"Alright, are we ready for warm-ups?" Coach struts into the locker room, fancy suit and slicked back hair for our game against Iceland. I raise my eyebrow, giving Connie a strange look as I finish tying my skates. No one seems to notice my concern, however, because they're all complimenting Coach on his new appearance.

"Nice jacket, did you get two pairs of pants with that?" Averman asks, the only one who sounds even mildly suspicious about this whole getup. The team, of course, thinks it's a joke and starts laughing, while I roll my eyes at the lot of them.

I stand up, carefully walking over to Dean, but I overhear his and Fulton's conversation with Coach. It's an accident I promise, but I can't help but listen. "Have a good night last night, Coach?" questions Fulton.

Coach turns and looks at him, before returning to his paper, replying, "Yeah, it was fine."

"What'd you do?" asks Dean. I consider smacking him, because he can't just invade Coach's personal life, but I hold myself back and focus on eavesdropping.

Coach shrugs nonchalantly. "Ah, you know, I just watched some TV, went to bed early." His eyes once again fall onto his notes, scanning them intensely while the boys stare at the back of his head.

"But, not without a little dessert, right?" Dean adds, his Chicago accent standing out when he does. Dean backs away, while Fulton stands, going in the opposite direction, whispering, "A little ice cream maybe?"

With the two "Bash Brothers" gone, Averman steps to Coach, once again giving his opinion on his fashion sense. Not like Averman can really say anything about style. "Nice haircut. Did you lose a bet?"

Coach shakes his head as the team leaves the locker room, heading towards the slick and shiny ice. While most of us are skating around, warming up our legs, Goldberg and Averman are fooling around in the goal, a camera recording them.

Using his stick as a microphone, Averman throws his arm around the goalie. "Live from beautiful Los Angeles, welcome to the Junior Goodwill Games. Tonight's matchup, Team USA faces off against Team Iceland."

Goldberg rolls his eyes, smirking pridefully. "Cake-walk," he interjects into Averman's speech, watching his teammates skate past them.

Ignoring Goldberg, Averman continues. "We have with us Greg Goldberg, goaltender for Team USA. Greg, what is it going to take to beat these feisty Icelanders?"

"I think it will take a supreme individual effort by me, Greg Goldberg," he answers. What a cocky, little shit.

I shake my head as Averman grabs my arm. "Meg Portman, Team USA, how do you feel about tonight's matchup?"

I glare at him while yanking my arm from his grasp. "Shut up." I move away from them, going towards the bench, not without an eyeroll, however.

A whistle blows behind me, a referee skating behind the two immature boys. "Let's play hockey, guys."

"Okay, cut it," Averman motions with his hand for the cameraman to stop filming. The two skate away, joining the rest of us at the Team USA bench.

We huddle together, Coach telling us what he wanted us to do and all that crap. Frankly, I'm still not in the best mood from the incident yesterday, so everything is currently pissing me off. We stick our hands in, cheering, then the starters jump onto the ice, myself included.

I hear Coach throw a "Good luck there, Coach," over to Stansson, but he rejects it rudely, as if he was never taught any sort of manners.

Jesse heads to the middle of the ice for the faceoff, mumbling something with the Iceland player. The ref throws the puck down, and while Jesse and the Icelander are fighting for it, Dean swoops in, shoving the opponent onto the ground.

The whistle sounds as the ref skates over speaking to Dean, who turns around quickly, accidentally knocking the referee down. Now you've done it, Dean! "You're out of the game!" the ref orders, motioning for Dean to get off the ice. My mouth falls open, staring at the scene that just unfolded.

"Give me a break!" Dean mutters, another referee escorting him off the ice.

"You're throwing him out!" Coach exclaims, just as shocked as I am. "You can't do that! It's three seconds into the game!" Dean hits the wall as he steps off the ice, glaring at everyone in general.

The game resumes as before, Iceland with the puck, heading swiftly down the ice. They pass it back and forth, dodging our defense. Goldberg slips while one player goes to the left, passing it to the right. The Iceland player shoots, scoring as Goldberg attempted to crawl and retrieve the puck.

"Wake up defense! I can't do this all by myself!" Goldberg shouts at us.

I whip my head towards him, glaring with all my might. "Not much we can do when you can't keep your balance, let alone stop a goal."

