Jack on the Farm by Hrithik Carrington {Inklings Book Contest 2024 Finalist}

Today, we are featuring Inklings Book Contest 2024 Finalist Hrithik Carrington! He finished 6th grade this past school year and wrote a gritty story called “Jack on the Farm”. As one of our judges describes it, “The main character’s grit and determination to pursue his love of hockey really shines through in this story, even as he’s torn between his love and his duty to his family.”. Continue below to enjoy Hrithik’s work in digital book or plain text form.

“Jack, you need to go milk the cow. She keeps making noise.”

“Dad, I’ll milk the cow right after I shoot my last two shots.”

I slap my shots as hard as I can, and they both go top ninety into the goal. I take my last lap around the pond and skate to the farm. I quickly take off my razor-sharp skates, put my pads and stick into my hockey bag, and change into overalls. 

I run to old Bessy. Milking her is one of my daily responsibilities.  

“Moo,” cries old Bessy.

“Oh, come on, Bessy. Dad will get mad if I don’t milk you.”

“Moo,” old Bessy cries again, but louder. 

I look at Bessy. She is a soft, golden cow. Over the past few months, she has been growing bigger and bigger and getting fussier and fussier. I finally realize the problem. Bessy is having a baby. I grab my coat, open the rickety old farm door that forever creaks and croaks, and run screaming to my mom and dad.

“Jack, you’re not going to be able to practice hockey if you don’t stop this commotion,” my dad hollers. 

“I am sorry, but Bessy is having a baby!” 

We all run to Bessy, but it is too late. Bessy has already had the baby, and she is bleeding badly. I see that the baby looks so cute and small. It is a miniature Bessy.

“Jack, you need to take Bessy to the vet while we care for the calf,” Mom snaps to get me out of my reverie. 

All three of us get Bessy into the back of our blue truck with peeling paint. I slam the door and turn the engine on. I am racing along the dirt trail when I see Will, Tom, and Mike, my best friends since kindergarten. It is easy to notice them because Mike is small, heavy, and has a bowl cut, while Will and Tom are tall, lanky, and have buzz cuts.

They ask, “Hey Jack, where’s the fire?”

“Bessy is sick! I need to take her to the hospital,” I shout. 

Without hesitation, they jump in the back with Bessy. We race to the vet’s office and start pounding on the metallic black back door until the vet opens it.

“Bessy is dying, and we need you to help her,” we scream. I explain that she gave birth without assistance and needs care.  

“No problem, she is in good hands,” the vet assures us.

We give Bessy to the nurse, praying that Bessy will get better. I do not know how my parents will be able to pay for the visit because we can barely pay our heating bill. My friends sense that I am down, and they instinctively know that only one thing will cheer me up.  

“Want to play hockey on Tom’s pond?” 

“Sure thing,” I reply as my spirits already perk up a bit.

We head back to our houses to grab our hockey equipment. In our rush, we all miss the billboard listing tryouts for the most prestigious youth hockey team in the county. I tiptoe up the stairs, hoping my mom and dad do not see me. I grab my stuff and run to Tom’s house.

“You took a long time,” they tease.

“I had to make sure my parents didn’t see me. I’m not sure if they are mad. I should have noticed Bessy was pregnant. But as dad likes to complain, my mind is too full with hockey and not much else. I feel…”  

Tom cuts me off. “Are we going to play hockey or stand around talking? If you want to forfeit, it’s fine with me.” He knew exactly the right words to snap me out of my glumness and stroke my competitive spirit. 

“Okay, Mike and Will versus Tom and me,” I yell. 

We skate onto the ice and get ready for faceoff. We agree to play three 20-minute periods. Each person on the team has to play goalie for at least one period. I agree to play goalie for the first and last periods. Will puts the pressure on Tom, dekes him out, and takes a wicked slap shot. I just barely get my glove on it. Tom gets the rebound and shoots at Mike. Mike, who has a hard shot, cannot move too quickly on his feet and misses the puck. Tom scores a goal, and we go back to faceoff. Nothing else happens in the first period. Will and Tom only battle for the puck the rest of the time. 

The second period starts, and Will and Tom are in goal. Mike and I get ready for faceoffs. As good as Mike is, I win the faceoffs and start scoring goal after goal on him and Will. My best goal was checking Mike, getting the puck, and deking Will out of his socks. The score is now 5-0. The second and third periods go by in a blur. We shake hands and say “good game” once we are done.

“Let’s go to the movies,” Mike suggests. 

We never want our time together to end. “Sure thing,” we all reply in unison. 

