Five

Zora

The sound of tiny skates scraping against the ice and kids' laughter echoed through the rink as I pulled my gloves on and took a deep breath. Coach had handed this "assignment" over to us like a punishment wrapped in a thin layer of teamwork. We were alone today. Just the two of us with twelve kids who looked about as coordinated on skates as newborn deer.

I stood near the center of the ice, watching as a group of little kids—some barely bigger than their sticks—wobbled and shuffled their way across the rink. A few were already tangled up on the ground, giggling as they tried to get up.

And then there was Reya. She didn't seem nervous about the prospect of managing a small mob of tiny, loud hockey players. Meanwhile, I was making a mental checklist of everything we needed to get done: introductions, warm-ups, drills, and structure.

She was at the far end of the rink, on one knee, demonstrating something to a group of wide-eyed kids. She had their full attention, her tone light and animated. As I skated over, I caught snippets of her exaggerated story.

"... and that's how I once scored the winning goal after falling flat on my face, just like you did, Noah." She ruffled the helmet of a little boy, whose grin spread from ear to ear.

"That's not real, is it?" a girl asked, squinting suspiciously.

"Of course it is," Reya replied with a grin. "You fall, you get up, you score. That's how hockey works."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Reya wasn't coaching them, instead she was entertaining them. And they were eating it up.

"Reya," I called, my voice sharp as I skated closer. "We're supposed to be teaching them the basics. Not telling them stories."

Reya stood up, a little smirk playing on her lips. "Relax, Zora. They're kids. They need to have fun. They don't need your whole manifesto on hockey."

"And how are they going to get better if they're not practicing properly?" I shot back. "They need to learn the game, Reya. It's not all about having fun."

"Who said they weren't? Fun and hockey aren't mutually exclusive, you know."

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to keep my cool. "They're here to learn. Not listen to tall tales."

The kids had, of course, noticed us bickering, and a few had skated closer to eavesdrop. One of them, a girl in a jersey two sizes too big, turned to her friend. "Why are the big coaches yelling at each other?"

"Because they don't like each other," another boy, Andrew, replied matter-of-factly. "My sister says that's what happens when adults get mad."

"We're not yelling," I said quickly, lowering my voice. But I could already feel my face turning red.

Reya crossed her arms, tilting her head. "We're disagreeing, Zora."

"It doesn't sound like that," the little girl chimed in again, her helmet wobbling as she nodded.

I sighed, running a gloved hand over my face. This was going great.

We split the kids into two groups to try and make things more productive. Reya took one-half of the kids to the far end of the rink while I stayed closer to the center ice with the rest.

"Alright, everyone," I said, doing my best to sound upbeat and encouraging. "Let's practice stickhandling. I want you to focus on keeping control of the puck. Little movements, okay? Like this." I demonstrated slowly, weaving the puck back and forth with smooth, deliberate taps.

A couple of the kids nodded, copying me with varying degrees of success. One boy immediately lost his puck, watching helplessly as it slid away. "I can't do it!"

"Sure you can," I said quickly. "It just takes practice. Watch—"

"Hey, everyone! Who wants to play sharks and minnows?!" Reya's voice rang out across the rink, completely disrupting the focus I was trying to build. I whipped around to see her waving her arms like she was hosting a carnival.

The kids near me froze, their heads swiveling toward her like magnets. A chorus of "Me! Me! Me!" rang out. Half my group immediately started skating toward Reya.

"Reya!" I snapped, skating over. "What are you doing?"

"Saving these kids from boredom," she replied with a shrug, a cocky grin on her face. "Come on, Zora. Sharks and minnows builds skating skills. And they actually like it."

"That's not the point! They need structure, not chaos."

Reya waved me off. "They're learning. They just don't realize it because it's fun."

"Fun won't help them win games when they're older," I muttered.

One kid piped up behind me. "What's more fun, winning or playing sharks and minnows?"

"Winning," I said automatically.

"Sharks and minnows!" a group of them yelled back, dissolving into giggles.

Reya winked at me. "See? They've got their priorities straight."

Reya's "game" started off innocently enough, with the kids darting around the ice, screaming and laughing as Reya chased them. To her credit, she skated carefully—low and slow, making sure not to accidentally trip or knock anyone over. A few of the kids even managed quick turns to dodge her, showing surprising balance for their size.

