Page 71 of Geeky Pucking Orc

“Ooo. When is it?”

“Six in the evening, so we would have plenty of time for cuddling, television, and naps. We can eat dinner before or after,” I suggested.

“That sounds like a good plan.” She reached over and kissed me. “I’ll see you on the ice tonight, big boy. Have a great game. I’ll be cheering for you.”

I knew she would. And her being there, having faith in me, would hopefully make all the difference in the world.

We were all excited in the locker room before the game. Ozar said it was like the energy before going into battle and gave us a speech about remembering what the coach had told us, and our training, and that he was relying on each of us to bring the team to victory.

As inspiring as his words were, I had strong doubts about our potential victory. But we had improved. I had improved. And this was not merely my opinion. Ozar had said so. The coach had said so. Even Eng had grudgingly commented that I might actually be of use in tonight’s game.

I had improved.

I could skate forward with reasonable speed. I could stop, although stopping to my left remained approximately eighteen percent less reliable than stopping to my right. I could skate backward for distances of up to forty feet without falling, assuming no one touched me, startled me, or expected me to change direction. And while skating forward, I no longer had to perform a long, wide loop to alter my direction, although I was unable to do so at anywhere near the speed and agility of the human players. More importantly, I had learned the strategy of my role in the team, and when another orc shouted at me, I was able to comply without falling over. Now when the enemy entered my area with speed, I not only knew that I should angle him toward the boards and deny him the inside lane, I could actually attempt this maneuver before he was past me and the puck was already in the net.

After a quick glance at Abby and her friends in the section behind our bench, I focused on the game. The enemy took the puck at the first drop. Instead of standing by the boards and looking at the attendees, I rushed to the blue line, ready to attack while Morag positioned himself closer to Eng and the goal, in case I failed.

“I will not fail.” I muttered under my breath.

The enemy crossed the blue line. Ozar chased him through the middle, extending his stick as he gained on the human. With a quick flick of his wrist and shift of his weight, the human moved the puck away from Ozar’s reach and angled toward the boards, away from the goal and towards me.

It was surprising how this was all unfolding. Just like in practice, I turned inward and dug my skates into the ice to pick up speed, placing myself on a trajectory that would intersect that of the enemy. With both Ozar and I bearing down on him, this would pressure him into passing. At least, that was what the coach told us.

The enemy glanced at me. Then he glanced at the boards. Then he looked at me again and his expression changed. He knew what was about to happen, and that he had limited options, so he hurriedly snapped his stick to send the puck across the ice toward a teammate. Ozar blocked the pass but was unable to control the puck, instead sending it back toward the human who scooped it up and stared at me with wide-eyed panic.

I had never deliberately tripped anyone, boarded anyone, or delivered an illegal check, but I had accidentally done so numerous times. This moment would seal my reputation and prove the viral video of #BwatHappens to be correct. I had mixed feelings about that, but having watched humans do the same to each other, I’d come to accept that intentional collision was part of this game. So while the human tried to pivot and escape the tree trunk coming his way, I reached out my stick and swept the puck away from him, taking possession for about two seconds before I pushed it towards Ozar and braced for impact.

The human’s evasion tactics were partially successful, and I only knocked him to the side before slamming into the boards, bouncing off, and landing on my buttocks. The human flailed for a second before regaining his balance and speeding after Ozar. I scrambled to my feet, returning to the blue line and hoping for the miracle of a goal in the first period.

Ozar found his path blocked and passed to a nearby Knax who barreled toward the goal, plowing his way into one of the enemy. The human hit the ground hard. The crowd roared, and through the noise came the piercing wail of a whistle.

For once, it wasn’t me that was heading to the jail-box.

Knax threw his arms in the air. “He was in my way.”

“Next time go around him, not through him.” The referee human pointed toward the box.

Knax let out a huff, then stomped toward the jail. I made my way toward our goal, feeling conflicted. While I was glad not have incurred a penalty so far, I liked my viral fame. If only it was for something other than being an orc who knocked enemy players down.

We lined up for the penalty kill. Eng stood in the middle of the goal, glaring at the humans. If an orc who had only stood against the boards for every previous game could become a good goalie, then maybe there was hope for me after all. And Eng was a good goalie. He wasn’t technically good according to what I had learned from the internet. His stance was too upright, and he struggled to move quickly, but he the fastest reflexes I’d ever seen.

The puck dropped and the humans snatched it up, immediately passing it. Back and forth. They moved the puck toward the goal, then to the side, passing it so quickly that it was difficult to keep track of who had possession. The urge to chase the puck, to try to intercept it was strong, but I’d seen this play on a video this afternoon and knew what was coming. I needed to watch and be patient.

Thankfully that was something I was actually good at.

While everyone else had their eyes on the puck, I saw the enemy in possession pull his stick back and change its angle. He was about to take a shot, and I was going to do everything I could to keep the puck from making it to the net. Pushing off, I skated directly into what I calculated to be the path the shot would follow and blocked the puck with the calf muscle of my left leg.

It hurt, but I stayed upright. The puck bounced away from the goal and toward the boards. The crowd cheered and I heard Coach Rencovitch shout his approval. I’d done it. I’d blocked a shot. Unfortunately I couldn’t manage to get turned around in time to prevent the enemy from recovering the puck, or move fast enough to block their second shot at our goal.

Behind me came a sharp thwack. I turned to see Eng standing with his hand raised beside his head, the puck nestled inside his glove.

The crowd went insane. I skated toward Eng, in awe that we had somehow managed to prevent two goals. Five weeks ago, this would not have happened. Actually one week ago this would not have happened.

“That was excellent, Eng,” I told him.

He scowled. “I know.”

“You caught it in your hand.” The save was truly amazing.