Eric Johnson sat on the edge of his bed, lacing up his skates with the precision of a surgeon. Each loop, each tug on the laces, was a ritual that calmed his nerves before practice. But today, his hands trembled. The upcoming draft weighed heavily on his mind.
"Eric! Are you ready?" his mom called from downstairs.
"Yeah, almost!" Eric replied, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. He finished with his skates and stood up, taking a deep breath. The posters of his hockey idols on his bedroom walls seemed to watch him with eyes full of expectation.
He grabbed his gear and headed downstairs. His mom, a petite woman with kind eyes, was waiting by the door with a lunch bag.
"Here, you need to eat," she said, handing him the bag. "I know you’re nervous, but you’ve got to keep your strength up."
"Thanks, Mom," Eric said, forcing a smile. He knew she was worried too, though she tried to hide it.
On the drive to the rink, Eric's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. His best friend, Jason, had already been approached by scouts from several teams. Eric, despite his hard work and talent, had yet to hear from any.
"You’re going to be fine, Eric," his mom said, breaking the silence. "You’ve got the skill and the heart. The right team will see that."
"I hope you’re right," Eric murmured, staring out the window at the passing scenery.
When they arrived at the rink, Eric spotted Jason talking animatedly with Coach Davis. Jason waved him over.
"Eric, you won’t believe it," Jason said, eyes shining. "Coach says there are scouts from three different teams here today!"
"That’s awesome, Jason," Eric replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. Inside, a knot tightened in his stomach.
Coach Davis, a burly man with a booming voice, clapped Eric on the shoulder. "You ready to show them what you’ve got, Johnson?"
"Yes, Coach," Eric said, straightening his posture.
"Good. Just play your game, and don’t worry about anything else."
Practice was intense. Eric skated hard, focused on every pass, every shot. He could feel the scouts’ eyes on him, a pressure that both fueled and unnerved him. Jason was on fire, scoring goal after goal, and Eric felt a pang of jealousy mixed with pride for his friend.
After practice, in the locker room, the team buzzed with excitement.
"Did you see that scout from the Wolves? He was watching you, Eric," said Matt, one of the defensemen.
"Yeah, maybe," Eric replied, toweling off. He didn’t want to get his hopes up too high.
Jason sat next to him, grinning. "Man, we’re going to make it, I can feel it."
"I hope so," Eric said, glancing at his friend. "You’ve already got their attention. I’m still waiting for my break."
"It’ll come," Jason said confidently. "You’ve got too much talent for them to ignore."
That night, back at home, Eric lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The pressure of the draft, the constant comparisons to his peers, it all felt like too much sometimes. He grabbed his phone and texted Jason.
Eric: Think we’ll really make it?
Jason: I know we will. Just keep pushing. We’ve got this.
Eric smiled at his friend’s confidence. He got up and walked to the window, looking out at the clear night sky. The stars twinkled, distant and unbothered by the worries of a teenage hockey player. As he gazed up, a bright streak of light crossed the sky.
A shooting star.
Eric closed his eyes and made a wish, his heart pounding with the intensity of his desire. "I wish to be the biggest hockey player of all time."
He stood there for a moment, letting the wish settle into the night air, before turning back to his bed. As he climbed under the covers, a sense of calm washed over him. Maybe, just maybe, his wish would come true.
With that thought, Eric drifted off to sleep, dreaming of bright arenas, roaring crowds, and the feel of a hockey stick in his hands.
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