I barely spoke to Connie and Julie for the rest of the day, feeling guilty and terrible for what happened with Dwayne. I didn't eat anything, I just went straight to bed.

The sun shines through the window, and I peel my eyes open, stretching as I sit up. I look around the room, and Connie and Julie have already gone to breakfast. I throw my legs over the side of the bed, stepping into the bathroom where I quickly brush my teeth and hair, then change into ripped skinny jeans and a black V-neck shirt. Throwing my hair into a bun, I head towards the cafeteria, stomach growling.

After grabbing a banana, a chocolate chip muffin, and a water bottle, I walk to the USA table, where everyone is crowding around something. I set the tray down on the wooden table, asking, "What's going on?"

Luis glances up at me, smiling, then motions for me to lean in and look. "Look what's in the newspaper, Meg."

I flick my eyes over the paper, reading two bold titles. "USA Downs Canada: Marx Bros.? No, Bash Bros.!" with a picture of Dean and Fulton, then below it is "Iceland upset by Russians; now tied with USA".

I roll my eyes at the picture, but give a happy smile at the article about how Iceland lost. "This is great, guys!" I exclaim. "We're going to do amazing in the championship, I know it!" Not that I'm one hundred percent sure we're going to make it there, but I don't mention that part.

"Not without a full roster, we can't," Jesse interjects. I raise an eyebrow, requiring further explanation. "Banks is out with his wrist, and we don't have a full bench of players. Charlie's been trying to figure something out, but nothing's coming."

I tap my foot, thinking deeply. "Well, I have an idea," I start, everyone's eyes turning towards me. "It has to be someone who lives nearby, and can play hockey," I hint, hoping they'll figure out who I'm suggesting. "And we have to know them."

Charlie's eyes light up, figuring out my clues. "Meg! You're a genius!" He leaps from his seat, pulling me by the arm away from the table. I signal Luis, who tosses me the muffin like a baseball, surprisingly well. I may allow myself to be dragged by Charlie, but I refuse to go anywhere on an empty stomach.

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

After an hour and a half of being pulled around through the city, Charlie and I run into Coach's office. "Coach," I say, rounding the corner. Coach's eyes flick up, glancing from Charlie to me, then back again. "Coach, I know with Adam out we've got a roster spot open."

Coach nods, answering with a quiet, "yeah".

"Well, you know how I always told you I'd make a better coach than a player?" Charlie asks. "We," he continues, motioning between him and myself. "did some scouting for us." He turns around, calling, "C'mon in!"

Russ steps into the office, a big smile on his face. It had gotten smaller as we brought him here, considering when we first told him, I thought he was going to break his face with an enormous toothy smile. "Russ Tyler meet Coach Bombay," I introduce him.

"Hiya, Coach," Russ greets while Coach rolls his eyes, a small laugh escaping his mouth.

Coach grins, looking up from the desk. "Russ Tyler, huh?" Russ nods, and Coach continues. "Well, Russ, what can you do for the team?"

"You've never heard of my knuckle puck?" asks Russ, mouth open in shock.

"Knuckle puck? No?" Coach frowns, crossing his arms, eyes filled with curiosity. The three of us (Charlie, Russ, and I) glance at each other, grinning mischievously.

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

The next game starts a two hours later, at twelve, and we have Russ in a uniform. The game is almost over, Team USA winning two to one against Russia, one of those points by me. Russ is in, a few yards from the other team's goal. "Over here, over here! Give me the puck!" he calls.

I snap the puck over to him, and the Russian players start towards him. They stop immediately once they see him flip the puck onto its side. "It's knuckle puck time!" He yells before hitting it with all his strength. The puck flies into the net, starting up the siren on the goal. "Yes!"

When the game ends, the crowd goes wild as we skate off and go into the locker room. We remove our gear, but Coach stops us before we can leave. "I told them no visitors, but he wanted to congratulate you anyway."

Wayne Gretzky walks into the locker room, and we circle around him, asking questions, and shaking his hand. We take a picture with him, everyone including Jan, Mr. Tibbles, and Miss McKay.

After Mr. Gretzky leaves, Coach tells us something amazing. "Team, we made it to the finals!" He shouts, a smile growing on his face as we scream and jump up and down.

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

We skate out onto the ice, normal clothing, a few hours after our game. I fell Dwayne looking at me every once in a while, but I keep my eyes focused on the slick ice under my skates. I rub my hoodie-clad arms, a little chilly without all my pads and gear on.

"Coach, shouldn't we have our hockey gear on?" Luis asks, bringing his hands out of his leather jacket.

Coach, wearing a Ducks hat backwards, answers, "Guys, this is our last team practice. Which means-," he doesn't finish, since Averman interrupts.

"The return of Captain Blood," he says with a nod, while we laugh at the not-so-funny memories of yelling and tired night.

Coach cracks a grin, rubbing his hands together. "No, it means let's have some fun!" He pulls out a beach ball from behind the bench and hits it into the air.

We skate around, kicking the ball around back and forth, though it's not as fun as playing "Stay Away" the first day in Minnesota. No, Meg! Do not think about that! Have some fun and don't think about Dwayne!

Averman hits the ball, and it bounces across the ice, landing in front of a group of people. The Iceland team. Stansson picks up the ball, deflating it with his hands, the air squeaking out of it. He tosses it over to us, towards me, and I catch it, glaring as he grabs a stick from one of his players.

They skate over to the middle of the rink, the line separating Team USA and Team Iceland. "Playtime is over. We have the ice now," Stansson demands. "You and your little rink rants must leave."

Coach is staring straight ahead at Stansson when Dean says, "We're right here, Coach." That's the smartest thing the asshole has said since we've been here.

"The only thing little was your career in the pros," Coach replies, earning laughter from all of us behind him.

