“My favorite part,” he says, going over and getting the pucks and throwing them on the ice. I watch as Dylan slides over and takes a puck with the back of his blade and then kicks it to the stick like it’s no big deal. He skates around and moves the puck right and left. The whole time, his head is up, and not once does he lose control of it. “His hands are better than the fifteen year olds. If this kid has the opportunity, he might beat your dad’s records.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “If you’re right, I’ll pay you a thousand dollars.”

For the rest of the practice, I watch Dylan closely, and every single time he’s given something to do or works on a drill, he just excels and pushes himself. When the hour is over, the kids skate to the bench and take a drink of water. “Okay, three-on-three game,” Ralph says. I watch as Dylan skates to center ice, and I stand back as he gets into position exactly like I do. He skates in a circle and then leans forward with his stick in his hands. He gets ready for the face-off, and he doesn’t look at the kid; he looks at Ralph who holds the puck in his hand. He leans in just a touch and drops the puck. Dylan ducks down, and his stick goes out winning the face-off.

He skates past the kid, going straight to the puck, and there is only one kid on defense, so it’s almost like a one-on-one. He skates to the right and then to the left, and when he thinks the other kid is going back to the right, Dylan pulls his stick back and aims for the net, his puck hitting the back of the net. “I should have doubled the wager,” Ralph says, skating to go get the puck.

“Hey, Justin, did you see that I scored?” Dylan says, skating to the bench and letting someone else take his place.

“I did see it,” I say. “Smooth.”

He just nods his head, smiling, while he takes a squirt of water. By the end of the game, he’s scored ten goals. He skates off the ice, and the only time I see him again is at the end of the day when he comes out of the locker room with his hair wet.