"Oh wow, it's snowing even more now!" Gina observed when we got back to our dorm room."

"Yeah," I agreed, "Sorry we couldn't go anywhere super-exciting. Maybe tomorrow?"

Gina appeared to think about it, then shrugged. "I guess. What can we do in the meantime?"

"Hmmm..." I was pretty sure neither of us wanted to go back to homework (not with such a huge distraction as Wheatley in play), and it hardly seemed fair to Wheatley or Gina to go off and do something by myself. "Normally I'd suggest board games but I don't have any with me. Unless..."

"Unless what?" Gina pointed at me. "That's an 'idea' face."

"Wheatley, do you think you could commentate a hockey game?"

"Commentate?" Wheatley tested the word. "As in, talk? You want me to talk about a hockey game?"

I shrugged. "That's the basic idea."

"You're thinking the air hockey table in the lounge?" Gina caught on.

I nodded. "Yep!"

Without even taking Wheatley out of his chair, Gina and I dragged him back to the elevator and down to the first floor. From there, the lounge was on the opposite side of the building from the cafeteria. It had two wall-mounted flatscreen available for advanced-booking; sometimes people would bring movies or hook up console games.

When the two of us (technically, the three of us) arrived, one of the screens showed a live Toronto VS Boston game. "Looks like the home team is playing tonight." I observed. Whoever had been watching them had either gone to the bathroom or left for the evening.

"Ooh! That's a big TV!" Chirped Wheatley. "Is this the game you wanted me to talk about? 'Commentate', was it? Huh. Seems like it's happening awfully fast, not sure how well I'll be able to—OH THAT HUMAN JUST GOT MASHED INTO A WALL!"

"Should those be our teams?" Gina volunteered. "Leafs and Bruins?"

"Yeah, sounds good." I fished out my change purse and started poking around in it. "Do you have a couple of bucks on you? I'm short."

"You look pretty tall from here." Wheatley blurted. Gina doubled over and covered her mouth. "What? Why are you laughing?"

"Pun not intended." Gina tried to contain her amusement at his accidental (if well-timed) quip. I on the other hand huffed an exasperated sigh.

"So, who's gonna be who?" I turned to Gina. "Do you wanna be Toronto or can I?"

Gina shrugged. "Whatever. I guess I'll be Boston."

"Good, because you're about to get creamed!"

"Oh-ho-ho! I don't think so!"

Loonies inserted, the table whirred to life. Wheatley had been positioned off to one side, his chair cranked high enough for him to see what was going on. Gina retrieved the plastic red puck and placed it between our two goals. "Ready?"

I smirked deviously. "Are you?"

With Wheatley watching, Gina and I both hunched over the table. Plastic clattered as we both hit the puck at the same time and sent it bouncing from one end of the table to the other.

"...and there's the breakaway!" Yelled Don Cherry on-screen. Gina and I took turns smashing the puck away from our respective goal slots. Unfortunately for me, the first point went to my opponent; the puck had embarrassingly bounced off the back of my paddle and into my slot.

"Ha!" Gina pumped her fist. "Who's creaming who, again?"

"Just you wait!" The score tracker went up to ten; I still had nine more attempts to claim a victory.

"THERE HE GOES! INTO THE WALL AGAIN!" Wheatley crowed. He seemed to enjoy watching adults clobber each other.

Gina dropped the puck on her side of the table. "You ready this time?" She smirked.

"Go for it."

The puck bounced off my end—dangerously close to a second point for Gina—off the other three walls and finally back onto my side before she could touch it. She pulled her paddle in close so I couldn't take a straight shot. I'm not one to strategize so I just smacked the puck as hard as I could; it bounced so quickly that neither of us dared to reach for it.

"That thing really moves doesn't it?" Wheatley commented. "Oh, so this is like a miniature version of what's going on up there! You know, with fewer players and a lot less padding and—"

Before he could finish, Boston scored a goal on Toronto in real life. Horns blared, distracting me and startling Wheatley clean off his chair. The puck slid into my goal a second time. "What in Android hell was that?!"

"That," Gina boasted, "was the sound of another point going to Boston." I felt a twinge in my gut.

"Does Boston always make such a fuss about scoring?" Wheatley complained. "Man alive! There's such a thing as a sore winner!" Gina scoffed.

"The game's not over yet." I reminded. "Toronto could still sink one."

Wheatley was returned to his chair and the puck flew once again. Both Gina and I were determined to win. She scored two more goals on me before the puck slid behind her paddle as it had mine. At the exact same time, Toronto sunk one against Boston.

"Hey hey! You finally got one!" Wheatley cheered. "About ti—OH GOD IS THAT BLOOD?"

At four to one, I still had to sink five consecutive goals to secure a win—no easy feat. The puck bounced dangerously close to both of our goal slots as Gina and I sent it careening back and forth. Our paddles crashed together twice before the puck slid into Gina's goal.

"Not bad, but I'm still winning!"

"Not for long!" I quickly set the puck down and took a shot. Gina blocked it easily, but I sent it back to her twice before it slid into her goal again. "Ha!"

Two goals down, three more to go—but the game wasn't over yet.

Gina REALLY wanted to win. She focused hard and took confident shots, driving my paddle closer and closer to my goal in fear. Eventually we reached an impasse; she couldn't sink anything while my paddle was practically in my goal slot, and I couldn't take a shot unless I dared to move it farther out.

"Ooh, this is pretty intense!" Wheatley commented. "Gina's ready to drive the little plastic thingy into Gabby's slot, but Gabby's got her basher thing-a-ma-jig so deep in there that it wouldn't fit."

Then it happened.

Don Cherry was suddenly excited about a struggle happening close to Boston's net. The crowd began to roar, pulling everyone's attention away from the air hockey table. Wheatley started to yell "TAKE THE SHOT" at the TV, and it was then I realized that Gina's goal had been left unguarded. Gina spun around, agape, and shot me a glare when she heard the puck go in.

"Hey!"

"You did it to me." I shrugged, grinning ear to ear.

Gina groaned. "Okay, fine, that's fair…"

We finished at six to four in Gina's favour. Wheatley spent most of that time commentating the wrong game.

"That was fun!" Said Gina. "We should do hockey night again sometime."

I laughed. "We should—and who knows? Maybe Toronto will win the Stanley Cup before I die."

Wheatley bobbled in agreement. "I might even get into this commentating thing as well!" He boasted. "I'm no Don Cherry but with a bit of practice I'm—why is everyone laughing?"