5. Hendrix
HENDRIX
T uesday afternoon, I'm running the team through some off-ice exercises when the gym doors burst open. Colette storms in wearing a frown and a cardigan, her heels clicking against the floor with deadly precision.
"What do you think you're doing?" Her voice could freeze Hell itself.
"Teaching these fine young athletes the art of team bonding." I toss a tennis ball I've been using for hand-eye drills between my hands, refusing to back down from her icy glare. "What does it look like?"
"It looks like you're deliberately sabotaging my Christmas pageant rehearsal. Again." She crosses her arms, and I try not to notice how cute she looks when she's mad. "This space was booked weeks ago."
"Really? Because Coach Wade's calendar showed it was free.
" I pull out my phone, pretending to check.
Truth is, I knew exactly when her rehearsal was scheduled.
Maybe I'm being petty, but after overhearing her call me "that overgrown teenager with a stick" to another teacher Monday morning, I figured turnabout was fair play.
Her eyes narrow. "Get out."
"Make me. Professor."
The boys huddle together, watching us like it's center ice at playoff finals. One of them whispers something that makes the others snicker.
She takes a step closer. "Boys," she addresses the team, completely ignoring me, "practice is canceled. Your coach needs a lesson in professional courtesy."
"Actually," I bounce the tennis ball off the wall and catch it, "they're staying. We've got plays to review. Want to join us? Might help you loosen up that perfectly starched collar."
Her cheeks flush that adorable shade of pink I remember from high school, the one that used to appear whenever I'd lean over her desk and deliberately mispronounce the fancy authors she was reading.
"You're unbelievable." She crosses her arms. "First the budget cuts, then stealing my students for extra practice, and now this?"
"Stealing is a strong word."
"Because you're the great Hendrix Ellis." She practically spits my name. "Local hero who made it to the big leagues. Well, guess what? Some of us actually care about more than just skating around and hitting people."
"Come on. Have some fun. When's the last time you laughed at anything that wasn't written by dead British guys?"
"Whatever." She spins on her heel. "But this isn't over, Ellis."
The gym door slams behind her with enough force to rattle the basketball hoops.
Not five minutes later, as I'm demonstrating a perfect wrist shot technique, the doors fly open again. This time Colette's brought backup—Principal Chen, looking about as thrilled to be here as someone getting a root canal.
"Mr. Ellis, Miss McAllister informs me there's been a scheduling conflict." Chen adjusts his tie.
"No conflict at all." I flash my best media-trained smile. "We're just doing some team-building exercises. Very quiet ones."
Right on cue, Brenden slaps a tennis ball that ricochets off three walls and nearly takes out the Canadian flag.
"During my rehearsal time!" Colette's voice hits a pitch that could shatter ice.
Principal Chen pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look, you're both valuable members of our faculty?—"
"Temporary faculty," Colette mutters.
"Both activities are equally important to our school community," Chen declares in his diplomatic principal voice. "I'm sure two reasonable adults can find a way to share the space."
"Share?" Colette and I say in perfect horrified unison.
"Excellent! I'm glad you both agree."
"But–-" Colette and I protest.
“The gym's big enough for both activities. Ms. McAllister, you can use the stage area. Mr. Ellis, keep your drills to the other half."
Chen backs toward the door before either of us can protest. "I trust you'll work this out professionally."
The door clicks shut behind him. Colette's students start filtering in, clutching scripts and looking uncertain while my boys try their best to look innocent. Which, for teenage hockey players, is about as convincing as a penalty dive.
"Places everyone!" Colette claps, her voice rising above mine. “From Gabriel's entrance."
"Okay team, passing drills!" I call out, maybe a bit louder than necessary.
"Stay on this half," she points to the far side of the gym. "And keep your... projectiles... to yourself."
I wink. "Whatever you say, Shakespeare."
The chaos starts immediately. Tennis balls fly everywhere as my guys practice their hand-eye coordination. One zooms past a kid mid-monologue, making him yelp and drop his script. Another bounces off the stage and rolls through what's supposed to be an emotional scene.
"Most highly favored lady—duck!" A student dives as a ball whizzes overhead.
"Sorry!" Tommy calls out, not looking sorry at all. "My bad!"
Colette shoots me a death glare. I pretend to be very interested in my clipboard.
"Could you please control your barbarians?" she hisses.
"They're expressing themselves. Isn't that what your drama club is all about?"
My guys are running patterns while her kids attempt to waltz or something. There's a near collision when Billy's backward shuffle almost takes out one of the three wise men.
"Watch the manger scene!" Colette shrieks as Jeff slides past, narrowly missing baby Jesus.
"Sorry!" I call out, not sorry at all.
As if on cue, Tommy misses a catch and the ball rolls right through her cluster of pageant kids. Three shepherds go down like dominoes.
"Ellis!"
I whistle to my team. "Okay boys. Keep it tight!"
Then, one of my players' tennis balls rolls through Colette's nativity scene for the fifth time. Her eye twitches. Actually twitches.
"Alright everyone, from Mary's solo!" She claps her hands together, her voice rising to compete with our drills.
Tommy retrieves the ball, accidentally kicking over a cardboard sheep. "Sorry, Miss M!"
"Silent night..." A girl in a blue robe starts singing.
"Keep those passes crisp!" I shout over the caroling.
The shepherd kids join in. "Holy night..."
"Watch your form, Martinez!" I call out.
"Beautiful projection, Jeremy!" Colette cries, shooting me a smug look.
Fine. Two can play this game. "Alright boys, let's work on our victory chants!"
Their faces light up. Nothing like a bunch of teenage boys attempting to sing our traditional pre-game pump-up song. It's terrible, off-key, and perfect.
"WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS..." They bellow, completely drowning out the nativity scene.
"All is calm..."
THWACK! A tennis ball ricochets off the basketball hoop.
"All is—eek!" Mary ducks.
"That's it!" Colette marches to her phone, connected to the gym's ancient speaker system. Suddenly, "Deck the Halls" blasts at ear-splitting volume, drowning out my instructions.
"Really mature!" I yell over the fa-la-la-las.
She responds by turning it up louder. My guys can barely hear my whistle now.
Two can play this game. "Defense drill!" I announce. "Full-volume communication required!"
"I GOT IT!" Tommy bellows, chasing a ball.
"OVER HERE!" Jeff screams.
"PASS IT UP!"
The gym dissolves into chaos. Her kids are belting Christmas carols while trying to dodge tennis balls. My players are shouting like they're in the middle of Game 7. Someone's shepherd staff gets tangled in our passing drill.
Colette cranks up the volume to ludicrous levels.
"WHO'S OPEN?" Martinez hollers.
"TIS THE SEASON TO BE JOLLY!" her choir responds in perfect harmony.
A tennis ball takes out the cardboard manger. Baby Jesus goes flying. Mary looks ready to throw hands with my defense line.
"Oh look," Colette's voice drips honey-sweet poison, "time for our dance number. Everyone spread out!"
Her students flood our half of the gym, twirling and leaping with suspicious enthusiasm. Tommy has to dodge a particularly aggressive angel.
"DEFENSE!" someone cries out.
Principal Chen pokes his head in, takes one look at the mayhem, and slowly backs away.