MOOSE ON THE LOOSE!!!—in giant, bold letters. Underneath, also in bold letters but not quite as large: Bear, moose, and more terrorize local young people.
“It’s your night off, Donny,” Alice’s mom said as Alice began to read the article. Most of the story was wrong. It talked about the bear and the lockdown. They interviewed Brady Sykes, of all people, who said he was glad to get out of ELA classwork. Alice hoped Mrs. Zee read that and really gave it to him.
Uncle Donny pulled off his hat and held it in front of him, like he was trying to be a gentleman. “Tonight I am here to be the hero, rescuing you from the doldrums of your day-to-day existence.”
Alice looked up from the paper. “Gee, thanks,” her mom said.
“Also, I am here to celebrate my fellow hero, Alice, the saver of the moose.” He took the paper from her and read out loud, “The moose was led away by one child, reportedly Alice Dingwell, daughter of local legend Buzz Dingwell.” He shook the paper. “I see they left out the part about your being the niece of local super-legend Donny Dingwell.”
Alice’s mom rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
Alice took the paper back. Becky Clancy was quoted. She was all in a tizzy, saying the streets weren’t safe and demanding to know what animal control was going to do about the “scourge of wild creatures overrunning our streets.” That was hardly accurate. Alice skimmed some more until she got to the part about Brady’s dad: Alan Sykes was on hand and was ready to shoot the moose if necessary. “My priority is protecting this community,” he said. “No matter the threat, I know what my responsibility is.”
Alice frowned. They had not been in any danger. Not even for one minute.
“Why are you really here?” Alice’s mom asked Donny.
“It’s Family-Style Spaghetti Night at the Spaghetti Shed. Last time I went by myself and tried to get the family portion, Ashley gave me a hard time. She said I had to bring a family.”
Alice’s mom smirked. “Any family?”
“Well, sure, I suppose any family would do. But I’d prefer it to be my family.”
Alice’s mom stood up and wiped her hands on her jeans. “I could be convinced,” she said.
Alice’s heart soared. She loved the Spaghetti Shed. She dropped the paper on the table. The second story on the front page was about the park. Park Construction Halted . . . Forever? The storm had damaged the equipment, and there wasn’t money in the town budget to replace it, which made some people question if they had enough money for a new park. There was a picture of Brady’s dad and his quote: “Do we really need a Buzz Dingwell Park?”
Alice pushed the newspaper away in disgust. Her mom handed Alice her raincoat. “So, a moose, huh? You never mentioned that to me.”
“We were totally safe.”
Her mom arched her eyebrows but didn’t push Alice. “It’s been quite the week, huh? Crazy stuff going on at the hospital. I swear we’ve had more fistfights in the past two weeks than in my whole time working there.”
“What are they fighting about?” Alice asked.
“What does anyone fight about?” her mom replied as she shrugged on her own coat. “Money, politics, romance, cars.”
“Sports,” Donny added.
“You know what I think most of it is, though? It’s just people wanting to be angry about something.”
“Why would people want to be angry?” Alice asked.
“Sometimes it feels good to be angry.” Her mom sighed and pushed her bangs out of her face.
“You know what makes me angry?” Donny asked. “Being hungry. Let’s go!”
He hustled them into the car, and they drove through town to the old barn that had been turned into Alice’s favorite restaurant. “You aren’t the first Dingwell to have a run-in with a moose, you know,” Donny said as he eased his truck into a parking spot.
It was warm and buzzing with most of the tables already taken. The smell of garlic overwhelmed Alice. Oversize televisions showed football and basketball. The Bruins game hadn’t started yet.
Everyone smiled and waved as they came in, and Donny stopped at several of the tables to chat. Alice’s stomach grumbled. Her mom looked around the room as if checking for someone. Alice figured she was remembering who wasn’t there.
“How’s the team looking this year, Alice?” Jed Brighton asked her. His kids had played hockey and had grown up and moved out of state like so many kids did, but Jed still came to all their games. He sat in the top row of the bleachers and cheered in his low, loud voice.
“Um,” Alice began.
“We’re looking strong,” Donny said. “That Lewis Marble can really skate, and the older boys are stepping it up, too. Got a real nice line we’re looking forward to testing.”
