The stadium is filled as we skate around, playing our second game for the tournament against Italy. Nearing the end of the first period, we're winning 6 to 0, two of those points being mine.

I come off the bench and onto the ice for defense as Goldberg catches the puck after Italy's attempt to score. The stands go crazy, jumping up and down and screaming.

Goldberg being Goldberg, he starts trash-talking one of Italy's players. "Have no fear, Goldberg is here! Hey man! There's nothing on that! Have a real shot!" Goldberg turns around, watching the player as he sets his gear on top of the goal. I catch the last part of Goldberg's "speech", which makes me laugh. "How do you say in Italiano, 'wussie'?"

The Italy player comes after Goldberg, and the referee has to break them apart. Coach shouts across the ice, "Goldberg!" It sounded a bit amused, but I know Coach was telling him to stop.

Goldberg shrugs nonchalantly, "What'd I say?"

The game continues through the second and third periods, Italy not scoring a single point. I sat out the whole second period, much to my disliking, but Coach put me back in as the end of the game neared.

There's only a few seconds left in the game, and Team USA steals the puck from an Italian player who I shoved against the glass. Fulton gets the puck, stopping a few feet from the goal, ready to shoot. Everyone, except Italy's goalie, quickly moves out of the way as he hits the puck. It goes in between the goalie's legs, another point for us.

Fulton cheers along with the crowd, and the goalie throws his stick down. The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the game. We won, obviously, and the score's 11 to 0.

The whole bench is cheering as we skate over, Coach screaming "yeah!" over and over again. He throws his fist into the air, overjoyed at our second victory.

**************************************************************

I stand outside the dorm door, showered and no longer sweaty from the game. I had changed into light jeans, a sleeveless cream tank-styled shirt, and my white converse, much comfier than the ugly Team USA tracksuit that Connie decided to put on after. I know they were given to us by Hendrix, and they are our team tracksuits, but I think they're awful.

I lift my hand and knock on the door, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet impatiently. The door swings open, revealing Goldberg, who's wearing nothing but a pair of black jeans. "Oh, my God, Goldberg!" I look away from him, turning sideways.

"What! You knock at your own risk, Meg! Chances are, most of the time, being answered by a shirtless dude," Goldberg retorts. "Why are you even here?"

I roll my eyes, placing my hand on my hip. "I was just wondering if Dwayne was here. I have something for him," I explain, tapping my foot.

"Yeah, yeah, hold on," Goldberg steps further inside, tilting his head backwards. "Hey, Cowboy! You're girlfriend's here!" Goldberg chuckles as my face heats up, a blush rising to my cheeks.

A hand shoves Goldberg lightly out of the way, and Dwayne's face appears in the doorway, an annoyed look on his face. That look, however, disappears when he sees me, and he gives a bright smile. "Hey. Sorry about Goldberg, he's just bein' Goldberg." He closes the door as he steps outside, wearing his light blue Team USA jacket, cowboy boots, and his hat.

"Hi," I respond, silently praying that my cheeks have turned back to their normal color. "Yeah, no it's fine. Uh, here," I hold out my hand which had been clutching his tee from last night. "Here's your shirt."

He takes it from me, smiling gratefully. "Thanks, Meg. You're the best." I grin at his words as he inspects the now clean shirt.

"It was no problem, really. It was nothing," I casually say, shoving my hands into my pockets. We stand there for a few moments, no talking just us staring back at each other.

Dwayne breaks the eye contact, clearing his throat. "Me, Goldberg, Averman, and Jesse were gonna go to town. Do ya wanna come?"

I roll it around in my head. Goldberg, Jesse, Averman, and Dwayne walking around town, this should be interesting. "Sure, why not."

**************************************************************

We've gotten some strange looks from the Californians as we roam around the streets. I don't know if it's because they recognize us from Team USA, or because we are a unique-looking bunch of kids, especially with Dwayne's country attire.