But as I'd expected, it didn't take long for chaos to break loose. One boy slipped and fell, sliding halfway across the ice like a human puck, while another girl screamed so loudly you'd think she'd been tagged for real. The twins had abandoned the game entirely and were lying on their stomachs, using their sticks to "row" themselves across the ice.

I skated toward Reya, who was laughing and high-fiving one of the kids. "Okay, that's enough. Let's actually teach them something now."

Reya straightened up, looking at me like I'd just rained on her parade. "We are teaching them. Look how much they're moving around."

"They're not learning any fundamentals," I argued. "This isn't gym class."

Reya sighed dramatically, turning to the kids. "Alright, everyone, listen to Coach Zora for a bit. She's got something really exciting planned." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

I ignored her, skating to the center of the rink and holding up my stick. "Everyone grab a puck and come line up along the blue line!"

The kids groaned, clearly disappointed to switch from Reya's chaos to my drills, but I stood firm. They needed structure, not a free-for-all. I watched as they clumsily collected pucks and shuffled into place.

"Alright, we're going to practice stickhandling...again," I said, holding my stick low and tapping the puck back and forth, as I prayed that they would listen to me this time and Reya wouldn't interject. "Small, controlled movements. Like this."

The kids tried to mimic me, but their pucks shot out in every direction. I skated over to help a girl whose puck had rolled behind her. "Keep it close to your stick," I said gently, demonstrating again.

It was working—slowly—but Reya wasn't making it any easier. I glanced over to see her at the far end of the rink, crouched like a goalie while three kids whacked pucks at her. "Come on! Who can score on me?" she challenged, grinning.

"Reya!" I skated toward her, my voice sharp. "We're supposed to be running the same drills."

"They're getting their shots on goal," she replied, shrugging. "That's a drill."

"It's not if you're just letting them do whatever they want!"

Reya straightened, her expression shifting to something harder. "Maybe if you loosened up a little, they wouldn't look so miserable."

I opened my mouth to retort, but Noah skated between us, his voice loud and curious. "Why are you two always arguing?"

Andrew chimed in. "Yeah, you fight like my brother and sister."

"You've spent most of practice arguing," Noah added.

"We're not arguing," I said quickly.

"Are too," a little girl added, pointing her stick at me. "You and Coach Reya are grumpy at each other."

Reya grinned at that, clearly enjoying the kids' observations. "See, Zora? Even they know you need to chill out."

I scowled. "At least I'm trying to teach them something."

"Teaching doesn't have to be boring!" Reya shot back, her voice rising.

The kids watched us like we were a soap opera, wide-eyed and fascinated. "I think they don't like each other," one boy whispered loudly.

"We're fine," I said quickly, forcing a smile as I turned back to the kids. "Let's keep practicing stickhandling, okay?"

"But I wanna play sharks and minnows again," the little girl in pigtails whined.

"Me too!" others chimed in.

I glared at Reya. "See what you've done?"

"Made practice fun?" she replied smugly.

"Enough!" I snapped, my patience finally snapping like a twig. "Reya, if you want to play games, fine. But some of us actually care about teaching them the game properly."

Her smirk faded, her eyes narrowing. "You think I don't care? That's rich coming from someone who thinks they're better than everyone else."

My heart pounded as I stared her down, the weight of her words settling like a stone in my chest. For a moment, I thought she might say something worse, but instead, she said nothing else.

As practice dragged on, our arguments turned into an unspoken battle of coaching styles. Reya's half of the rink looked like a zoo with kids racing around in circles, yelling, and laughing as they played whatever game she had them doing. Meanwhile, I ran structured drills, trying to keep my group focused and disciplined.

The kids noticed.

"They're so different," Noah whispered to Andrew as they skated by me.

"Yeah. Coach Zora's, like, the serious one," Andrew replied, sneaking a glance in my direction.

"She's like a teacher," Noah added thoughtfully.

"What's Coach Reya?"

"A cool big sister," Andrew said with a grin.

I gritted my teeth. Cool big sister. Was that supposed to be a compliment?

Reya skated past me, easily weaving through her chaotic group. "Everything okay over here, Zora? You look a little tense."

"Everything's fine," I replied tersely, watching as one of her kids wiped out, sliding halfway across the ice. Reya just laughed, pulling the kid back up onto his feet with a playful pat on the helmet.

"Be careful!" I called over, but Reya ignored me.