Alice peeked over at the booth where they always sat. It was empty, and she said, “Donny, I’m really hungry.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, and they walked over to the booth. Before they even sat down, Ashley Spriggs arrived. She was maybe five years younger than Donny. She had lots of blond hair that she wore in a gravity-defying bun on the top of her head. She put a bowl of popcorn on the shiny wooden table and said, “Your regular pitcher, Donny?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “If by regular, you mean root beer.”
Alice glanced at her mom.
“Fine,” she said.
Donny held out his fist for a bump. Alice tapped it, and Donny grinned.
“So a pitcher of root beer and the spaghetti and meatball family special,” he said.
“Back in a minute,” Ashley said.
Uncle Donny took a handful of popcorn and started throwing pieces into his mouth.
“So, what’s the story about the moose?” Alice asked.
Uncle Donny threw a piece at her mouth. She batted it away. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything about her reflexes and how they hadn’t dulled at all.
Before he could start the story, though, Frank Lakim slid into the booth next to him.
“JoEllen,” he said.
Alice’s mom nodded and took a piece of popcorn from the bowl.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Frank said. “Both of you.”
Alice thought she saw her mom roll her eyes.
Alice knew she was the one being left out. She scooped up a handful of popcorn and tried throwing them into her own mouth. She got three in a row before one bounced off her cheek.
“I heard about construction on the park,” Frank said. “How it stalled.”
“Temporarily,” Donny said.
Alice chewed the popcorn in her mouth slowly. The buttery pieces were suddenly too salty and too rich.
“Maybe,” Frank said. He nodded toward the bar. Alan Sykes sat there, a golden-hued beer and a plate of cheese fries in front of him. Alice loved cheese fries.
“What do you mean?” Donny asked. Alice knew exactly what Frank meant.
“Alan is thinking that maybe the town should use the space for something different.”
“Like what?” Alice’s mom asked.
“There’s some interest from TotalMart.”
Donny shook his head and leaned back. “No way one of those is moving into Independence.”
“Folks could use the jobs, Donny,” Frank said. “That’s how Alan’s selling it. You know it’s true. Since the mill closed—”
“The mill closed almost thirty years ago,” Donny said.
“And what a mess that was,” Frank replied. “Thought the town was going to rip itself apart.”
Alice stopped tossing popcorn. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“It’s complicated, kiddo,” Frank said. “Boring grown-up stuff.”
“Boring grown-up stuff like what?” Alice asked.
Frank sighed. “Back in the seventies, the mill was sold to some big conglomerate in Iowa—”
“Indiana,” Donny corrected.
“One of those I-states,” Frank said. “It doesn’t really matter. What matters is the mill stopped being pr
ofitable in the nineties. Paper was being made more cheaply in other places. They were going to sell it. Some folks wanted to give ’em big tax breaks to stay. Others wanted to try to talk to some of the international firms. There was one from South Africa that was buying up Maine mills. Other people wanted the town to buy the mill itself.”
“What happened?” Alice asked.
“Nothing. The town couldn’t decide. Too much fighting. The mill failed. People lost their jobs.”
Alice thought of the empty mills and the empty storefronts.
Donny shook his head.
“The answer isn’t some big-box store,” Alice’s mom said.
“We’ll bounce back,” Donny agreed. “I’ve been reading; towns in the southern part of the state, they’re fixing up their mills, bringing in new businesses.”
“That takes time. And money. TotalMart is here now.”
“Whose side are you on?” Alice’s mom asked.
“What do you mean?” Frank asked. “Why do you think I sat down? Alan’s going to make a move.”
Alice swallowed her popcorn and wished Ashley would hurry with the root beer.
“Let him try,” Donny said.
“Buzz wouldn’t have just sat here eating popcorn,” Frank said.
“Don’t,” Alice’s mom said. Just one word. Frank shut his mouth.
Donny drummed his fingers on the table. “Not now, okay?” Frank looked at his meaty hands.
“It’s family night,” Donny said. “Let me think on it.” Then he grinned, like he was shaking off the bad mood. “The moose got into the mill once it closed. Remember that?” he asked Frank.
“It got stuck in some of the old equipment.”