I shuffle along next to Goldberg, who now has a shirt on, as we continue down the road. "This don't look like no rodeo drive to me," Dwayne says, glancing at the street sign. I look at my feet and chuckle, shaking my head, causing my ashy hair to fall over my eyes, since I decided to wear it down for once.

"No, that's 'Rodeo Drive'," Averman explains to him as we pass some fancily-dressed women, who give us disgusted glares.

"You can't fool me. I saw it on the sign. It says rodeo drive," Dwayne motions with his hands, like he was reading off a map.

"No, see there's an accent on, never mind," Averman stops when he realizes that Dwayne probably doesn't know what he's talking about.

Jesse shoves his hands into his yellow and red jacket. "I don't get it. This is Beverly Hills. Where's all the hills?' he asks, somewhat complaining.

"Hey, where's that nine-one-two-one-oh school? What about the hillbillies?" Goldberg adds on.

Jesse continues their list. "Where are the movie stars?" I roll my eyes at their stupidity. But, I can't blame them. They didn't grow up in the city like I did, but they should know that the stuff the see on TV isn't real. Averman mumbles something else, but he says it so quickly that I can't catch a single word of what he says.

"Hey, hey, you guys. Let's go check out some stores," Jesse proposes. I never really liked shopping, but I shrug, not wanting to argue with the boys.

"Great, I gotta buy my mom a t-shirt in Beverly Hills," Goldberg agrees, nodding his head. "Man, she'll love it."

We walk past some stores, all of them looking super expensive and super fancy. We finally turn towards one, and Jesse grabs the doorknob. It doesn't budge as he pulls on it harder and harder. "Maybe they're not open," Averman suggests.

"Hey, there's a doorbell here," Goldberg presses a button, and I sigh, knowing that it's not a doorbell. I open my mouth to say something, but a male voice calls through the intercom.

"I'm sorry, but we do not allow unsupervised children into the store," it says, making all the smiles disappear from the boys' faces.

"Can't you make an exception?" Goldberg asks, shrugging while glaring at the small golden box on the wall.

"No, now go away or the police will be called," the voice responds, staying very blunt and monotonous.

I step closer to Goldberg. "Maybe we should listen to it. We don't want to get arrested, do we? Let's just go find another store," I tell him.

We step away from the store, walking over to the edge of the sidewalk. "If we were in Texas, this wouldn't've happened," Dwayne says as he sits on the hood of a car.

"Step back from the vehicle, you have activated," a deep alarm voice rings out from the car as we race away from it, hoping that we didn't accidentally summon the cops over.

Once we're a good distance away, Dwayne turns to me, "Uh, whoops?" I start laughing as he smiles, while chuckling as well.

We look to the other boys, who are now in front of a new intercom. Stepping behind them, we listen to Averman speak into it. "Hi, yes, we'd like five burgers and five fries. And, uh, what do you guys want to drink?" He asks us, pretending to be at a fast-food restaurant.

"You kids get outta here!" the intercom shouts at us as we giggle and run off. I have to admit, that was pretty funny. Maybe hanging out with the guys isn't so bad after all.

We pull a few more pranks before deciding that Goldberg should probably get a shirt for his mom soon. Pressing a new intercom, we stand outside, hoping that we'll be able to get inside.

This time, a woman's voice rings out, nicer than the rest of them. "I'm sorry, we do not allow unsupervised-," she starts before getting interrupted by Goldberg.

"I'm sure Uncle Aaron will be very upset that we were treated with such disrespect," Goldberg responds, all of us smiling into the security camera.

"Aaron? Aaron Spelling?" the woman questions, through the intercom.

"No, Hank Aaron," Goldberg replies sarcastically. "Of course, Aaron Spelling," he finishes, an innocent tone in his voice. If only this poor lady knew that Goldberg was anything but innocent.

We're immediately led into the store by the intercom-lady, who had her blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. "Now, I want you to make yourselves comfortable," she says as she guides us to some poufy burnt orange chairs. "Carol, beverages," she tells another woman. "And I will be with you in a moment."

