by W. C. Mack
Of course, I’d done drills like that before. Dad got me to work on speed turns whenever we were on the ice together.
In other words, I was already getting Gunnar’s training from him for free.
There really was no reason to pay for it.
I was hoping we’d at least squeeze in a scrimmage before the day was over, mostly because that was all Holbrook’s team had done all stinkin’ day.
But Gunnar had other ideas.
While she explained yet another drill, I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. While Gunnar was setting up cones, I skated over to talk to her in private.
“What can I do for you, Nugget?” she asked, smiling.
I swear I’d never seen someone smile so much in my life. Like, ever.
I took a deep breath, knowing it was probably best to just get it over with, nice and fast.
“I think I should switch teams,” I told her.
She tilted her head at me, like I was confused. “These are just drills. You’re split into two lines, but they aren’t teams.”
“No. I mean, I think I should switch to Danny Holbrook’s team,” I told her.
She frowned. “Danny Holbrook’s team,” she repeated.
“It would be for the best.” It was something Grandpa Charlie always said and I liked how it sounded.
She frowned even more. “The best for who?”
Me, obviously. But I couldn’t say that.
“For … everyone.” I shrugged.
“Go ahead and start, you guys,” she called to the players who were waiting.
Instead of saying something, she watched Patrick and Cara work their way through the cones for a few seconds and shouted, “Nice work!”
I waited, but nothing was happening. I knew she’d heard me, because she’d repeated what I’d said. And it wasn’t exactly a complicated idea that needed a lot of thought.
“I’d rather be playing, you know?”
She nodded, but didn’t look at me. “Hmm.”
Maybe I wasn’t explaining myself the right way.
I took another try at it. “I mean, drills are cool and everything, but we do those all season, anyway.”
She was quietly watching my teammates.
I cleared my throat. Maybe if she knew how simple the switch would be, that would convince her. “All you’d have to do is swap me for one of the girls. Easy.”
She blew her whistle for the next pair to start and I saw Ashley line up next to one of the Watsons.
Part of me wondered whether I should just let it go for now and wait until the end of the day to talk to Gunnar.
The other part of me wasn’t ready to give up, not if I could have a Holbrook jersey and play with the rest of the Cougars. The second part won.
“A lot of my teammates are on Holbrook’s team and —”
“And a couple of them are on mine,” she finally said.
“Yeah, five of us, but —”
She looked me in the eye for a second or two. “I think you should stay where you are.”
“What? Why?” Couldn’t she tell I was a way better fit for Holbrook’s team?
She looked back at the players. “For today, anyway.”
“So, I can switch tomorrow?” I asked, hopefully.
I could see her jaw tighten. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Do you mean talk to Holbrook? Talk to him and make the switch?”
It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but at least I’d still have five whole days on Holbrook’s team. And five days was plenty of time to show him what I could do. In five days, he’d make me MVP of the camp, for sure.
I could feel the weight of that trophy in my arms again. Would it be gold? Silver?
“No,” Gunnar said.
“No what?” I asked.
“No, we aren’t talking to Holbrook. Tomorrow you and I can talk more about you wanting to switch.”
“We can do that right now,” I told her.
“No, we can’t. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in the middle of coaching a hockey camp.”
“But if we —”
“The subject is closed until tomorrow,” she said, and I could tell she meant it.
“Fine,” I sighed.
“In the meantime, your footwork could use some improvement.”
What?
“My foot—” I started to argue, but had the feeling it would be better to keep my mouth shut. All I had to do was get through the afternoon, then I’d have all night to come up with the perfect argument to convince her to trade me.
Gunnar tilted her head toward the cones. “Jump in.”
When I skated back over to the team, I couldn’t help noticing that Holbrook’s guys were still scrimmaging, laughing and shouting like they were having the best time ever.
And they probably were.
Except the three girls in the penalty box, maybe.
They looked bored out of their minds.
“What’s going on?” Patrick asked when I got in line behind him.
“I asked to switch to Holbrook’s team.”
“What?” Tim asked.
“I want to play, you guys.”
“We are playing,” Tim said.
“We’re running drills,” I told him, rolling my eyes. “This is Christmas break. We’re supposed to be having fun.”
“Not just having fun,” Patrick said. “We’re supposed to be improving our skills.”
“Learning new things,” one of the Watsons said.
Why didn’t they care that we weren’t getting our money’s worth?
The answer hit me almost instantly.
They were getting their money’s worth.
They needed the drills.
“I don’t need to learn anything,” I told him. And it was true. I was the best player out of the five of us.
It all made sense.
“Sure you do,” Patrick said.
“What?” I practically choked.
“Not just you, Nugget,” he said, patting me on the back. “I meant that we all do.”
“The fast turns are good training,” a Watson said.
“So are the cones,” his brother added.
Didn’t they get it? Not only was I a better player, but my main competition, Eddie Bosko, was about to become a total superstar with the help of a pro while I skated lines and played pass the puck with a bunch of girls.
