EXT. ICE RINK – NIGHT – PRE-GAME

(You can be already from The Ducks team, or recently added, or recently transferred into the team like Adam was because of where he lives).

The cold air bites your cheeks as the Zamboni finishes its slow crawl across the ice. The Ducks are gathered in a loose, unorganized huddle by the boards. Some of the kids are goofing around, tossing snow at each other with their gloves, but the tension is thick — like something’s coming.

Coach Bombay steps out onto the ice with skates on, blowing his whistle once to bring everyone to attention.

“Alright, listen up,” he calls, adjusting his jacket as the kids skate over to him, "I know it's short-timing...".

Your skates crunch lightly beneath you as you drift into the circle, standing just beside Charlie, who offers you a small, uncertain glance. Julie, Jesse, Averman, and the rest gather, most of them quiet.

Bombay clears his throat.

“But we’ve got a new player.”

Some of the kids already start to grumble. Fulton squints at the tunnel. Connie folds her arms. Jesse shifts his weight impatiently.

Coach turns and gestures toward the entrance.

“Come on out.”

From the shadows of the hallway steps Adam Banks — sleek Hawks gear still barely covered by his new Ducks jersey. His stride is smooth, practiced. Confident, or maybe just good at this in a way that makes him look confident effortlessly.

He skates toward the team, expression guarded.

Everyone stares.

You glance around, reading the tension in the faces around you. Eyes narrow. Shoulders tighten.

“Him?” Jesse says aloud, he then scoffs and mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, “What’s a cake-eater like him doing on our team?”

Adam stops short, looking straight at him.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Adam says. “I just play where they tell me to.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jesse snaps. “You’re just another Hawk. You think you're better than us?”

You glance between them, heart kicking a bit faster. The hostility’s real, thick in the air like storm clouds. Adam opens his mouth, maybe to defend himself, maybe not, but Coach Bombay cuts in.

“Enough,” Bombay says firmly, stepping between them. “Adam’s here because he’s a Duck now. Whether you like it or not. Same rules apply to him as to anyone else.”

He looks around the circle, his voice unwavering.

“You don’t have to like each other yet. But you do have to play together. Because that’s what teams do.”

He looks directly at you for half a second, like he’s checking for your reaction too.

Then, finally, he nods once and gestures toward the ice. “Get warmed up. Game starts in two hours.”

The group breaks slowly. Some kids mutter under their breath. Others give Adam a stare as they skate onto the rink, ready for the game, although since its the early-days of the team, they aren't that well-trained yet.

You linger just a second longer. You catch Adam’s eyes briefly. He looks like he’s used to being the one of the best players on the ice — and maybe also used to being alone.

You don’t say anything. You just turn and skate onto the rink.

Whether you trust him or not doesn’t matter yet.

Right now, he’s a Duck. Same as you.