A/N: Hi everyone! Yes, this is my Miracle fic. I just loved the story so much, I couln't help but spice it up a bit. I hope it's not half bad, dispite the fact that it's unorigional and probably a Mary Sue, so if you don't like it talk to me we'll work something out.

Nicolette Brooks sat with her father in the waiting of the A.H.A building. She was reading a magazine and her father was drawing up hockey plays in his notebook when Walter Bush came out of the Conference room. That's when her father got up and gave her a slight pat on the leg.

"I'll be right back, Nikki," he said. She rolled her eyes at him and huffed in frustration. She had no idea why she had to be here, she was nineteen there were a million different things she could be doing right now, other than waiting for her dad to get our of some stupid hockey meeting. Living at home was a pesky little problem. If you didn't humor your parents, they made you pay rent.

She wasn't fond of her looks at all, but her mother was blond and her father had dark hair, so what did she get, this horrible, thin, light auburn hair. No, she didn't understand it either. More over her mother had wanted her to have her father's eyes, so she wound up with the same blue, deep-set, almond-shaped eyes, magnified by her horn-rimmed glasses, having inherited his near-sightedness as well.

An hour later she still didn't know why she had to be there for this. Somewhere inside she understood what her father wanted most was an apprentice. He wanted to be able to come home from practice or a big game and discuss why things played out the way they had. Hockey was his whole life, and he wanted to have a family who understood what it meant to him.

"You ready to go?" he inquired as he emerged from the conference room, looking a little let down. She nodded graciously and followed him out to the car.

"Boy it's really coming down outside," Herb began as he opened the door.

"Hey, how'd the meeting go," Patti Brooks inquired of her husband and eldest daughter as they entered the house.

"Aww, I'm not their guy," herb replied, going to the kitchen to set his stuff down. He went into the fridge as he continued. "The only reason they had me go out there was because two other coaches already said no." He looked at the door of the pantry.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Come on Herb it's a costume party," Patti Brooks pleaded with her husband. "Nick and Nora Charles, the thin man."

"I'm not wearing that," he protested.

"Daddy you have to," Nicolette begged. "Please, daddy please!"

"They're dashing," Patti continued. "I've got a mustache for you and a little dog for me." She went off into frantic barking.

"Mom," Nikki laughed. "That has to be the craziest thing I've ever seen."

In the middle of the party that night, the Brooks Home received a call from the USOC. Herb got the job, coaching the Olympic ice hockey team. He called Nicolette into his office; she was still dressed up like Pippy Long Stockings with a wire in her braids.

"Nicolette," he started with a crafty looking smile.

"Uh-oh," she breathed immediately. Nothing good ever came of a conversation that started with 'Nicolette.'

"I got the job," he said with a wide smile.

"That's great dad," she proceeded with caution. "What's the catch?"

"Guess who's my new hire?" he answered.

"Oh, dad, please, no," she begged.

"You're my new liaison to the hockey team," he told her. "That means you get to know the team, and if there's any big problems you come see me."

"Oh dad, I can't spend all my time running around with a bunch of smelly hockey players," she protested.

"Well you're not in school, what else were you planning to do?"

"Not in school yet," she reminded him. "I'm taking a break year before college."

"You'll have fun," he insisted. "You may even start to like hockey."

"Dad!" She started up. "I won't ever like hockey. If you want someone to discus plays with, call Coach Patrick. Please, just leave me alone!"

"This isn't up for discussion young lady," he returned.

So instead of joining the Peace Corp, or working with disabled children at the local schools during the majority of her break year, she would be traveling...with a hockey team. Something was just screaming to her that this would be the break year from hell.

The first day of Olympic ice hockey boot camp, Nikki was sitting in the top-box-area looking thing, to her estimation, and he began trying to explain everything that was going on with the players below.

"Now see number 14 there is off-sides," Herb explained to his extremely bored daughter. "Because he's between—"

"Dad, I played soccer as a kid," she droned. "I know what off-sides is. Now please don't make me hate you and let me get back to my book."

"Wait, wait a minute," Coach Brooks urged. "Take a look at this guy Mark Johnson; he's easily one of the best skaters out there." She looked out onto the ice and humored her father with a nod.

"He's very good," she answered. "Very fluid; he's make a very good figure skater. You don't think there's any chance of him wanting to be my partner for ice dance is there?"

"I'd say slim to none," her father answered, as Assistant Coach Craig Patrick entered the room.

"Hi, Nikki," he greeted her. She waved at him as she spun around on her swivel chair. "So Doc cleared him, he says it's Just a sprain."

"That's good," Coach Brooks answered, looking down at a piece of paper.

"I just wanted you to know how much I'm looking forward to coaching with you," Craig continued.

"You were one hell of a player, Craig," Herb admitted. "You're gonna make one hell of a Coach."

"Argh! Gag me with a spoon!" Nicolette yelled as she spun around on her chair. Herb shot her a stern look. "Shutting up." Herb handed Craig a piece of paper.

"What's this?" He asked.

"Twenty-six names," Herb answered. "The tough part's going to be getting it down to twenty before opening ceremony."

