Muck hated hot-dogging. Perhaps it was because Muck wasn’t here that Nish was getting so out of control, but he picked the wrong team to try to humiliate. The Sudbury team might have been a bit low on talent, but they lacked nothing in courage. Nish was barely over centre when the captain of the Minors hit him so hard he flew in a complete somersault. He landed on his skates, wobbling a bit before he crashed into the boards.
The referee was signalling charging. Nish should have been happy–it would have given the Owls the advantage–but he wanted revenge. He jumped to his feet and charged the Sudbury captain back. The crowd roared as Nish put his shoulder into his opponent. The big Minors captain never moved. Nish shook off his gloves, deliberately tossing them so they struck the other player. The linesmen moved in quickly before anything could happen. Nish was lucky the referee called him only for roughing–one blow would have meant an automatic game ejection.
Nish knew his shifts were over when he finally got out of the penalty box. He skated casually across the ice to the Screech Owls’ bench and yanked open the gate.
“Wrong door,” said Joe Hall, his lips tight.
“What do you mean?” asked Nish.
“The Zamboni doors for you, buddy. You’re through this game, and the next. We don’t need that.”
Nish’s mouth went so round it could have held a puck.
“W–w–what?” he stammered.
“You heard me. Get off the ice.”
Nish looked desperately around for support, but he found none, and then began to make his way to the far end of the rink. He stared at his teammates as he passed by, but none would look back. None except Sam.
She laughed.
Nish paused, about to say something stupid, but then thought better of it. He didn’t need any more trouble from Joe Hall.
The game seemed to die after that. Sudbury had clearly given up, and thanks to lessons taught them by Muck Munro, the Owls weren’t inclined to run up the score any further.
They played the clock out cleanly and quickly, working more on their passing than their shots, careful at all times to remain in position.
Travis had one glorious moment near the end of the game when Dmitri flipped a pass high from his own blueline and Travis gloved it down right at the red line. He had the puck, and he had space to work. He looked up: one defence back, Sarah coming up clear from her own end.
Travis began moving with the puck, happy with the way it felt on his stick, glad he’d stuck to the Easton instead of taking up Joe Hall’s offer of the straight blade.
He cut towards centre, the defence keeping an eye on him but refusing to commit. Travis worked the puck across the blueline, then cut across again so that he drew the defender with him while Sarah moved across the blueline and into position.
He laid the puck out in front, exactly where he wanted it. He stickhandled once, twice, then came down hard on the puck with the heel of the stick.
The puck shot to the side and into the corner!
The play had failed, but it had still fooled the defence, who turned to chase the lost puck. Sarah was there ahead of him, and she quickly fired the puck back to Travis, who snapped it into the open side.
Screech Owls 7, Sudbury Minors 0.
He had scored, and his teammates were cheering, but Travis knew he had failed. He looked up at Joe Hall as he came off the ice, teammates slapping his pants and shoulders.
“Wrong stick,” said Joe Hall.
“I know,” said Travis.
“It’s there any time you want it.”
Travis smiled, not yet ready. “Thanks,” he said. “Maybe next game.”
I’ve figured it out,” Nish said.
Travis didn’t dare ask what. How to behave during a hockey game? How to be a real team player? How Joe Hall pulled o? that Tom Thomson stunt? It could have been anything.
They were lying in the tent, a light rain drumming on the canvas. They’d practised earlier and had eaten and were resting.
“Figured what out?” Fahd finally asked. He couldn’t resist.
“How I’m going to get her.”
“Get who?”
“Oh, just the one who tried to make a fool of me on the river, just the one who put my gauchies up the flagpole, just the biggest pain in the butt this team has ever known, that’s all.”
Travis couldn’t resist. “Who’s that?” he asked.
“Very funny,” said Nish. He was sucking loudly on a Tootsie Roll, offering none around as usual, and thinking out loud, also as usual. “It’s got to be embarrassing, right? Really embarrassing.”
