11. Outnumbered

Coach's eyes were like a laser, sharp and piercing, as he surveyed me from head to toe. Standing on the cold ice, I felt the chill seep deep into my bones, a sensation dwarfed only by the icy scrutiny in Coach's stare.

I battled the rising panic, the cold from the ice almost a welcome distraction from my anxiety. Fleeing would be my only choice if I were chosen for the skins team. It would mean abandoning the tryouts and possibly everything I had worked for. At least, amid the pervasive cold, my nervousness seemed more like a reaction to the temperature than outright terror.

In his eyes, I must have been no more significant than a fleeting shadow, easily lost among the more formidable figures surrounding me. My presence was as inconsequential as a cobweb, easily swept away and forgotten in the corners of the rink.

After what felt like an eternity, his answer came in little more than a grunt. "SHIRTS!" A wave of relief washed over me, sparing me from the bare-chested team. I wouldn't