by Lindsay Eyre
The rink began to spin. I shook off Aristotle’s hand. “Leave me alone!” I tried to say, as bright red secret power juice came gushing from my mouth.
* * *
Later that night, I went over to Georgie’s house. I stood on his porch for a long time before I made myself knock. Finally, Georgie opened the door and said, “You’ve been standing there forever. What do you want?”
“Revenge,” I said. Okay, whispered.
Georgie blinked at me. “Revenge?”
“On Jamie,” I said.
“Oh!” he said. “Revenge on Jamie.” He leaned against the door frame. “She is pretty rude. After you left, the rink manager made us get off the ice so they could clean it up. Jamie kept talking about how stupid you were to throw up.”
“I didn’t want to throw up!” I cried.
“I know,” Georgie said. “You don’t have to yell.”
“Sorry,” I said. I sat down on the porch steps.
Georgie sat down beside me. “It’s not that big a deal. My dad was only a little bit mad.”
I wrapped my arms around my knees and squeezed them tight. “Your dad was mad?”
“Oh yeah,” Georgie said. “He really wanted that practice time, because there’s only two practices left before our first game, and he says we don’t have any reliable scorers except for Jamie. He asked me if I wanted to practice shooting this weekend, but I said no.”
“I’m going to be a reliable shooter,” I said. “You could be too. We have to think like a torpedo like Max said.”
Georgie snorted. “That torpedo thing’s not going to work.”
“Yes, it is,” I said.
He shook his head. “Thinking like a torpedo is not going to make me any better at hitting the puck with that weenie little stick.”
“It will!” I said. “You have to give it a try. Max is in high school. He knows way more things than you. He’s practically a hockey professional.”
“You know,” Georgie said, as if he didn’t want to talk about Max anymore, “Jamie is kind of a girly-girl.”
“She’s a total girly-girl!” I said. “She likes to wear skirts and nail polish, and her hair is always poofy.”
Georgie leaned back on his elbows and turned his head. I could practically see his thoughts bubbling. “Girly-girls don’t like gross things.”
“Yeah,” I said. “They don’t. Stuff like worms and slime —”
Georgie nodded. “And bugs and snails.”
“And slugs,” I said. I sat up very straight. Every part of me was going tingly. Slugs. I stood up. There was an army of slugs in my backyard just waiting to be revenge. “Thanks!” I said, walking down the steps. “That’s a great idea.”
Georgie stood up too. He climbed the porch steps, then opened the door and looked at me one more time. “Good luck,” he said. “I think you’re going to need it.”
“It’ll be great!” I said. “See you tomorrow!” Slugs! It was perfect!
As I walked back home, another thought occurred to me: I could teach everyone on my team how to be a torpedo! Then everyone would score! Our team would go from just Jamie scoring to everyone being scoring professors.
My dad would come to my games to see something like that. He’d probably even come to my practices. I could tell him how I’d shared the torpedo idea with everyone instead of keeping it to myself, and he’d be so proud. Plus, Coach Diaz would see my efforts and make me team captain.
Monday’s practice would be the best ever.
Monday morning, I gave the twins their instructions. “Here,” I said, handing Cale a large Tupperware. “Fill this with slugs. I need it before hockey practice this afternoon.”
“Cool,” Tate said.
“Awesome,” Cale said. “I never thought of putting slugs in a Tupperware before. We could put slugs in everything — Mom’s pots, her measuring cups!”
“After you fill up the Tupperware,” I said, but they were already running outside.
* * *
I was the first member of my team to get to the rink that afternoon. Carolina was the second.
“Hi!” I said as she approached the benches. “Have you ever thought about being a torpedo?”
Carolina looked at me, shook her head, mumbled something about getting a drink, and hurried away.
So that didn’t go so great.
Munion number one was the next one to arrive. I really did not want to talk to her, but if I was going to be team captain, I had to. “You know, if you think about being a torpedo while you’re shooting, you’ll probably score,” I told her.
“You almost threw up on me,” she said. Then she sat down far away.