“Why?” Fahd asked.
“Because she embarrassed me. All that ‘Ka-wa-bun-ga’ crap and stealing my boxers. It’s got to be just as good from my side.”
“Let it go,” said Travis. “She’s a good sport. The team likes her.”
“This isn’t about the team,” countered Nish. “This is about her and me.”
“You’re too competitive,” said Lars.
“Not at all,” said Nish. “I’m just getting even. Like in a tie game. What’s competitive about that? I don’t have to win, just get even.”
Yeah, right, Travis thought to himself. Who’s he kidding? But he said nothing.
Nish went on. “You know where the women’s washroom is?”
“You mean the outhouse,” Fahd corrected.
“Whatever–you know where I mean.”
“You’d better be careful there,” warned Travis.
“Nah. She has to go sometime, doesn’t she? I mean, girls do go to the bathroom, don’t they?”
Lars couldn’t believe it. “You want us to sing, ‘We-know-where-you’re-go-ing!’? That’s a bit childish even for you, isn’t it?”
“Nah, no singing. I got a much more sophisticated plan than that. Say she goes in and shuts the door, and a few seconds later there’s this enormous explosion that everybody in the camp hears. You think she wouldn’t find that a bit embarrassing?”
“You can’t bomb an outhouse!” protested Fahd.
“Not a bomb, stupid–a harmless cannon cracker. Like the ones they set off on Canada Day.”
“Where are you going to get a cannon cracker?”
“They sell fireworks at that little shop,” he said.
“Not to kids they don’t,” said Travis.
“They’ll sell to me,” said Nish. “Just you watch.”
“How would that work?” Fahd asked. “How would you set it off, even if you got some fireworks?”
“Very simple. The boys’ outhouse is right next to it. I run a fuse from one to the other and you signal me.”
“Who?” they all asked at once.
“You!” Nish said loudly. “My friends, that’s who?”
“Those pictures should be ready,” Travis said later that afternoon. “You want to come pick them up with me?”
“I’ll be right there,” Nish said. First, however, he dashed into the tent. Travis thought he was writing something down. It wasn’t like Nish to keep a diary.
“What was that all about?” Travis asked when Nish returned. “Writing home?”
“You’ll see,” Nish answered. “Let’s get going.”
It was a brief walk down the highway to the store. It had everything–food, milk, videos to rent, live bait, a film drop-off and, of course, fireworks. It was run by an elderly couple. The woman was French–Sarah had talked with her for quite a while–and her husband was hard of hearing. Apart from Sarah, no one was able to have much of a conversation with either of them.
“I’m here to pick up my pictures,” Travis said as they entered the store.
“Eh?” the old man called back, cupping a hand behind his ear.
“My photos,” Travis said, louder. “They’re supposed to be ready today.” He waved his pick-up slip. The old man recognized it and grabbed it out of Travis’s hand. He led him to the rear of the store, where the film was kept.
Nish wandered over to the old woman. He smiled his best Ni
sh smile, the smile that meant something unexpected was coming.
Travis couldn’t see what was going on. The old man was rummaging through the photos waiting to be picked up, checking Travis’s slip against a dozen numbers. Nish and the old woman were bent over a sheet of paper, the old woman asking questions.
Finally the old man came up with the processed film. He handed it over to Travis. “That’ll be $12.81, young man.”
Travis fumbled with his wallet. Just like Nish, he thought, to make himself scarce when the bills were being paid. He knew Nish would be first to scoop up the picture that showed Joe Hall in the Tom Thomson canoe.
Travis paid up and left. Nish was standing at the front door, counting out his own change. He had a large bag under his arm.
“What’s in there?” Travis asked.
“I’ll tell you outside. You get the pictures?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Once out and back on the highway, Nish looked around like a man about to hold up a bank. Then he pulled open the bag so Travis could look in.
Inside were dozens of firecrackers: some large, some small and attached to lengths of string, even a few rockets and Roman candles.