We return to our houses, take off our hockey gear, and change into regular clothes. I creep back down the stairs and run to join my friends at the center of the city’s square. 

“Guys, come quick,” Will yells. “Is this great, or what?! The best hockey team in the county has open tryouts! They are accepting anyone who’s good. Jack, you have to try out!” 

“Guys, I’m not that good,” I mutter modestly.

“Jack, you’re a beast! We wouldn’t tell you to do it if we didn’t mean it. Jack, you need to try out tomorrow at 8:00 am,” Tom insists.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try out,” I tell them. “Now let’s go watch a movie.”

“Not so fast, buddy! You need to go home and get some rest before the tryouts. Just remember that I suggested that when you make it professionally,” Mike says.

My buddies forcefully nudge me out of the square. I creep into my small, depressing house. I move slowly across the old, rickety wooden floor. Every step I take sounds so loud that I worry my parents will hear me. Luckily, I make it to my room without a run-in. I try falling asleep, but I keep thinking about the tryouts and my friends believing I have an actual shot. Eventually, I am so tired that my eyes close. 

I wake up at 5:00 am and rush to get on my hockey uniform. I quietly write my parents a note saying I am going to Mike’s house. I do not care if I am early, because I know the time will fly, given my excitement. I finally get to the stadium and sit in the nosebleed seats. As I look around, I cannot believe that I have a chance to be playing in this very building. Eventually, I see players start filling the benches near the rink, and I head down to the ice. 

“Only the best 15 players in these 17-and-under tryouts will be allowed to join the team. Do not think this will be easy. The results of the tryouts will be posted later today,” a coach booms.

We are separated into different groups, and the coaches tell us what to do. We need to hit slapshots, handle the stick, and play goalie. I try my best. When the tryouts end, I grab a free snack and drink from the vending machines. While I am hungrily munching on a granola bar and drinking Gatorade, the results are posted. I head to the board and nervously search for my name. I made the team as its starting goalie!

“If you made the cut, welcome! There are no fees, and we will supply all of the needed top of the line equipment,” one coach says. 

I can hardly contain my excitement. I rush to Tom’s pond to see my friends.

“Guess what? I made the team,” I holler.

“Congratulations!” Then they ask, “Are you going to tell your parents?”

“I have to tell them, but I don’t know how,” I reply. 

I reluctantly head home. Any excitement about making the team is quickly tampered when I see the angry expressions on my parents’ faces.

“Jack, you are in serious trouble. We have not seen you since yesterday when you left to take Bessy to the vet. You better have a good explanation, young man,” my dad’s voice booms.

“I’m sorry, Dad. I did take Bessy to the vet, and the vet said she is in good hands. Today, I went to the hockey tryouts for the best team in the county. And I made the team!”

“Jack, I am happy you made it, but hockey is a kid’s game. Your mom and I will not be alive forever, and we need you to take care of the farm. Besides, hockey is an expensive sport, and we don’t have that kind of money. We need you to be realistic. We just want the best for you, son.”

“But Dad, the team will provide all the equip—”

“No buts, Jack. Your place is here on the farm. One day, you will understand.”

“Okay Dad, I get it. I will tell the coach that I won’t be able to play with the team.”

I leave the farm feeling terrible. The amazing joy and light I felt earlier is now extinguished. I head back to the rink to break the news to the team coach.

“Hey Jack, you are going to be our secret weapon this year,” the coach shouts. The light starts flickering again inside, and I temporarily forget why I returned to the rink.

“Was there something else you need:?” the coach asks.

“Nothing, Coach. I can’t wait to play for the team. I probably will not be able to go to all of the practices though. My family needs me to help with farmwork.”

“That’s okay,” he responds. 

“Thank you, sir.”

I walk out of the rink feeling worried. How will I make sure my parents never find out what I did? My parents look older than their ages due to the constant stress of the farm. My dad taught me hockey, but he never has time to play anymore. I want to help them, but then I also fear being trapped forever at the farm. I look around town and am surprised to see that it is almost dark. I’m not even sure where my feet are taking me. I look up in surprise to see that I am back at Tom’s pond.

“What’s up Jack?” my friends holler.

 “My parents want me to stay at the farm, but I want to play hockey for the county team. I need you guys to please take care of my farm chores when I am at hockey practices and games.”

“Of course! We’re here to help.”

Gratitude flows through my body. I float from Tom’s pond to my house. As I walk up the stairs to my room, I look around at all the family heirlooms next to all of the garage sale finds. I want more out of life. I brush my teeth and head to sleep.