So that didn’t go so great either.
“Time to warm up!” Coach Diaz called just as I was trying to convince Quinn to meditate with me. “We’re going to take turns skating down the ice and taking shots.”
“I’m going to be a torpedo, Coach,” I said as I skated by.
“Oh, good,” he said.
My team was forming a line behind Jamie, who always had to go first. “All right, everybody!” I said. “Think like a torpedo and you’ll score!”
“What’s she talking about?” Jamie Redmond said as loud as she could to munion number two.
“She keeps talking about tornadoes,” munion number two said. “She’s so weird.”
Coach blew the whistle, and Jamie took off like a tiger on the hunt. She got to the net so fast, she’d scored before I could blink. Jamie’s munions went next. Both of them missed, but they got down the ice with the puck. Miranda did her best to skate down the ice — she only fell once. Georgie skated down the ice but forgot the puck. Josh skated down the ice and shot the puck right into the net. Bam!
Wow, I thought. He must have thought like a torpedo!
I was next. This was my very last chance to impress Coach. I closed my eyes and pictured myself as a torpedo, terrifying the ice. Then I opened my eyes and took off, the puck inside my stick. I had to slow down, because the puck kept trying to drift away, but I made it to the net. Torpedo, I thought. Torpedo!
“You can do it, Sylvie!” Miranda shouted.
I swung back the stick. Torpedo, torpedo, torpedo.
BAM! My stick smacked the ice. The puck went a little to the left and hit my skates. Then it just sat there, not moving.
I’d pictured myself being a torpedo, the best torpedo I could be, and it hadn’t worked.
Jamie and her munions laughed.
“Next!” Coach Diaz called.
I checked the clock and skated over to Coach. “Can I go to the bathroom?” I asked.
He frowned, looked at my stick as if he wished it would do what he wanted it to do, then nodded. “Go. But be fast about it. I want you to try that again.”
I hesitated, because I needed to try that again. Maybe I wasn’t scaring the ice enough. But it was now or some other time for the slugs.
Georgie, spying on our conversation, raised his eyebrows at me. I raised my eyebrows back, then skated away.
Jamie caught up with me before I could get off the ice. “You close your eyes when you shoot,” she said.
I turned to her aghastly. “I do not!”
“You do,” she said. “I’ve noticed it before. Your eyes completely shut when you swing.”
“No way,” I said. “I know how important it is to keep your eyes open! I play baseball!”
“You play baseball?” she said.
“Very funny,” I said. “Ha ha. As if you didn’t —”
“Jamie!” Coach shouted. “It’s your turn. Sylvie, please hurry.”
Jamie skated away without even a backward glance.
“Yeah, right,” I muttered as I moved off the ice. “Like you don’t know I play baseball. Close my eyes, yeah, right. I don’t do that. Only lame-os would do something like that.”
I looked over at Jamie, whose eyes were wide open. She was just trying to make me nervous so I’d never score.
I stepped off the i
ce and got down on my knees. Thanks to the wall around the rink, I was out of sight. I crawled over to my things, pulled off my skates, and hid them under my bag. Then I rummaged around for the Tupperware my brothers had given me right before I left for practice. It was full to the lid with my secret weapon.
I could just walk over and tip the slugs inside Jamie’s bag, but it was risky. Georgie had caught Jamie zipping up my bag when she was ruining my lotion. Her bag was leaning up against one of the metal benches near the rink, so I crawled closer. The bench would make the perfect hiding place for my mission, so I set down my slugs and squeezed beneath it.
Squeezing underneath a not-so-tall metal bench is a painful thing to do. The bench scraped the skin on my back, it bruised my kneecaps, and it nearly popped my shoulder from its joint, but you have to do things like that when something is important.
Now hidden, I pulled the Tupperware of slugs underneath the bench with me.
The whistle blew. “All right, folks!” Coach shouted. “Gather round. I’ve got an announcement.”
Announcement! What announcement? It couldn’t be team captain time. That was supposed to come at the end of practice, after Coach had seen me score at least seven times.