All of the other Cougars were going to be better players by the end of the week. Never mind the fact that they’d be a tighter team and the five of us would be left behind.
“Look,” I snapped. “I don’t want to be on this team, okay?”
“Oh, man up, would ya?” a familiar voice said from her spot in the other line.
I turned to stare at Ashley Bosko. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think it’s pretty obvious. Quit whining.”
“I’m not whining,” I said. Even to me, it sounded pretty whiny.
“Really?” she asked, leaning on her stick. “I’d give that one a nine out of ten.”
She might not have looked like a Bosko, but she sure sounded like one.
“You don’t understand,” I told her, shaking my head.
“Not at all,” she agreed.
I pointed at the sea of green and blue on the other side of the rink. “That’s my team.”
“Not this week,” she said with a shrug. Then she turned away.
“She’s right, you know,” Tim said.
“Whatever,” I sighed. “You’re a benchwarmer.”
“Excuse me?” he said, skating a little closer.
“You heard me. You’re not exactly a hockey expert, you know?”
“At least I’m not a freakin’ Timbit on skates,” he snapped.
I heard Ashley Bosko snort again.
“Say that again,” I told him. I dare you.”
“Cut it out!” Patrick shouted.
I took a step back from him, totally surprised.
“He started it,” Tim said, pointing at me.
“Who cares?” Patrick asked. “Just let it go, you guys.”
Gunnar skated over to us. “Another problem over here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
“No,” I said, looking anywhere but at her.
“I hope not,” she said, skating in a slow circle. “I’d sure hate to have to kick anybody out of camp for bad behaviour.”
What?
“I didn’t even —”
“Or a bad attitude,” she said over her shoulder as she skated back toward the goal line.
Kick someone out of camp for a bad attitude?
Come on.
“That’s just great,” I muttered.
“Can’t you just get over yourself, Nugget?” Patrick asked. “Just enjoy the stupid camp?”
I felt bad as I watched him skate to the other line. I wasn’t trying to ruin anything for Patrick. He was one of my favourite teammates and a good friend.
But I didn’t have the energy to get into all of that.
I needed to focus all of my attention on figuring out how to convince Gunnar to trade me in the morning.
There had to be a way.
Since she’d mentioned kicking people out of the camp, I didn’t want to do anything that would turn her against me (any more than she already was, anyway), so I worked really hard for the rest of the day. I took all of the drills seriously, pushing myself to do my best.
As a result, my speed was awesome, my stick handling was solid and when we worked on shooting, I nailed my first shot.
Of course, the goal was empty, so that was easy to do.
While I waited at the back of the line for my turn, I thought about the shot I’d taken from centre ice during halftime at the Canucks game a couple of months ago. I’d won the chance by playing a trivia game on PUCK radio.
That shot was on an empty goal, too. In front of thousands of people. And I’d missed it.
My hero, Jean Ducette, had made me feel okay about the whole mess, but I still wanted to be able to wow a pro.
And hockey camp seemed like the only time that could happen.
Cutter Bay wasn’t exactly packed with NHL players. The Sedin twins weren’t going to be sitting in at my next Cougars practice. Luongo wasn’t going to cruise down Daffodil Drive and catch my killer street hockey moves any time soon.
Nope. Danny Holbrook was my only chance.
I watched Bosko make a breakaway, shouldering Colin out of the way and totally outskating Chris and Jeff. More than anything, I wished it was me over there. Even though Bosko played it pretty cool, I knew he loved to play, and as he geared up for the shot on Bedhead, I knew his heart was pounding in his chest, just like mine did. And even if he didn’t grin and shout when he scored (like me), I knew he’d be happy when he did.
I held my breath as Bosko got into position and swung his stick. I watched when it connected and the puck flew toward Bedhead. I heard the shouts of my Cougar teammates and the cheers of the rest of the Heroes as the black bullet whipped through the air and sailed past Bedhead’s glove.
It was an awesome shot!
Man, I was jealous.
I looked for Danny Holbrook to see what he thought of the play, but I couldn’t spot him anywhere.
Again.
I took a closer look at all of the players, then figured he was probably in the washroom or something. Even pros had to go sometimes.
Then, when I was turning back to my drill, I spotted him. He was sitting on the Visitors’ bench, talking on his cell phone.
I imagined that on the other end of the call was his agent, or maybe one of the guys he used to play with. What if he was talking to Trevor Linden? How cool would that be?
I was up next. I glanced at Katie Gunnar and saw that she was watching Danny Holbrook too. But she was frowning.
Patrick Chen passed me the puck and I took off toward the cones, figuring Gunnar was probably just jealous that she wasn’t the one talking to Linden.
Chapter Six
At dinner that night, Mum tried to load me up with a huge pile of asparagus. And I mean huge, like it would have totally covered my plate and half my placemat.
“No, thank you,” I told her, hoping the combination of good manners and a big smile would stop her.
It didn’t.
She held the scoop in mid-air. “How many servings of vegetables have you had today, Jonathan?” she asked.
