a boy in uniform

They swarm her hotel every couple of weeks. Jerseys and sweatpants, they eat, sleep, shower and sleep some more.

On the ice against the Roadrunners, the teams looks tough but agile. They move so quickly that it's difficult to keep up with a game. The puck is constantly moving, and the men are right behind it. Lightning fast hockey sticks jab and poke, as the players physically prevent each other from scoring. A simple shoulder bump can turn into an all-out, gloves off fight as sticks are snapped and thrown onto the ice.

In the light of the hotel, those men turn back into boys. They're young, most fresh from high school, though you wouldn't know it from their conversations.

"Excuse me, do you have a map I can look at?" the ruddy-checked hockey player asked.

The desk clerk looked at the big, easy to use map of Topeka lying on the counter. "I have this one," she said.

"No, I mean, um... do you have a bigger one. One that shows more?" he gestures with his hands. Apparently he's looking for a map that's about four feet wide.

"Nope, this is it," she says it with a smile, wondering when they'd leave for lunch and let her have a moment of peace.

He sighs, resigning himself to getting his answer from a person. "Well, can you just tell me. Are we above or below Nebraska?" he asks with a straight face, gesturing to a group of the boys waiting outside. "We were having an argument about this."

"Below. We are below Nebraska," the desk clerk says, noting that he doesn't look particularly pleased to hear this.

The player mumbles his thanks as he walks away, leaving the clerk shaking her head in disbelief. . . "Next time, remember not to talk to the players," she reminds herself. "They were so much cuter when they were fighting on the ice."