Score

By Laura Schiller

I was standing in front of the net at the end of the school gym, wearing a shabby red pinny over my P. E. uniform and feeling bored. We were playing hockey, if you could call it that without skates. At the other end of the gym, some other Reds were trying to score a goal against the opponents, the Whites, and I had nothing to do but stand still and hope the ball – it was actually a golf ball, not a puck – didn’t come near me very soon. As goalie, at least I didn’t have to run around so much.

A loud curse snapped me out of the fog my mind had been in; I realized that the Whites had snatched the ball away and were racing directly toward me with it. I crouched to protect the net, concentrating fiercely on the ball. Sometimes I couldn’t even see it in the blur of running feet and clashing sticks.

Number Seven White swept the ball over to his teammate Number One with a grandiose gesture of his stick; Number One grinned. Red Three tried to block his way, but One slipped past him like an eel and aimed his stick to score a goal. He was only a few steps in front of me; everything suddenly seemed to go into slow motion as I met his eyes just for a second.

He was a little shorter than I was, but then many people were, and with the air of confidence he gave off, it didn’t seem to matter a bit. His skin was the color of light coffee; he wore his black hair braided into tidy cornrows. His eyes were a deep brown, and I could see the muscles tightening in his arms as he fired the ball in the direction of the net.

The world took up its normal speed again, and I remembered that this was a member of the opposing team trying to score a point past me. I lunged forward with my stick, but it was too late.

The Whites cheered as the little golf ball flew into the green mesh of the hockey net.

It nestled in a corner, quite comfortably, as Number One exchanged high-fives with a teammate. My heart was pounding; I felt dizzy and strange as I bent down to pick it up.

“Good try,” said Number One. He meant me.

I smiled back. My pulse was still ringing in my ears.

I guess he just scored a point in more ways than one.