“How did you get all that?”
“I bought ’em. She even threw in a few extra for free.”
“You can’t buy fireworks. You’re not old enough.”
Nish grinned. “Apparently I am–when I have a note from the church camp that this is for a special ceremony.”
“You lied?” Travis asked, exasperated with his friend.
Nish shrugged innocently, looking deeply offended.
“Lie? Me? Where’s the lie? The note was written on church camp stationery. And it is going to be a special ceremony–a very special ceremony.”
“But you wrote the note yourself!”
“We never discussed that,” Nish said triumphantly. “She didn’t ask, so I didn’t say.”
“And you can’t call your stupid plan a ‘special ceremony.’”
“It will be when you see it, pal. It will be, I promise you. Now let’s have a look at those pictures.”
Reluctantly, Travis peeled open the flap of the envelope. He pulled the photos out and began thumbing through them. The moose. The picnic grounds. The barge…. He could see the edge of the next photo, showing mist and water.
Travis held his breath. Now they would know. He pulled the photograph free of the others.
It was Canoe Lake all right, the mist swirling on the water. But nothing else!
“You blew it!” Nish said angrily.
“But I couldn’t have. I caught him perfectly.”
“You blew it, obviously. There’s nothing there. You either snapped too soon or too late. You blew it–and now I got nothing to shove under Sam’s nose.”
Nish yanked the photo away and spun it into the ditch. He patted his haul of fireworks. “Thank heaven I got this. Good thing somebody’s reliable,” he said, and began walking back to the camp.
Travis made his way down into the ditch and retrieved the photograph from where it had lodged in a milkweed plant. He started walking, well behind Nish, who was hurrying ahead, happily swinging his bag full of treasure. He carefully studied the photo again.
Nothing.
Nish was right. He’d failed to catch the canoe or the person paddling in it. Too soon or too late.
But it made no sense. How could it show nothing? Travis wondered.
He’d seen the canoe light up when the flash went off–how else would they have known that the canoe had been grey-green, the same colour as Tom Thomson’s canoe? And yet this photograph showed nothing but mist and water.
No canoe.
No paddler.
Could it really have been Tom Thomson’s ghost? No, Travis decided. Impossible.
But if it was Joe Hall pulling a trick–he remembered the flashlight and the wet knees–then where was Joe Hall? Why was he not in the picture?
This game is a must win for us,” said Joe Hall. He was standing at the front of the dressing room, leaning on his straight-as-a-ruler stick. He seemed worried.
More than worried, thought Travis. He looked ill. His face was pasty, and he was sweating. And it seemed, at times, as if he was leaning on the stick for support.
Nish remained in the corner, arms folded. He was the only Screech Owl not dressed. He sat by his locker, staring defiantly. If this game is so darned important, he seemed to be saying, how come I’m not playing?
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Joe Hall, almost as if Nish had been talking out loud. He walked over to Nish and prodded him gently with his stick. He smiled, but the smile had lost its former brilliance.
“Joe doesn’t look very good,” Sarah whispered beside Travis. She had noticed as well.
“You might make a difference in the game,” Joe Hall said to Nish. “You might make the difference.”
Nish seemed happy to hear this. Travis could tell his best friend was fighting off a big smile.
“I’m not a fool,” Joe Hall continued. “I can tell when a player has talent or not–and you, sir, have big talent. You might well make the difference in the game…” He paused, seeming to have to gather his energy. “But this game can make a difference in your life…and I think that’s more important.”
Nish looked up. He didn’t have a clue what Joe Hall was getting at.
“You’ve got a temper, haven’t you?” he said to Nish.
Nish shrugged.
Joe Hall turned to the team. “He’s got a temper, doesn’t he?”
“The worst,” said Sarah.
Nish sneered at her.
“I had a temper,” Joe Hall said. “It was the worst part of my game. It almost cost me my career. I had to learn to control it, or else. Who was it asked me what my nickname was the other day?”