“Right,” Donny said. “I was just about to tell Alice about the time we played hockey with a moose. You ever hear about that?”
“I’ve heard all Buzz’s stories,” Frank said. “And I think my supper’s ready.” He slid back out of the booth and gave Donny a little salute.
“’Night, JoEllen. G’night, Alice. Keep that glove down.”
Alice looked at the table, but her mom said goodbye.
“Okay,” Donny said. “Now we can get down to business. Here is the incredible true story of the world’s worst hockey team and the most amazing game ever played.”
Thunk!
Waxwing startled from her sleep, falling out of the tiny bed in the home that the girl gave her.
She blinked open her eyes and saw—
Meow!
Waxwing hopped back from the evil cat whose face filled one of the small openings of the house.
Escape! It was her only hope. She must go into the woods. There she could find Moose and confess her failure.
Waxwing moved slowly. The cat struck! It pressed its paw through the gap. Its front leg was not long enough, thankfully, and Waxwing darted away.
The house had stairs, and Waxwing took them, hopping carefully down one to the next.
Oh, how she wished her wing worked! She would fly above this dreadful cat. Instead she slipped out an opening on the lower level. She dropped to the floor, and almost instantly the cat was upon her. She tucked under something warm and shiny—a little overhang that protected her. Slowly, slowly, trying not to draw its attention, she hopped. She could see her exit route: a small hole in the floor that led who knew where. She just knew the cat couldn’t follow her.
The cat feigned indifference, but Waxwing was wise enough to know that trick. She never took her eyes off the cat. Closer, closer, closer, and then, squeeze! She dropped through the hole, landing on a pile of soft leaves. Outdoors? Yes! She was outdoors. There were the woods! Her home! She moved slowly toward them. There were many dangers for a bird with a broken wing.
“You know the pond out behind that development on the other side of town? Benson’s Pond?” Donny asked. “That used to be the site of mammoth, mega hockey games. It was the Frozen Four and the Stanley Cup and the Olympics all rolled into one. Boys would show up and we’d split into teams and just play our hearts out. Your dad and I would always be on the same team. Here come the Dingwell boys! We were undefeatable. It was great. Maybe a little too easy, though, so your dad and I started coming up with ways to challenge ourselves. Like, if I was in goal, I’d keep my eyes shut until I heard the skates practically on top of me. You should try that, actually, for practice.”
Alice squirmed. Everyone talked like she’d be back on the ice any minute. Even Donny. Especially Donny.
“Anyway, your dad, he would grab a left-hand stick and try that. Or he’d make himself count to three when he got the puck before going on a breakaway. But we’d still always win.”
“Donny!”
Alice looked at the sound of the booming voice. It was Jimmy Roberge, whose daughter Emma was in Alice’s class. Alice looked but didn’t see her.
Donny reached up, and the men shook hands.
Mr. Roberge asked how she and her mom were doing, which was such a strange thing to ask them, Alice thought. Everyone knew they were awful. Alice’s mom told him they were doing well.
He sat down in the booth next to Donny.
“I’m just telling them about the old pond hockey games,” Donny said.
Mr. Roberge helped himself to some of their popcorn. “Those were pretty legendary,” he said.
“Remember how mad Alan Sykes would get?” Donny asked.
“Oh, he hated to lose.” Mr. Roberge turned to Alice. “He made up a rule that no brothers could be on the same team just so Donny and your dad couldn’t play together. I mean, he certainly wasn’t worried about the Taylor brothers.” He leaned in toward Alice. “Never met a smarter pair of brothers, but hockey was not their sport. You know Jason Taylor is working for NASA now?”
Donny nodded. “And Shane is a professor down at Boston University. Smart guys. I mean, maybe not quite as smart as Buzz and me—”
“Don’t recall the Taylor brothers falling off any buildings.”
“You fell off a building?” Alice asked.
“Now see, you’re starting rumors about me. I didn’t fall off any buildings. Anyway, we aren’t talking about that—”
“Yeah, we don’t want to summon the witch,” Mr. Roberge said with a laugh.
“Anyway,” Donny said. “Your dad was not happy about that rule. No one but no one splits up the Dingwell brothers.”