Miss McKay shakes her head. "Gordon, no, let's go," she begs, disagreeing with the whole ordeal. Frankly, I agree, since some of the Icelanders are starting to stare at me like a piece of meat. Thankfully, Luis notices, and he wraps his arm around me, in a friendly yet protective way.

"At least I had a shot," Stansson starts, his voice low and scary. "I was there."

"You were a disgrace," Coach is unaffected by Stansson's hostility and harshness. "Alright team, we're outta here," he turns his head, telling us. "Let's go, I said. C'mon."

Stansson speaks up again before we could go. "Can you still move on the ice? Well please, play a little with me. Show me that famous triple deke that your daddy taught you. Or was it that old geezer over there?" We all turn and look at Jan, who stands emotionless. "Maria." He tells the blonde woman next to him.

She hands him a hockey stick, which he tosses to Coach, who catches it with both hands. "Three bar," Coach says after tossing the stick in his hands. "First one to hit both posts and the crossbar. Have to take it out past the blue line."

"I know the game," Stansson replies, mocking Coach.

The two men skate in front of each other after we've moved out of the way. Stansson gets the puck first, and we send Coach encouraging cheers as he skates backwards. Stansson shoves Coach, who quickly gets right back in it, but gets completely knocked down by the Iceland coach. Stansson hits one of the posts while Coach picks himself up.

Coach has the puck next, and flies down the ice, handling the puck with care. "C'mon!" Stansson growls, just as Coach passes him and hits a post. We cheer loudly for him, getting glares from the opponent.

They fight for the puck, and Coach manages to steal it away, hitting the second post. "News flash, that wasn't even my triple deke," Coach says to Stansson, grinning to himself. Coach has the puck once more, faking Stansson, who falls down. "One more post and you go home crying. By the way, Stansson, you owe me a beach ball."

As Coach skates to get closer to the goal, Stansson scrambles off the ice. He hits Coach in the leg with his stick, the leg that got hurt during a minor-league game, or so Charlie told me. Coach falls to the ground, holding his leg with his hands.

We skate over quickly, helping Coach off the ground. I stand up straighter, blowing a piece of hair out of my eyes as I glare at Stansson. I start to go forward, but Adam grabs my arm, shaking his head slightly. "It's alright," Coach says, leaning on us for support.

"Get your Coach off the ice," Stansson orders. "We have to practice tonight."

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

Midnight. The start of a new day. A dark night sky. Children sleeping comfortably in their beds. Not me. I haven't gotten a wink of sleep since I climbed into the bed over two hours ago. Too many emotions are racing through my mind. Anger, guilt, sadness, confusion, fear. Too many thoughts about Dwayne, who can't seem to stay out of my head. What was Dwayne going to tell me? Why was he looking for me? Is he mad at me?

Connie and Julie lie on their beds, motionless and passed out from today. Me, not so much. I sneak out of bed, throwing on my hoodie with my sweatpants, and I grab my skates. I need to think, so I'm going to the rink.

Creeping quietly down the halls to disturb no one, I slip silently into the lit-up rink, shoving my feet into my skates. I step onto the ice, my feet gliding across its smooth surface. I slide forward slowly, wanting to be relaxed as I think in peaceful silence with no one around.

"Meg?" So much for that. I spin around to see a face I didn't want to. Dwayne. He's staring at me, a single eyebrow raised under his cowboy hat, his rope in his hands. "What are ya doin' here?"

Instead of replying with a sarcastic comment, I simply answer. "I just came to think." Then without even thinking about it, words fly out of my mouth. "Dwayne, I'm really, really-,".

But he cuts me off. "If you're gonna apologize," he starts. "don't." he quotes what I told him the day after the town incident.

I break out into a smile, quickly skating into his arms, which he opened up for me. He hugs me tightly as I lean my head on his shoulder. "I thought you'd be mad at me."

"I couldn't be mad at ya," he whispers into my hair. I feel my face heat up, and I pull away, brushing hair out from my eyes.

I hide my smile while clearing my throat nervously. "So, uh," my eyes focus on his rope, which he now only held in his left hand. "I know I lost that bet we made, but are lassoing lessons available?"

His face lights up, and he nods eagerly, while I giggle at him. He shows me how to hold it correctly and tie it so it will tighten when you pull. "Okay, Cowboy, now how do I throw it?" I ask, smiling as he fools around with the rope.

A mischievous shine comes into his eyes as he swings the rope back and forth near the ice. "Well," he starts, "All ya have to do is spin it in a circle above your head," he begins to demonstrate, coming closer to me as he does. I realize what he's about to do, and I slide out of the way right as he tries to catch me. "and throw it."

I laugh as I stop. "Sorry, Cowboy. You're just never going to be able to get me out," I say, teasing him while a small frown appears. It's soon replaced with a smirk as he skates towards me, starting our own two-person game of "Stay Away".

He tosses it twice more, missing only by an inch the second time. I laugh as I move away, back turned, but something hits my stomach. The rope tightens around my waist as I spin around to see Dwayne. His tightening of the rope pulls us closer at the same time, catching Dwayne off guard apparently. My face burns up as I hit his chest, our bodies flush against each other.

I look up at him to see that his face is red, just like my own. He stares down at me, brown eyes meeting brown eyes, as he opens his mouth. "You're out," he whispers.

Before I can process what he says, he leans down, placing his lips on mine. It's not one of those over-dramatic movie kisses that look like the two are eating each other. It's just his lips touching mine. And it's perfect.

He pulls away, smiling down as he wraps his arms around me for the second time tonight. I bury my head into his shoulder, taking in his earthy scent. I know, it's weird, deal with it.

And in that kiss, one that lasted only a few seconds, I realized just how much I care for this boy. And how much I trusted him. And how much I wanted to tell him everything.

That maybe someday is today.