We finally get the puck, but almost instantly we're shoved down by the Icelanders. Charlie is flipped onto his back, and you can see the annoyance growing on Coach's face at the bench. Coach takes me out of the game, putting Fulton in.

"Yeehaw!" Dwayne shouts, swiping the puck and handling expertly, as usual. Fulton calls for the puck, but Dwayne holds onto it for too long, however, and he's smashed in between two giants. I scrunch my face up, knowing that it must've hurt.

The second period begins and Iceland has possession, going around the goal as Goldberg slips and falls, again. He's lucky and manages to stop the goal, Adam picking up the rebound. He passes it to Luis, before getting flipped over someone's back. Luis outskates the Icelanders, but the defense trips him, sending the puck and himself into the wall.

I see his agitation from the bench as he shakes his head. The referees aren't calling anything and we're getting beat up out there!

Coach steps over to me, and I think he's going to put me back in. But, he squats down next to Kenny instead. "We're in trouble, Ken. What can you do for us?"

"Let's see. Uh, triple-aerial with a double Hummel-camel, it should split the defense. And a pirouetting toe-touch for the goal," Ken replies using figure-skating terms that I have never heard of.

Coach smiles, pushing Ken onto the ice. "Show it to me, Son."

Ken gets the puck, skating towards the two gigantic defenders for Iceland. He starts to do a fancy spin-jump thing, but it's immediately shut down, the two Icelanders crushing him easily. Coach rubs his forehead, letting out an annoyed huff of air, while I tap my skates, eager to go back in.

"Meg, go in for Ken," Coach points to the ice as Ken skates back over to the bench. I climb on, skating to defense as the game continues.

Iceland speeds towards the goal, dodging our defense. I hurry towards the player with the puck, but a different boy comes, pushing me roughly down. I pick myself up as the siren goes off, signaling another goal for Iceland.

The buzzer sounds, ending the period as the whole team crowds around Coach. "Where's our concentration? You guys are out there, running around like a bunch of chickens with your heads cut off!" Coach exclaims.

Jesse rolls his eyes, mumbling, "We're doing our best."

"Well, your best isn't good enough anymore," Coach replies. He did not just say that, did he? What happened to my coach? This isn't him. "Blow this game and we are one loss away from elimination. You guys might want to go home early," he continues. No, I actually don't, thank you very much. "But I sure as heck don't."

Coach walks away, leaving us all unenthusiastic about returning to the game. "My, that was inspiring, wasn't it?" Averman says sarcastically.

"You said it," I mutter, sitting down on the metal bench, trying to catch my breath, and calm down since I'm starting the next period. I desperately wish Dean was still out here, then maybe he could enforce some better defense, because we can't shove these Icelanders down for shit.

The third period starts, the score 4 to 0, favoring the opposing team. Adam takes the faceoff, since he's good when it comes to them. Just like before, we're shoved down as soon as the whistle blows.

An Icelander gets the puck, handling it well, and dodging our attempts to stop him. He flies all the way to the goal, scoring the fifth point for our opponents. "You're off, Goldberg!" Coach shouts across the ice.

Goldberg lifts his mask, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Thank you." Julie skates out, a determined look on her face. "Hey, good luck, goalie. You're gonna need it."

"Thanks, Goldberg," Julie smiles, making her way to the now empty goal. She sets her stuff on top, preparing to get her gear on.

Two Iceland players skate up to Julie, taunting her and her abilities. "Sending a woman to do a man's job," one of them says, while the other adds, "Don't break a nail."

I glare at them from behind, not that they can see, but I watch to make sure they don't do anything to my friend. Julie spins around, smiling sweetly at them. "I'm sorry boys, but can you help me with my pads, please?" she asks, while I tilt my head to the side in confusion.

While the two boys glance at each other, Julie sees me and winks, letting a breath of relief escape my lips. The Icelanders begin to bend down, but Julie shoves them both over, making them land on the ice painfully.

The ref blows the whistle. "That's intentional injuring. You're out of the game. Let's go, young lady."

"See you around, fellows," Julie spits, grabbing her stuff from the goal.

Goldberg skates back out, while Julie goes back over towards the bench. "Thanks for the breather," Goldberg says, and Julie replies with a nod, no expression seen on her face.