“Are you talking about the World’s Worst Hockey Team?” asked Bobby Bixby, a tall, lanky man. He was leaning over from the booth behind theirs.
“Classic game,” Mr. Roberge said.
Bobby Bixby came around the end of their table. He had a little spaghetti sauce on the front of his white T-shirt. “I am a proud member of that team. Pip-squeak they called me. They put me in goal! And who was that kid who Buzz grabbed? Someone’s little brother?”
“Dale Zelonis!” Uncle Donny said. “He was nine years old and spent every game chasing our loose pucks when they went off the ice and into the snow. That was Buzz’s team. The saddest team in the history of hockey. Everyone thought he was doing it to say that even with the worst players behind him, he could still win the game. But—Well, here’s what happened.” Donny leaned back, basking in the attention.
Ashley returned with the pitcher of root beer. She stayed and listened as Uncle Donny picked up the story.
“It’s a Saturday in February. It’s maybe ten degrees out, and the sun is high in the sky. One of those days where the sun is so bright on the snow you think you’re going to go blind.”
“Your dad and his team come marching in like soldiers. Their faces are dead serious, not even a hint of a smile. They skate out on the ice and do two laps around the pond,” Mr. Roberge continued.
“Then he brings them together. He talks to them in a low, quiet voice. None of the rest of us can hear it. What did he say to you?” Uncle Donny asked Bobby Bixby.
“I’ll never tell,” Bobby replied.
“Well, they start banging their sticks against the ice, louder and louder
, and they’re whooping up at the sky. Alan Sykes looks a little scared, but we all take the ice, and the game starts. Your dad gets the puck first, of course, scoops it right away from Alan, and he’s breaking down the ice right toward me. He’s smiling. You know that smile, right? Lopsided and wild? He’s got that look and he’s coming so fast and no one is on him. I’m bracing myself, keeping my eye on the puck. There’s only one person who can stop your dad’s slap shot, and that’s me.”
“But he doesn’t shoot!” Bobby Bixby exclaimed. “He flicks it over to little Dale Zelonis, who smacks it right past Donny.”
“I mean, it was no great shot, but I was not expecting it at all. Nice trick, right?”
“Dale was talking about that for weeks,” Ashley said. She picked up the empty popcorn bowl and walked back toward the kitchen.
“Now we’re on to them. Your dad gets the puck again, another breakaway. But I’ve got my eye on Dale and Jason. They aren’t going to fool me again. Your dad skates the puck around the net. Dale and Jason wait in front of me. Both of them are concentrating so hard you can actually see the gears moving. Next thing I know, your dad’s in front of me, Jason has the puck, and then slam! Bounces right off the pipes and into the net.
“The next play, Alan gets the puck. He’s going down the ice with his wingmen beside him. Your dad is skating like he’s doing a little twirl around the park. No urgency at all. Bobby, you were standing stock-still, and let me tell you, I wanted to yell out, ‘Hand up! Hand up!’ But you’re just standing there, and Alan is ready to take his shot when out of nowhere comes Dale, and he checks Alan.”
“He checks him!” Bobby exclaimed.
“Alan barely moves, but it’s long enough for your dad to get the puck. He and Jason come streaking down the ice, passing the puck back and forth. Jason shoots. I dive. And it dribbles under my armpit. Under my armpit! How does that even happen? Well, Alan is now convinced that I’m a traitor, and he pulls me from goal and has me sitting on the bench. But it doesn’t matter. Your dad’s team beat us four to two. You know how many goals your dad scored? None. Absolutely none.” Donny took a big swig of root beer. “You see, that’s the thing about your dad. He doesn’t like to lose, but he’s no show-off.” As Donny spoke about her dad, the other men started to look away. Alice could feel them getting nervous, like they weren’t sure where this conversation was going or if they were going to talk about where Buzz was now. “He was the best hockey player I ever saw, and of course he knew he was good, just like you and Lewis know you’re good, but he also knew that hockey is a team sport. Most of life is a team sport. I don’t know what he said to those guys, but he convinced them that they were winners. That’s what’s truly amazing about your dad. It’s what made him a truly amazing hockey player, what made him a good soldier, and what makes him a great father.”
The Story Web Page 11
