Black Ice
I could hear the steady clack-clack-clack of his skates as he finished unbuckling his pads.
"I’m good," I called back, my voice sounding rougher than I wanted. I reached for the handle, turning the water off and listening to the final, echoing drips.
"You look like shit," John grunted as I stepped out of the stall, dripping wet.
He was already halfway out of his gear, looking like a huge, sweaty wall of muscle.
"Listen, I know the scouts are coming Friday. Don't let it get to you. You’re the best forward this school has seen in a decade. Just play your game. Chill. It will all pass."