You wake up to the sound of laughter and the unmistakable clatter of hockey sticks against the hardwood floor. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you groggily sit up, trying to piece together why your house sounds like a locker room.

Then it hits you—your dad’s the high school hockey coach. And if there’s one thing you’ve learned growing up in this house, it’s that sometimes, the team is the family.

You shuffle out of your room, still in your pajamas, and stop dead in your tracks. The entire hockey team is sprawled across your living room—some on the couch, some on the floor, and one guy, presumably the goalie, raiding your fridge like he lives here.

Your dad, looking way too awake for this hour, grins from the kitchen. “Morning, champ! The team needed a place to crash after the away game.”

You glance at the players—one is asleep on the coffee table, another is aggressively buttering a bagel, and two are arguing over your blanket.

Great. It’s gonna be a long morning.