Sometimes it totally stunk to have a nutritionist for a mother. If it was up to her, instead of a regular house, we’d be living in a food pyramid.
“Five?” I lied. Unfortunately, my answer sounded too much like a question.
“Name them,” Wendy said, an evil gleam in her eyes.
I had to think fast. “Uh … carrots, celery and —”
“Carrots and celery?” Mum asked.
“Yup.”
“Funny. I didn’t pack either of those in your lunch.”
Nuts!
“Oh. I, uh … traded one of the guys.”
“What did you trade him so you could get your hands on some irresistible carrots?” Wendy asked, with a smirk.
I tried to think of what Mum had packed in that stupid brown bag. “One of my juice boxes.”
“For veggies?” Wendy asked. “Yeah, right.”
“Just eat the asparagus,” Mum said, moving the scoop toward my plate.
I had to do something. There was no way I could eat all of it.
“How about three spears?” I asked Mum.
“Eight,” she said.
“Five,” I countered.
“Six, and that’s my final offer.”
Once my plate was contaminated with my most hated vegetable (next to eggplant), Dad passed me a piece of salmon. “How was camp, Nugget?”
“Okay, I guess.”
He gave me a surprised look. “You guess? You were there, right?”
“Yeah, but you know. I was on the wrong team and everything.” I couldn’t help sighing.
“Wow,” Wendy said, lifting her glass of milk like she was making a toast. “Pretty serious stuff, Nugget. That sounds like it could be the plot of an awesome TV movie.”
“Very funny,” I said, chewing on my salmon.
“Or maybe even a series,” she said. “I never knew being eleven was so dramatic.”
“Honey,” Mum said, resting a hand on top of my sister’s. “You were a lot more dramatic than this at eleven.”
“Yeah, right,” Wendy said.
“You don’t remember the case of the bad perm?”
“It was a bad perm,” Wendy snapped.
“Whoa,” I said, surprised by the fast reaction.
“It was right before picture day, okay, troll?” she said, glaring at me.
“Calm down,” I said, smiling.
“No,” she growled. “It was the worst perm ever and I had no time to fix it.”
“I think I’ve made my point,” Mum said. I could tell she was trying not to laugh.
“Moving on,” Dad said, turning to me before Wendy could get even more wound up. “What did you think of the coach?”
I shrugged. “She was okay.”
“Nice?” Mum asked, hopefully.
“I guess.” I ate a piece of the salmon, trying to put off the moment I had to put that stinkin’ asparagus in my mouth.
“Well, that’s good,” Mum said.
She didn’t understand at all.
“Nice is great for a school nurse,” I explained. “But it isn’t exactly what I was looking for in a hockey coach.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll learn a lot from her,” Dad said.
“Probably not,” I said.
“How do you know?” Mum asked.
“Because I asked to switch teams.”
The whole table went quiet.
“Wow. Totally rude, Nugget,” Wendy said.
I shoved some asparagus in my mouth. “I wasn’t trying to be rude.”
Wendy shook her hea
d. “Well, you’re talking with your mouth full right now, so rude obviously comes naturally to you.”
“Please finish chewing, Jonathan,” Mum warned.
“What did she say?” Dad asked. “Katie Gunnar, I mean.”
I swallowed the asparagus and gulped some milk, hoping to wash at least some of the grossness away. “She said we’d talk about it in the morning.”
“Oh dear,” Mum sighed. “You probably hurt her feelings.”
I groaned. “This isn’t about feelings.”
As I said the words, I remembered how Gunnar had looked when she saw Danny Holbrook talking on the phone.
Jealous.
And if she was hurt by me asking to swap teams, too, I knew one thing for sure; Katie Gunnar was going to have to toughen up.
It was hockey, for crying out loud.
* * *
That night, Kenny showed up on my doorstep, his stick in his hand and an excited look on his face.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“They’re doing construction on Tulip Lane.”
“So?”
“So, they left all their equipment there overnight.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “With security lights.”
It only took half a second to figure out why he was excited. “Night hockey,” I said, starting to smile.
“Yup. Are you in?”
I checked with Mum and Dad, who said it was fine as long as I was home by eight o’clock. That gave me an hour and a half to pound the pavement.
Awesome!
I was geared up and out the door in about three minutes flat.
“You’re not wearing your Gunnar jersey?” Kenny asked, chuckling.
“Nope,” I said, closing the door behind me.
“You know, I wasn’t sure if you’d be home tonight. I thought you might be hanging out with the girls, playing Barbies or something.”
I stopped and glared at him. “You really want to go there?”
He bit his lip. “Uh, no. I was just kidding, Nugget.”
“Well, don’t.”
It took about five minutes to get to Tulip, and I was over it by then.
“Are we cool?” he asked, as we walked toward the other guys.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “I just want this whole mess to be over with. I’m probably switching to your team tomorrow.”
“Awesome!” he said, giving me a high five.
And it would be awesome.
The guys were warming up in their Holbrook jerseys, but I didn’t mind.