We sit down in the seats, glass cups filled with orange drinks, non-alcoholic obviously. Dwayne carefully places himself down next to be, trying not to drop his glass. "Gosh, this store sure is nice," Dwayne admires the store, holding his hat in his hands. He took it off to be more "respectable" as he whispered in my ear when he did it.

"Cheers," Goldberg says as we tap our drinks together. I take a sip, and it's sweet and tangy, tasting like a mix between oranges, pineapples, and tangerines. It's one of the best drinks I've ever had.

An older woman standing at a table with a brown-haired lady calls over to us. "I know you boys and girl," she says. "You're, uh-."

"Aaron Spelling's nephew," Goldberg quickly cuts in. You can see the fear in everyone's eyes, and I know its reflecting in mine as well.

"No," the woman waves him off with her hand. "Team USA hockey."

The brown-haired lady speaks up with a wide smile. "You guys are just great!" We all give our thanks and gratitude, praying that they won't kick us out of the store now.

Intercom-woman comes back, no emotion shown on her face as she gets Goldberg's attention. "Now, a gift for your mother. You'll want something light, airy, it is summer after all. I'm gonna show you my private collection." This can't be good.

In a matter of moments, models start to come out, showing off various dresses and outfits. I groan as the boys look goo-goo eyed at them, because I'm feeling a bit uncomfortable as they stare at these women. Is that how they look at me?

I'm instantly self-conscious in my tank-shirt, so I cross my arms over my chest, hoping to stay this way until we return to the dorms. Dwayne, however, seems to sense my discomfort, and he leans over to my ear. "Do ya wanna wear my jacket?"

I glance at him and slowly nod, making him quickly pull off his blue jacket and hand it to me. I slip it on, still warm from Dwayne, and it faintly smells of him, earthy and slightly like fresh-cut grass. I notice that, while Goldberg, Jesse, and Averman continue to say drool over the models, Dwayne keeps his head down, looking at his hands in his lap.

Goldberg says "no" for about the sixth time, making the poor worker bring out new models wearing new clothes. I can tell she's getting restless, and she says, "Well, gentlemen, did you see anything you liked?" She glances at me sympathetically, seeming to know that I don't want to be here.

Then, Goldberg does something unthinkable that pushes me over the edge. "You know, I gotta be honest. My mom really needs a bikini," he shrugs, a half-smile forming on his chubby face that I really, really want to punch right now.

The woman glares at Goldberg as I bury my face in my hands. I'm so embarrassed, and furious, right now. She grabs the boys, throwing them out. "You little brats! Don't ever come back into the store!"

I, however, am still sitting in the chair, glass in hand. The woman walks back over, huffing while straightening out her black skirt. I stand up, setting the drink down on the table next to me. "I'm really sorry, ma'am," I begin. "I had no idea that they were going to do that."

She nods, a small smile on her face. "I figured," she responds.

"I'm going to go, and once again, I'm extremely sorry. I'll make sure that they hear about how disappointed, and angry I am." I start towards the door, but she grabs my arm.

"Miss, before you go, I need to let you know this. The one with the black hat, he's a real gentleman. You keep him around, because there aren't many boys like him, especially with friends like those. That one's a good guy," she says motioning towards the jacket I'm wearing, then outside.

I nod, blushing slightly when she tells me this. I walk to the door and step outside, where the boys are waiting for me.

"Hey, Meg!" Goldberg calls as I shuffle over to them. "How come you didn't get kicked out?"

I narrow my eyes at Team USA's goalie, then open my mouth to say something. However, I close it, shaking my head, and walking off, leaving them behind. I need some time on my own before I give it to Goldberg, Averman, and Jesse.

I'm not so sure about Dwayne, though. He did stare at first, but stopped when he realized that I was uncomfortable. He gave me his jacket, so the other boys wouldn't stare at me like a piece of meat, like they did to those poor models.

I think I agree with intercom-lady. Dwayne's a good person, and I want to keep him in my life for a long time. He's a nice friend, and a real sweet guy. But, one nagging though keeps itself in my head:

Does he want me in his life too?