must've really not known me, I mean- I had a French accent. The OHL wouldn't take me, that was for damn sure, and the only reason I was in the QMJHL is because I was a Quebec native, with deep french roots on my mothers side.

"Baie Comeau Drakkar." I stated, and his mouth fell open however, he still had a grin across his face.

"You're that Jordan Smyth?" He asked, and I nodded again. As far as I knew there was only one Jordan Smyth in the QMJHL.

"You mean the one with 17 goals, and 23 assists- along with thirty-some penalty minutes?" He asked, and I shrugged.

"Yeah, give or take a few shootout goals." His smile grew into a full blown shit eating grin. He couldn't seem to stop.

"You have to show me." He said, and I shrugged. I hadn't been feeling my game here, it just wasn't coming to me.

"Not today, just let me get used to Montreal first." I said, and he nodded; understandingly. I checked the large scoreboard on the opposing wall. It was only 2:30 pm. I hadn't had lunch yet so, I was starving.

"Enjoy the ice." I said, and patted his chest as I skated away, stick in my other hand, "I'm going to go eat." I added, stepping into the large corridor to the changing rooms.

I smiled as I walked away. I liked him. I hoped I don't screw this up like my past friendships. God, I wish I don't.

Notes

So, I haven't updated this in a whopping three months, and I just found it- so here, I hope you don't absolutely hate it.