It’s okay, I told myself. There’s still a chance you can be team captain. But I wished I was standing on the ice next to the others. Miranda would be holding my hand. She would whisper that I would be a great team captain, but it was okay if I wasn’t.
“It’s been a difficult decision, picking a team captain,” Coach Diaz said. “All of you could have done a great job. But in the end, there was one person who put forth such tremendous effort both on the ice and with the team, it was clear who my choice should be. This person made it to every practice. This person built up their teammates through encouragement, praise, and a willingness to share the puck. This person intuitively knew when they should be trying their best or when they should be helping other people do their best.”
A drop of sweat dribbled into my eye. Coach was not talking about Jamie. She never shared the puck with anyone. What did “intuitively” mean anyway?
“And he always offered to help without promise of reward,” Coach continued.
He. Coach just said “he.” He could not be me because I was a she. He couldn’t be Jamie either. But what boy could he be talking about?
“Josh Stetson will be the team captain this year,” Coach Diaz said.
My elbows collapsed and I banged my forehead on the metal bar in front of me. Josh? Josh was going to be team captain?
“I’d like everyone to give Josh a hand,” Coach said, as if it was perfectly normal for Josh to suddenly become team captain. “And I hope you will congratulate him.”
People clapped. Georgie whooped. I think Miranda whistled. I couldn’t believe it. What would my dad say? What would I tell him? Was Josh even good?
“Time for break,” Coach Diaz said.
All of a sudden, I didn’t want to be under that bench. I needed to be out in the sun, away from the ice, where I could think. Josh was team captain?
Two legs plopped in front of me. Jamie’s legs. Her bottom made the bench creak. One of Jamie’s munions sat down beside her. Boom! The other one sat down on the other side. Boom! It was a bottom earthquake.
“Are you okay?” one munion said. Not to me, to Jamie.
“Shut up,” Jamie said. “I’m fine. Totally fine. I just can’t believe it — him! Josh, or whatever his name is. He stinks! Our whole team stinks. He’s never even played hockey before!”
“But he’s best friends with Coach’s son,” one munion said.
“He’s Coach’s pet,” the other munion said. “Because he’s always holding his clipboard.”
That wasn’t fair. Josh wasn’t doing that just to be team captain! He was doing that because he was Josh.
“At least he didn’t choose that one girl,” Jamie said.
“Tornado girl?” the other munion said. “Oh, I know. She’s the worst.”
“I tried to tell her why she stinks at shooting today, and she practically cried.” Jamie’s voice grew sharp. “This is the lamest team ever. Come on, let’s go to the bathroom.”
They left, one huge bottom after the other. The bench sighed in relief.
I did not. Jamie Redmond was the meanest girl in the world. How dare she talk about Josh that way!
I yanked Jamie’s bag closer and pulled down the zipper. Then I pried off the Tupperware lid. The slugs were smashed so close together, they looked like one giant slug swimming in a sea of slug juice. A hundred slug tails wiggled on the surface. “At least he didn’t choose that one girl,” Jamie had said. “Tornado girl,” her munion had said.
I took one long breath, imagined Jamie’s horrible face, then dumped the slugs into her bag.
Mission accomplished, all I had to do now was get out from under the bench, so I made myself as small as a slug and tried to squeeze out.
Bang! My head crashed into the underside of the bench. Bam! My back did the exact same thing. I couldn’t seem to make myself small enough.
Maybe it’ll be easier if I get my arm out first, I thought, so I stuck out my arm. That didn’t help. I tried sticking out my leg, but it wouldn’t go.
I was trapped.
Coach blew his whistle. “Break’s over!” he called. “But before we get started again, there’s one more thing I want to discuss. All ears on me, please.”
The rink went silent.
“It has come to my attention that several cruel pranks have been played on members of this team.” Coach Diaz’s voice was quiet, but it still seemed loud. “Pranks are a form of bullying, kids, and if this continues, the rest of the season will be canceled. For everyone. Is that understood?”
My head jerked up, banging into the bench again. I looked at Jamie’s bag where the slugs were now swimming, dripping their sliminess all over her things.
