Hockey player

The arena was full. Really full. Almost every seat was taken. Everyone was wearing red and blue or our team jerseys. It was an incredible feeling to know that all these people were here because of us as a team, rooting for us. Today, we will bring victory to ourselves and to everyone in the arena. The male announcer's voice began to tell a few facts about our team, and then called my name after Charles. Weston Sinclair, center forward and assistant captain of the Eastburgh Devils, was reciting my hockey credentials, and I skated across the freshly polished ice for the first time since warming up, while a golden shower rained down at the entrance. After sliding across the ice, I came to an abrupt stop at the blue line separating the neutral zone from the attacking zone of the other team, the Vancouver Falcons. The entire team was on the ice, and after a few minutes, some of them left again. Five remained, and Henry skated toward the goal. Coach Henderson stood behind the bench and we watched the game begin. Look who's here. Carter leaned toward me and pointed to Aria and Luna, who were standing a few feet away from the plexiglass partition. I glanced at them, and Aria was waving at us or Henry, while Luna, her back to us, was talking to someone in the back row. God, she looked beautiful. Her hair was up, her ears were adorned with golden creoles, and when I saw the back of her shirt, I knew the problem was at the cafe. Her shirt had the name SINCLAIR on it, but not Henry's number like Aria's. It was my number. Number Eleven