I wake up to the sounds and smells of my mom cooking breakfast. I race down the stairs but realize it was just my imagination. Making the team is messing with my senses. I review the schedule for practices and games until my parents wake up, and then I start doing my farm chores. I cannot believe I made the best team in the county but am still cleaning stables. 

One month later

“Tom, will you please take care of my farm chores while I am at the game?” I beg.

“Anytime,” he agrees. “I can’t believe your parents haven’t caught on.”

“Say a prayer they never do,” I reply before hanging up the phone. 

I grab my hockey gear. Today is the first hockey game for the county team. I arrive just in time to play. My team and I skate onto the ice and get into our formation. The other team looks terrible and plays even worse. They do not take a shot the whole game. We easily win the game 20-0, and we are all pumped. Our coach says we did a great job but that we need to work on a few things over the coming practices. 

I am dripping sweat like a dog coming out of a pool, but I quickly rush home to check on my friends and chores. My friends look like they have left, and I start hiding my hockey stuff. I head inside my house with my helmet in my hand. 

“Hello Jack,” my dad says.

“Hi Dad, I finished all my chores,” I say, hiding my helmet behind me.

“Good job son. You have never finished your chores so quickly. You can have the rest of the day off.”

“Thank you, Dad.” I rush up the stairs, hoping he did not see my helmet.

Four Months Later

After the first hiccup, I don’t have any close calls with my parents. They have no idea that my friends are completing my farm chores while I practice and play games. I am running to the hockey stadium for a game because the coach told us to get there two hours in advance.

“Guys, I am proud of you!” The coach continues, “We were not the best team in the league, but we made it to the semifinals. If we win this game, we’ll go to the finals in two weeks. Many NHL scouts will be in attendance at the finals. You guys could be noticed. So are we going to win or what?” 

“We are going to win!” we cheer.

“That’s what I want to hear. Now let’s start training.”

Coach makes Carl, our best scorer, and I go to one side of the arena to warm up. Carl takes as many shots as he can muster. A few get by me, but I save most of them. 

“Let’s go, Jack. You are on fire! If you continue saving like this, we will win the whole league,” Carl yaps.

It feels like forever, but eventually, the game starts. My team and I skate onto the ice and get into formation. The other team is bigger, stronger, and faster than us, but luckily we hold them to zero goals in the first period. In the second period, they start taking shot after shot. I just barely save them. We have not had a chance the whole game, but, by the end of the second period, we have found our groove. In the third period, the score is still 0-0 with 10 seconds remaining. Their left wing hits a rocket of a shot that I just barely stop. I get the rebound and pass to Carl, who scores. We win the game and my teammates start cheering. 

“Guys, stop. We need to first shake their hands and then we can celebrate,” I remind them.

We get up and walk over to the other team. I see their players are disappointed, and I hope we do not look too self-satisfied. I skate back to the bench. 

“Great job team! Who wants to go to Pazzos?”

“Coach, you’re kidding,” I exclaim. That is the best Italian restaurant in town. 

“I’m not. Now who wants to go?”

“We do!”

My team and I rush out of the building for Pazzos. I might get something that my parents will like, and I can give them the leftovers. But then they will wonder where I got the money to buy it. I instead order pasta. I suddenly remember that my parents may be worrying about where I am. I get up, say thank you to my team, and head home. I am four hundred feet away when I see my dad coming outside. Will does not see him approaching, and I can see the surprise on my dad’s face to see Will milking Bessy. 

I rush to him, admitting defeat. I am feeling terrible and disappointed in myself.

“What are you doing?” my dad yells at him. I can see the anger etched into every line on his face.

My friends run away, but I know they will forgive me. I am not sure how much trouble I will be in, though. I run up to my dad and he is seething with rage. How could I have been so stupid? I think.

“Jack, why are your friends here, and where have you been?” my dad questions. The disappointment is written all over his face.

“I have been playing hockey on a team, and my friends were here to take care of my chores,” I reply honestly.

“Jack, do you not see how boneheaded that is? If your friends messed something up, then we would have been broke and on the streets. We could have lost the farm,” my dad says matter-of-factly, like he is speaking to a two-year-old child.

“Dad, I taught them how to do my chores. They would not have messed anything up,” I reply defensively. I am ashamed that I let my parents down.

“Jack, are you arguing with me? You are officially grounded for two months. And there is no more hockey.”

“Yes Dad,” I say, slowly heading up to my room with my head hanging down. I am miserable. 

Two Weeks Later

“Jack, your dad and I are going to take Bessy’s calf to the vet for a check-up. We need you to take care of the farm while we are gone,” my mom says.