“Unless the guilty person confesses,” Coach continued. “Then the rest of the team can keep playing. Now, back on the ice. Let’s have a great second half of practice.”
Oh no! I had to get out from beneath the bench before Jamie saw her bag. Before Coach canceled the season. I’d run home, that’s what I’d do. Then I’d write Coach Diaz a letter confessing what I did so everyone else could keep playing.
That’s when Jamie and one of her munions returned to the bench and sat down again.
“Do you think anyone heard me crying in there?” Jamie whispered.
“No,” the munion said. “There was too much flushing. But are you too sad to play? We can go home early — I can tell Coach you don’t feel good.”
Jamie sniffled. “I just wish I’d been nicer to everyone. That’s why he’s team captain. I tried, but I’m no good at that. Is my face red?”
“A little,” the munion said. “Maybe you should dump your water bottle on your head like tornado girl did. Then no one will notice.”
“I don’t know why she did that,” Jamie said, followed by another sniffle. “I never would. It ruined her hair.”
They were acting as if they had nothing to do with my water-bottle lid, but I knew the truth! Water-bottle lids don’t just unscrew themselves, and no one else on my team was out to get me. Were they?
It’s okay, I thought. Just keep breathing. You are probably hallucifying because of claustrophobia. You are probably going crazy, because everything is going wrong.
“Jamie!” Coach Diaz called.
“Coming!” Jamie called in reply.
“Maybe the whole season will be canceled,” the munion said.
“Whoever’s doing those pranks better stop.” Jamie leaned forward. The bench creaked. “I’m going to be so mad if hockey’s over.” Her hand appeared in front of me. She was grabbing her bag and pulling it closer. “Do you want a mint?” she asked the munion.
No, I thought. Don’t open your bag. Please, get back on the ice!
Jamie unzipped her bag. She grew very quiet. Then she screamed. “Oh my gos
h, oh my gosh!” She let go of her bag and kicked it away. Slugs tumbled onto the floor.
“What is that?” her munion said, leaning forward. “Oh gross!”
“They’re slugs!” Jamie said. “In my bag!”
Hold very still, I told myself. But my arms and legs were trembling.
“Coach!” the munion shouted. “Somebody put slugs in Jamie’s bag!”
“Shut up!” Jamie hissed. “It’s another prank! He’ll cancel the season!”
The munion gasped. “Never mind, Coach!” she shouted. “I was just kidding!”
But Coach Diaz was already at the bench. “What are those things — slugs?”
“It’s my fault,” Jamie said. “I brought a Baggie of slugs. It must have exploded.”
“You brought slugs to practice?” Coach said.
“Yes?” she said with a big question mark on the end. “I — I’ve been collecting them?”
“Jamie,” Coach Diaz said. “You aren’t collecting slugs.” He paused for a long time, probably to stare at her or the slugs. “This is another prank, isn’t it?”
Jamie didn’t say anything for a minute. Then she said, “I’m not sure.”
Coach stepped closer to Jamie. “But you didn’t bring these slugs to practice.”
Jamie sniffled. Then her voice grew very quiet. “Okay,” she said. “I didn’t bring them.”
I imagined Coach Diaz growing ten feet tall. “All right,” he boomed. “It’s time for this nonsense to stop. I want whoever did this to admit it right now.”
My hands shook on the rubbery floor. I felt dizzy and my stomach hurt. It wasn’t fair. This was my first prank. Why wasn’t Jamie confessing?
“Tell the truth,” Coach Diaz said. “You’ll be glad later. I promise.”
Later. I thought about later. Later, when my dad asked how hockey practice went and I had to tell him the truth. “You ruined the whole season?” he would say. “Team captains don’t do that, Sylvie! I’m so disappointed in you.”
I couldn’t tell the truth. But if I didn’t, Miranda and Georgie and Carolina and Quinn and Ravi and Michael and that small kid, the third grader, and even the munions wouldn’t get to play again. Everyone’s work would be for nothing.
