Chapter 39 Little Skater, Big Dreams
Clara Kane was seven years old now, all wild red curls, freckles across her nose, and a grin that could light up the entire Evergreen Hollow rink. She had her father’s blue eyes and her mother’s stubborn chin, a voice that carried across the ice like a whistle, and one unshakable passion: hockey.
From the moment she could walk, Clara had been on skates. First the tiny double-runners that let her wobble across the backyard pond while Everett held her hands. Then real skates at three, lessons at four, and by five she was in the Little Bears’ learn-to-play program, demanding to be on Everett’s team even though she was years younger.
Now, at seven, she played on the girls’ mite team—the Ice Cubs—and practiced with a seriousness that made the coaches laugh and the parents cheer twice as loud.
Her season started in late October with the usual excitement: new jersey (number 18, because “it’s Lily’s college number plus Everett’s birthday”), fresh tape on her stick, and a helmet sticker chart for good listening.
Clara’s first game was a Saturday morning affair against a team from Pine Ridge. The rink smelled like fresh ice and hot chocolate. Holly sat in the stands with her perpetual thermos of coffee, Rowan beside her with Clara’s spare gloves in his coat pocket “just in case.” Everett, now twelve and towering over most of his peers, leaned on the glass shouting encouragement. Lily, home for a quick weekend between college games, waved a homemade sign that read “GO CLARA #18” in glitter and crimson.
The puck dropped, and Clara was on the ice for the first shift.
She was small—even for mites—but fearless. She chased the puck like it had personally offended her, stick on the ice, skates digging hard. Her line cycled the puck nicely, and when a rebound popped loose in front of the net, Clara whacked at it with everything she had. The puck fluttered past the goalie’s pad and into the net.
The tiny crowd erupted. Clara’s eyes went wide under her helmet cage, then she threw her arms up and skated straight to the bench for fist bumps, grinning so hard her mouthguard fell out.
Holly stood and cheered until her voice cracked. Rowan’s eyes were suspiciously shiny. Everett banged on the glass yelling “That’s my sister!” Lily whooped loud enough for half the arena to hear.
Clara ended the game with two goals and an assist, earning the game puck and the nickname “Firecracker Clara” from the announcer.
That night they celebrated with her favorite—mac and cheese with extra breadcrumbs and ice-cream sundaes on the patio even though it was chilly. Clara fell asleep on the couch mid-bite, medal around her neck, still wearing her jersey.
As the season rolled on, Clara’s love for the game deepened.
She practiced every chance she got: driveway shots with Everett after school, backyard passing drills with Rowan on weekends, and Sunday morning public skates where she begged Lily (when home) to “play goalie so I can score on a real player.”
She made friends on her team—little girls with ponytails sticking out of helmets, all fierce and funny in their own ways. Her best friend was Mia Chen’s daughter, Zoe, who played defense and had the same quiet determination Clara admired in her big sister.
Clara’s personality shone on the ice: encouraging teammates after mistakes, celebrating every goal like it was the Stanley Cup, and never backing down from a bigger kid in the corners. Off the ice, she was pure sunshine—drawing hockey pictures for her teachers, insisting on wearing her jersey to school on game days, and narrating imaginary play-by-play for her stuffed animals.
One cold February weekend, the Ice Cubs traveled to a tournament in St. Paul. The whole family made the trip—Rowan driving the minivan loaded with gear and snacks, Holly navigating, Everett in charge of the playlist, Lily home for reading week riding shotgun.
The tournament was Clara’s biggest stage yet: four games, real officials, a championship banner on the line.
She played lights-out. In the semifinal, down 2-1 with three minutes left, Clara stole the puck at center ice, raced up the wing, and rifled a wrist shot top corner for the tie. Overtime was sudden-death, and Clara’s line drew the first shift. She won a board battle, centered the puck, and watched her teammate bury the winner. The bench emptied in celebration, tiny bodies piling on each other in joy.
The championship game was against a tough team from Canada. Clara scored the opening goal on a breakaway, deking the goalie like she’d practiced a thousand times in the driveway. The game stayed close, but the Ice Cubs pulled ahead in the third and held on for a 4-2 victory.
When the banner was raised, Clara stood front and center, medal around her neck, eyes shining brighter than the arena lights.
Back home, the town threw a little parade down Main Street—fire trucks, horns, kids waving signs. Clara rode on Rowan’s shoulders clutching the banner, waving like a queen.
That spring, Clara tried out for the select spring team and made it easily. She spent mornings at skills camp, afternoons swimming at the lake with Everett, and evenings drawing pictures of herself in a Pioneers jersey “when I’m big like Lily.”
One warm June night, the family gathered for a backyard barbecue. Clara had just finished her last spring game, scoring a hat trick and earning the game puck for the third time that season.
She sat on the porch steps between Lily and Everett, swinging her legs, medal still around her neck.
“I’m gonna play for Denver like Lily,” she announced solemnly. “And then Boston like the pros.”
Lily laughed and ruffled her curls. “You’ve got time, kiddo.”
Clara looked up at her big sister with pure adoration. “But I’m gonna be fast like you. And score lots.”
Rowan and Holly exchanged a quiet smile from the grill.
Later, when the kids were asleep and the fireflies were out, Rowan and Holly sat on the swing together.
“She’s got it,” Rowan said softly. “That spark.”
Holly nodded, leaning into him. “All three of them do. In their own ways.”
Rowan’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “We did okay, didn’t we?”
Holly turned to kiss him gently. “We did better than okay.”
They sat in the quiet warmth of a summer night, listening to crickets and the distant laughter of neighborhood kids, feeling the gentle certainty that the next generation of Kanes was already writing their own stories on the ice—and that the family would be there for every goal, every save, every ordinary, perfect moment in between.
In Evergreen Hollow, under a sky full of stars and the soft promise of many more seasons to come, little Clara Kane dreamed big dreams, and her family dreamed right alongside her.