By the end of practice, I was ready to scream. The kids gathered near the bench to grab their water bottles, their faces red and sweaty, full of excitement.

"Coach Zora told us to work on skating and puck control," one boy told his friend proudly.

"Coach Reya let us play freeze tag and sharks and minnows," the friend replied with a smug grin.

"It's not a competition," I said, mostly to myself, as Reya skated up beside me.

Reya smirked, clearly overhearing. "You sure? Because if it was, I'd be winning."

"This isn't a game, Reya," I snapped. "We're supposed to be teaching them, not entertaining them."

"They're kids, Zora. If you make it boring, they won't want to learn anything."

"And if you make it a free-for-all, they'll never improve."

"You're impossible," she muttered, shaking her head.

Before I could fire back, another one of the kids—Zeke—skated up between us, staring up with wide eyes. "Are you two mad at each other?"

Reya looked down, her expression softening just a bit. "No, kid. We're just... different."

"Different's good, right?" Zeke asked, his voice hopeful.

Reya and I exchanged a look. For once, she didn't have a comeback.

"Yeah," I said finally. "Different can be good."

Reya rolled her eyes, but there was no venom behind it this time.

"Alright, everyone, that's practice!" she called, clapping her hands. The kids cheered and skated toward the locker rooms.

I turned to Reya. "We need to figure this out. Because this—" I gestured between us—"isn't working."

"Fine," she said, slinging her stick over her shoulder. "Meet me early next practice. We'll come up with a plan or whatever."

It wasn't much, but it was progress. I watched her retreat to the bench, surrounded by the kids who were still laughing and talking to her.

Cool big sister, indeed.

Later that evening, Stevie, Liv, Marie, and I gathered in the living room. Stevie sat cross-legged on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, tossing kernels into her mouth with the precision of someone who had mastered the art of casual snacking. Marie was perched on the armrest, a steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands, while Liv leaned back in the armchair, her legs crossed neatly.

"So," Stevie began, grinning. "How was your first day coaching the munchkins? Did anyone pee on the ice?"

Marie laughed, taking a sip of her tea. "Or get their tongue stuck to the rink boards? Classic kid stuff."

I let out a long, dramatic groan as I sank into the couch. "It was... a disaster."

Liv raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by my dramatics. "Disaster? Really? Did someone break a bone?"

"No, but it felt like I might," I shot back, sitting up to face them. "Reya was impossible. She turned the whole practice into a circus. Sharks and minnows, freeze tag—like, what even is that?!"

Stevie chuckled, tossing another kernel into her mouth. "Fun. That's what it is."

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. "We're supposed to be teaching these kids hockey skills, not entertaining them like we're clowns at a birthday party."

Marie shrugged, ever the reasonable one. "But they're kids. Maybe Reya's onto something? If they're having fun, they're more likely to stay engaged, right?"

"Sure," I admitted reluctantly. "But there's a balance. And Reya doesn't care about that. She's all chaos, no structure. And the kids love her for it."

Liv, ever the thoughtful observer, tapped her chin. "Sounds like the kids just have different expectations. Some might respond to drills, others to games. It doesn't mean either of you is wrong."

Stevie snickered, her grin widening. "But Zora would rather die than admit Reya might have a point."

I glared at her. "It's not about being right or wrong. It's about what's effective. And chaos isn't effective."

Marie raised her hands in surrender. "Okay, but let's say Reya's approach keeps them engaged. Isn't that still effective in its own way?"

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Maybe. But it's frustrating when I'm trying to focus on fundamentals and she's over there playing goalie and making up games. The kids see her as the fun one and me as... well, not."

"Classic good cop, bad cop," Stevie said, smirking. "Except you're both cops who hate each other."

"We don't hate each other," I muttered, though even I didn't sound convincing.

Liv leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady. "So what's the plan? You two can't keep bickering in front of the kids. They'll pick up on it."

I exhaled sharply. "The kids already have. Reya said we'd meet before the next practice to 'come up with a plan' or whatever." I made air quotes around the last part, not bothering to hide my skepticism.

"That's something," Marie offered gently.

Stevie gave me a playful nudge. "You've got to admit, Zora, it sounds like you two balance each other out. You're the structure; she's the fun. Together, you might actually be a good team."

I scoffed but didn't reply. The idea that Reya and I could complement each other seemed far-fetched at best. Still, as I glanced at my friends, their words hung in the air.

Could balance really be the key?