"This is the final roster," Craig gaped. "You're kidding me, right? This is our first day, Herb. We've got a week of this. You're missing some of the best players."

"I'm not looking for the best players, Craig, I'm looking for the right ones," Herb answered.

"You've Jim Craig to back up Steve Janaszak?"

"Other way around."

"Jimmy Craig's a looker," Nicolette said, only to be ignored by the two coaches.

"Other way around? I'm sorry; didn't Janaszak just win you a Junior National Championship?"

"Jannie is solid goal keeper, but we're not playing for the Junior National Championship."

"You know people I've talked to say Craig's game had been off since his mom died."

"Did they ever see him when his game was on?"

"Jimmy Craig's mom died," Nikki gasped, looking up from her reclined position. She looked at her father and her eyes narrowed. "Did we send flowers?"

"NICOLETTE MARIE!" Her father reprimanded her for her sarcasm on such a serious matter.

"Sorry," she said uneasily.

"Please just keep quiet for a while," Herb ordered.

"Sorry," she continued and began to swing herself around on the chair once more.

"What about the advisory staff," Craig continued. "Aren't they supposed to have a say in this?"

"I guess technically," Herb continued.

"My daddy's in trouble," Nikki cooed. There was a loud clan and an audible 'Oof' as Nicolette's chair flipped over.

Nicolette was standing at the top of the stairs as Coach Patrick began to read off the twenty-six names of the players her father wanted on the team. Even though she wasn't familiar with many of the young men her father had wanted, she was able to recognize which face in the crowd the name belonged to. The guy would immediately loosen up and look around the crowd of young men. And then the last name:

"Eruzione. And that's the roster for now. The rest of you thanks for coming out." The Majority of the boys got up and walked out crest fallen. The remaining hockey players began greeting one another. She was somewhat agitated to find Robbie McClanahan among them. She immediately found her intense hatred of him boiling to the surface before:

"Take a good look around boys," Hearing her father's voice surprised even her as the coach came down the stairs. "Cause they're the one's getting off easy. We're putting a few of you on reserve, in case someone gets injured or their game goes to hell. The final roster will have twenty names on it, so more of you are going home. Give ninety-nine percent; you'll make my job very, very easy. I'll be your coach; I won't be your friend. That's my daughter Nicolette...she won't be your friend either, so if you need one of those you can talk to Doc or Coach Patrick."

"Congratulations," Craig's voice carried as Nicolette and Coach Brooks started out to the car. "Before you go pick up one of these. You've got a little homework to do...before you celebrate."

"Nikki!" She heard Robbie calling after her. She huffed in annoyance. "Nikki!"

"Dad, I'll catch up with you," she said, turning back to Robbie. "What do you want?"

"A bunch of us are going to O'Reilly's tonight to celebrate, you want to come?" He asked.

"Robert McClanahan," she shot. "I am nineteen, I cannot drink, and I also hate you, why on earth would I go to a bar with you? Why on earth would you ask me to go to a bar with you...unless you intend to have the whole hockey team gang rape me, but that can't be it because I have been told numerous times by you that I was an—what was that word again—ugly freak?" He looked at her momentarily stuned.

"Did you just call me Robert?" he gaped.

"Yes I did, I'm that mad," she shot at him.

"Nikki, what if I'm just trying to burry the hatchet," he insisted. "I just want to say sorry for whatever you think I did to hurt you."

"What I think you did. Suddenly I'm a deranged psychopath that imagines college hockey players dumping buckets of cold water on my head, whipping off the ice and into the stands, and calling me ugly names to my face?"

"No, that's not it," he insisted. "I'm sorry about the shower and the name calling...I just want to be friends?" His eyes lit up slightly, what a look, he thought he could twirl her around his little finger, but unfortunately for him, her immense hatred had expanded with time, and she was in no mood for his typical antics.

"Yea right," she said marching off. Her father was waiting in the car for her, looking slightly exasperated.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I just had a talk with Walter," he answered. "He doesn't seem to like the way I'm doing things. What did Robbie have to say?"

"He wanted me to come to a bar with the team," she said in disgust.

"You should go," her father said. Her jaw dropped to the floor.

"Dad," she said. "You want me to go to a bar with a bunch of college guys? Have you no concern for my well being...physical and mental."

"Of course I do," he answered. "And every single one of those boys knows if you come home hurt or hung over, their hockey dreams fly out the window. You can drink soda, you can get to know the boys you'll have a good time."

"No I won't," she insisted. "Daddy, don't make me go, please."

"Go," he insisted.

"I want to talk to Mommy," she protested. "This isn't fair."

"I'm not saying that you have to go," Herb started. "I'm just saying it would make me very happy for you to socialize with the players."

"You socialize with the players," she shot. He gave her s stern look.

"Ok," she said in defeat. "I forfeit. I'll go." At this point she began to wonder what would be more painful: going to the bar, or smothering herself in her pillow.

A/N: Sounding a little familiar to some of you. In all fairness this idea probably sprun into the heads of every boy crazy teen aged girl to see the movie. I'll continue for one supportive review.