“I got it, Mom,” I reply. 

I hear my parents closing the front door and turning on the engine of our truck. I want to call my friends over so I can go to the hockey finals, but something stops me. My parents have sacrificed so much for me, and all they want is for me to take over the farm. I feel guilty that instead of repaying them for their sacrifices, I was sneaking around to play hockey. I almost decide to skip the finals, but then I look around at our old house. My parents deserve more. They are the most selfless people I know. This house does not reflect all the hard work that they did in their lives. They deserve a mansion. I know I can give them more through hockey. I dash to the phone.

“On our way to your house,” Mike says as soon as he answers. “Today is the final day of hockey. If you win, you might be drafted! Go get ‘em!”

I run to my room, hoping I will not be late. I grab my hockey gear and head to the stadium. The announcers are already reading the lineups by the time I arrive.

“Jack, there you are. I was worried you were going to miss the game. You will be playing center, because Jimmy already has on the goalie pads,” coach says.

“Sure thing, Coach,” I reply.

I skate onto the ice and take my position. The other team prepared better and got out to a 4-0 lead. I get a goal by faking a pass to Carl but taking a shot. In the second period, the coach has me in the goal. Nothing gets by me, but no one on my team can score a goal. Miraculously, we start scoring in the third period. It comes down to the final seconds, and we tie the game by the time the final horn sounds. Coach calls us into a huddle, reading us the order of the penalty shooters. I will be shooting fifth and playing goalie the whole time. Our team makes three of our shots, and they score three goals on me going into my shot. I am the very last shooter. When I am skating to the puck, I see Will. My parents are sitting right next to him. I freeze. I do not know how long they have been there, but I feel ashamed of my actions. I reflect on how my parents have always worked so hard to give me a good life. I snap out of my thoughts just in time to get ready for the penalty shot. I use that guilt and energy to hit a wicked shot that ends the game. My team throws all their gear and makes a big pile around me. After the trophies are given out, my coach hands me the MVP trophy for the game. 

I am walking out and see a small man in a black suit. “Great game, Jack,” he says.

“Thank you. I could have played better, though,” I reply.

“You are humble and talented. I would like to offer you a chance to play for the Boston Bruins. Come try out.”

My brain is going a thousand miles a minute. I have wanted to play hockey my whole life. I have waited for this very moment. Then, I remember my parents need me to take care of the farm. 

“Thank you sir. You flatter me with the offer, but I can’t accept.”

“If you are certain. Here is my number just in case you change your mind.”

I take the number and start walking to where my parents were sitting in the stands. I am hoping I made the right decision. I walk up the stairs to the third row and see my parents.

“Hello, son. You played great,” my dad says as he shakes my hand.

“Thank you Dad.” I ask, “But who told you I was playing?” 

“Ah, I thought you might ask that question. When we got back to the farm, we were surprised to see your friends doing your chores again. They finally confessed that you were playing in the finals today, so we got in the truck and drove over.”

“Mom and Dad, I am sorry that I disobeyed your orders! I was offered a deal by a scout, but I declined because I know you want me to work on the farm. I am so sorry,” I tell them apologetically.

“Jack, hockey is your dream. You are not just okay. You are amazing. You have a real future at playing on a professional team. Your dad’s and my whole lives have been dedicated to you. We will be okay with whatever you choose to do in your life. And whatever it may be, we will always support you,” my mom tells me.

I am stunned. “So I can give the scout a call and tell him I accept?” 

“Yes,” my dad laughs. “We have always just wanted you to be happy. We thought that would be the farm, but it’s obvious now that it’s hockey.”

My mom hands me her old phone, and I take it. I type in the number on the scout’s business card.

“Well, I didn’t think I would hear from you so quickly,” the scout answers.

“I’ve changed my mind. I want to play for the Bruins!”

“I knew you would come around. You’ll be training with us daily for the next six months. And if you continue to play like you did this season, then we’ll make things official in the draft.”

Six Months Later

My mom, dad, and I are all dressed in our Sunday finest for the National Hockey League draft. I am reminiscing about the last year and how so much has happened when we arrive at the NHL headquarters. We walk inside and take our reserved seats at the front of the audience. We are joined by Will, Tom, and Mike. The wait is tiring, but eventually, I hear something that makes me so excited I almost choke on my water.

“And with the 15th pick in the draft, the Boston Bruins pick Jack Hamilton,” an announcer booms.

I walk up onto the stage and shake hands with the team owner. When I take a picture with him, I smile at my parents and friends, knowing I would not be here without their unconditional love and support.