“I did,” said Fahd, raising his hand like he had to go to the bathroom.
“Well, I didn’t tell you what it was, did If”
“No,” said Fahd, his hand still up.
“They called me ‘Bad’ Joe Hall–and I hated it.”
No one spoke. They could hear the sound of Mr. Dillinger’s skate-sharpening machine hard at work in the corridor. Joe Hall stumbled slightly, caught himself on Nish’s locker. Nish looked up, frightened, but whether he thought Joe Hall was going to fall on him or strike him, Travis couldn’t tell.
“You’re too good a kid to get hit with a tag like that,” said Joe Hall. “Besides, ‘Bad’ Wayne Nishikawa sounds pretty stupid, doesn’t it?” He smiled, and for an instant the old brilliance was back.
Nish was flushing red. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. Travis knew what Nish was thinking: he’d love a nickname like that!
“You play with a label, you become that label,” said Joe Hall. “People came to see ‘Bad’ Joe Hall, so I gave them ‘Bad’ Joe Hall–and by the time I realized how stupid I was being…it was too late.”
Travis knew that Joe Hall was talking about Nish, and about how Nish had to grow up if he ever wanted to be a real player. But there was something more he was trying to say, something about Joe Hall himself. And Travis didn’t know what.
“So you’re going to watch this game,” said Joe Hall. “And I want you to watch a particular player out there all game long–and learn from her. Understand?”
Nish looked up, eyes batting in confusion. “Her?” he asked.
“Sam.”
“Sam?” Nish asked, incredulous.
“Yes, Sam. She’s so good at letting nothing get under her skin, she ends up under their skin. You saw it the other games.”
Joe Hall was right. Sam laughed when she was dumped. She laughed when Kenzie MacNeil sprayed snow in her face. She just laughed, then she kept on doing whatever would drive them crazy.
“I have to watch her?” Nish asked, not believing.
“Every single shift,” said Joe Hall. “Now let’s get out there!”
The Screech Owls rose to cheers and backslapping.
Travis, as team captain, waited to go out last, and he alone saw the exchange of glances between Nish and Sam as she left the dressing room.
Sam’s eyes filled with triumph.
Nish’s eyes squeezed tight with revenge.
Sam was certainly well worth watching against the Vancouver Mountain. The Owls were in tough, with the Mountain also having a real chance of reaching the final if only they could beat the Screech Owls. The Rideau Rebels had easily won their third game against the team from New Jersey, and were sitting atop the standings, waiting only to discover who they would meet in the final: the Owls or the Mountain.
The Mountain were looking to win. They were quick, smart, and strong. By the end of the first, with Jenny struggling in the Screech Owls’ net, the Mountain were ahead 3–0. If they could hang on to their lead, they were on their way to the final.
Travis had several chances, but couldn’t seem to get a good shot. As soon as he took possession of the puck in the Mountain end, they closed in on him and took away any space for him to work with. He tried setting up Sarah and Dmitri, but the Mountain were keying on Sarah’s playmaking and Dmitri’s speed and neither of them ever seemed free.
Sam began the turnaround midway through the second. She had already played extremely well, and had yet to be scored on when on the ice, but it was her offensive move that caught the attention of the large crowd. She blocked a shot just inside her own blueline and, still down, used her wide sweep to chip the puck up along the boards by centre. Derek Dillinger beat the Mountain defence to it, sending a cross-ice pass to little Simon Milliken, and Simon crossed the blueline and fired the puck hard around the boards.
Derek made the blueline just in time to keep the puck from sailing out. He kicked it up to his stick, deked towards the boards, then sent a sharp backwards pass to the high slot, where Sam was charging under full steam.
Travis had seen this play before–only it was always Nish charging up centre to join the play late.
Sam faked a slapshot, stepped around the single defence between her and the goal, fired a hard shot the Mountain goalie stopped by stacking his pads, and then clipped her own rebound over him and in under the crossbar.
The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 3 Page 20