Coach sends Fulton into the game, once again removing me from the ice. Dwayne, who had the puck, passes it to Fulton, allowing a wide-open shot. He hits it with all his power, but, somehow, the goalie catches it.

Adam steals the puck from the Icelanders, flying down the ice, almost as fast as Luis could. He spins, causing two Iceland players to run into each other, and he continues handling the puck. He shoots and scores, our first point this whole game. We all jump up, cheering loudly for him and for the fact that we have a goal.

While Adam isn't paying attention, an Icelander comes up and hits him hard with his stick on the wrist. I leap up from the bench, and Charlie grabs my arm to prevent me from hopping onto the ice. The referee blows the whistle, shocking I know, and the player gets two minutes in the penalty box. He smashed a stick on our player, but he's not thrown out like Dean and Julie? Bullshit!

I see Adam remove his hand from his glove, and I know he's in some major pain. It looked extremely painful, and he needs to tell Coach before it can get worse. I glance up from where Adam is and see Dean jumping down the steps near the penalty box, fully dressed with a death-look on his face.

He starts shouting at the Icelander, in defense of Adam and the whole team, while people chase down after him. He grabs the glass, beginning to climb, but the security pulls him down, probably to bring him back to the locker room.

Once I look away from where Dean was, I focus on the game in front of me. Dwayne gets the puck, skating down the ice, shooting it, only to get tripped and slide into the goal with no point acquired.

The rest of the game goes like it has been, us getting smashed and crushed by the Icelanders, while they score. When the buzzer finally goes off, the score is 12 to 1, obviously Iceland with the win.

We all head to the locker room, meeting up with Julie and Dean, who look just as disappointed as the rest of us. I look up at Dean, who stands next to me, and give him a weak smile. He wraps his arm around me, leaning my head onto his chest to comfort me.

Coach comes in a few minutes after, looking infuriated and just plain pissed off. "Twelve to one. Twelve to one. You know what word comes to mind when you think of that?" Coach asks, even though I know he doesn't want us to answer. "Pathetic!" He shouts suddenly, making me flinch along with some of my other teammates. "You guys were brought here to play hockey."

"What about you?" Jesse speaks up.

Coach turns to him, looking annoyed. "What about me, Jesse?"

Feeling confident, I speak up. "Coach Stansson knew everything about us. They were ready for us." Dean squeezes my shoulder lightly, as I get narrowed eyes from Coach.

"Yeah. Then you spend all your time driving around in convertibles, and talking to all those sponsor fools," Luis, sitting next to Charlie, adds on. I've never heard Luis be anything other than polite, so it shocks me that he said this, although it's nice that he's agreeing with me.

Fulton jumps in with more defense, saying something unexpected by all of us. "Or hanging with the Iceland lady. We saw you two Saturday night."

"Eating ice cream with the enemy, huh Coach?" Dean pipes in. I lean further into my brother, a silent beg for him not to lose his composure. We all glance around, questioning if this was true or not.

Coach lifts his hand and points at us accusingly. "Hey, what I do is none of your business, is that clear?" We grumble, beginning to remove our gear from our sweat-covered selves. "Don't take those pads off! Everyone stay in your gear! We have practice."

"Tonight?" Goldberg questions, his eyes flickering from all of us back to Coach.

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

Coach blows the whistle for about the millionth time, and we start our skating sprints again. The shrill ring blares once more, signaling for us to stop. We huddle in the middle, taking a knee as Charlie goes over to Coach, trying to reason with him.

"This isn't very much fun, Coach," Charlie mentions, bending over to catch his breath, and looking up at Coach.

Coach only stares coldly down at him. "Who said it was supposed to be fun?"

Charlie seems taken aback by this statement, so he replies, "You did, when you coached the Ducks."

Coach looks around the rink quickly. "Well, I don't see any Ducks here, Charlie. All I see us Team USA, one loss away from elimination." He turns to us, shouting, "Twenty more sprints! Let's go! Line up! C'mon, let's go!"

Adam grabs my arm, like Charlie did during the game, and pulls me to the line before I can do, or say, anything I'll regret later. "Line up, Charlie." The blonde-haired boy obeys our Coach, even though I wouldn't have if I was him. I would've walked right out of this rink, not bothering to look back. "Go! I'll keep you here all night if I have to."