Page 101 of Her Goal
“Back in the day, that wouldn’t have flown.”
“Well, they are Red Hawks.”
“Har har.”
“You’re right. Coach Walker would’ve put all of us in the penalty box at once.”
Leah laughs as if imagining twenty rostered guys all piled up in the sin bin.
I tap my stick on the ice. “You used to play hockey, why’d you change to figure skating?”
Her chest rises and falls on a breath. She stares at the skates on her feet as if she’s reluctant to tell me. No surprise since she didn’t want to share why she retired altogether.
In a small voice, Leah says, “Hunter made me think I was too much of a tomboy, so I tried to do something girly.”
My fist tightens around the carbon fiber of my stick so tightly, I feel like I could break it. Through gritted teeth, I say, “He said that?”
She shrugs. “Hockey will always be my first love.”
Wanting to steer the conversation away from my idiot twin and any pain he may have caused her, I ask, “You mentioned opening a museum in the Barn?” It’s the old rink that we grew up skating on before the Ice Palace came along.
Brightening, Leah says, “The Happy Hockey Days festival comes first, but yes, I have a vision for a museum, eventually.”
“A local hockey museum is so cool.”
“You think so?” she asks as if not accustomed to this answer.
“Yeah. Think about it. There are numerous places to visit and ways to celebrate other sports, so why not hockey?”
“Well, there are a few places for diehard fans to visit in Canada, arenas all over the world, and the Hockey Hall of Fame Museum in Minnesota, but this would be unique becauseit would combine all of that with memorabilia. Plus, visitors could skate, hockey teams could take field trips, we’d have a VIP experience, along with hosting charity games, there would be interactive displays, people could try on goalie gear and see how heavy it is.”
“I feel so seen.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers.
“There’s a ton more, too. I could seriously go on and on. That is, if I get the funding to rehabilitate the barn—the cooling system needs an overhaul along with the roof.”
“Sounds like you’ve really thought this through.”
She tucks her hands into her sleeves. “Yeah. Though it’s like no one believes that I can do it or they just think of it as a quaint, small-town notion paying homage to the sport. We already have the Fish Bowl. I’m thinking bigger. Never mind welcome to Hockey Town. Welcome to Hockeyland.” She arches her hands dramatically.
“Like Disneyland?”
“With a Smithland flair.”
My lips quirk because if anyone can make something happen, it’s Leah Smith, backed by a small army of chaotic siblings, nieces and nephews, cousins, aunts, uncles, her parents, and of course, Abuela.
“I got approval to host the Happy Hockey Days fest on the town green, but the self-appointed head of the Cobbiton Activities Commission, Karen Linderburg, is fighting it for some reason.”
“She doesn’t see your vision for Hockeyland in Hockey Town?”
Leah’s lips bunch to one side with laughter. “The wordhockeyis starting to sound funny, foreign. Like we’re speaking gibberish.”
“Say something in Spanish.”
“What? No. Why?” She lifts her eyes to mine.
Mouth quirking, I shrug. “I remember you in Spanish class.”
