by W. C. Mack
It would be way easier for three guys to convince Gunnar than just me. And three girls for three guys would be the easiest trade ever.
“Perfect,” Tim said, smiling.
“Totally perfect,” I agreed, thinking it was pretty cool that all of the girls on Holbrook’s team would get out of the penalty box, too.
It was a win-win.
Or a win-win-win, actually.
Patrick just shook his head. “I’m telling you guys, Gunnar knows what she’s doing.”
“So do we,” I told him, leading Tim and the trading Watson out toward the rink.
When I spotted Gunnar by the front office, I thought they were still following me, but when I turned around, I was alone.
“Gunnar?” I said.
“Hey, Nugget.” She smiled until she saw the jersey in my hand. “Oh.”
“I brought this in for whoever is taking my place.”
“Is that right?” she asked.
“Yeah. There are a couple of other guys who want to switch, too,” I told her. “So I figured three guys for three girls would be pretty easy.”
“Three of you,” she said, nodding slowly.
“Yeah. Me, Tim and, uh … Simon.” I was pretty sure that was the right triplet.
“We were going to discuss the subject this morning.”
“I know. That’s why I came looking for you. So we can get it all taken care of.”
She shook her head. “There was no decision made, Nugget.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at me for a long time without saying anything, then finally sighed and said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I asked.
“You can’t switch.”
“What?” I gasped. “Says who?”
“Says me,” she said.
“What? Why can’t —”
“I think you guys need to stay right where you are.”
“For today?” I asked, hopefully.
“For camp.”
“All week?” I asked, through the lump in my throat.
“Yes.”
“But that’s not fair.”
She shrugged. “You’ll just have to deal with it.”
“But I —”
“Deal with it,” she said again, and I could tell by her tone that the conversation was over.
I couldn’t believe it!
She’d said we were going to talk about it, but she’d just said no, without even giving me a reason. It totally wasn’t fair!
The Gunnar jersey was still in my hand when I walked back over to the guys. They could tell by the look on my face that my plan had gone down the tubes.
“What happened?” Simon asked, looking worried.
“She won’t let us switch,” I muttered.
“Why not?” Tim asked.
I shrugged and walked back to the locker room, where I balled up the jersey and shoved it deep into my bag. I might be stuck on Gunnar’s team, but I didn’t have to broadcast it.
And I didn’t have to like it, either.
So I didn’t.
When Gunnar welcomed us to day two of camp, I didn’t even look at her. When she had us skate some laps to warm up, I took my time. I wasn’t going to knock myself out to impress her.
“Maybe you should get moving,” Patrick said, lapping me.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“This is no different than when your Dad took over for Coach O’Neal and the guys gave him attitude.”
“This is totally different.”
“No, Nugget. You’re acting like my two-year-old brother.”
“If you’re trying to call me a baby, just do it,” I snapped, knowing he wouldn’t.
On the way by, he said, quietly enough that no one but me would hear, “You’re being a baby.”
I ignored him.
Well, tried to, anyway.
I slowed down a little more to watch Holbrook’s team get started on their day. Of course, they’d be scrimmaging. Again.
I watched Bosko passing the puck back and forth with Colin, then saw Chris and Jeff warming up by taking shots on the empty goal.
Nobody was doing drills.
Nobody but us.
While everyone on my team lapped me a second time, I saw Gunnar head over to Danny Holbrook. I stopped skating completely, hoping she had changed her mind and was telling him about the switch.
I watched closely as she talked for about a minute, pointing to the girls in the penalty box a couple of times. That was a good sign. She was moving her hands around and seemed to have a lot to say.
Holbrook’s Heroes, here I come!
But when she finished talking, Holbrook shook his head. I was no lip reader, but the word “no” was pretty obvious.
Come on!
I watched Gunnar head back over to our team, looking kind of ticked off. It was probably because she was the one hearing a big “no” this time.
“Now you know how it feels,” I muttered.
“Are you talking to me?” Ashley Bosko asked.
“No.”
She looked over each of her shoulders and saw no one else. “So you’re talking to yourself.”
“Maybe,” I said, annoyed.
I looked at the Heroes and saw that Bosko was watching me. Ashley was going to get me killed, for sure.
“You gonna pick up the pace?” she asked.
“Why do you care?” I asked.
“Because you’re really slow and it’s a drag to have to keep skating around you. This isn’t an obstacle course, you know.”
I moved to the side so she could pass more easily.
“You’re seriously not going to speed up?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Geez, why are you even here?”
It was a good question, one I couldn’t stop asking myself for the rest of the laps. In fact, I ended up concentrating so hard on looking for an answer, I didn’t even notice when I started to skate a little faster, then a little faster than that, until I was the one lapping my teammates.
I wish I could say that all of my thinking and stewing helped me come up with great answers but it didn’t. With every lap I felt more angry and more ripped off.
I’d been excited about camp for months and now the whole thing was falling apart.
I couldn’t play on the team I wanted to, I was separated from my buddies, my coach wasn’t a Canuck and I still had endless drills to get through before the whole stupid week would be over.
How was I supposed to feel? Happy that nothing was going my way? Excited that Gunnar probably hated me for wanting to switch teams? Thrilled that Bosko was going to develop all kinds of awesome skills while I skated laps?
Gunnar blew the whistle for us to finish our final lap.
“Looks like you’re on board,” Patrick said, tightening the strap on his helmet.
“On board what?” I asked.
“The team. It looks like you’re willing to give it a chance.”
I stared at him. “Where’d you get that idea?”
He stared back. “You were hauling just now, Nugget. Tearing up the ice.”
“So?”
“So, it looked like you cared.”
I shook my head. “I don’t.”
“Well, Gunnar does. She was watching you and she looked pretty impressed.”
I sighed. The last person I needed to impress was Katie Gunnar.
“Let’s work on our passing,” she said to the team. “Get into groups of three, and try to find people you haven’t worked with before.”
By the end of the day, we’d run a bunch more drills and I was still ticked off. And when Gunnar blew her whistle to another day with no actual playing, I didn’t even care about camp any more.
Chapter Eight
Me and Colin both got a ride home at the end of the day from Mrs. Cavanaugh. Kenny and Colin talked about what an awesome time they were having at camp while I didn’t say a word.
Day two, and
my hockey camp was a total bust.
I stared out the window, wishing things had turned out differently, but knowing there was nothing I could do about it.
“What’s your deal, Nugget?” Colin asked, as we turned onto my street.
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head.
“I guess I’d be looking the same way if I were you,” Colin said.
“Man, I’m glad I’m on Holbrook’s team,” Kenny said. “We should play a game against you guys, Nugget.”
“Yeah, right,” Colin laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Uh, what Kenny just said?” Colin laughed again.
Kenny nodded. “We’d smoke you guys.”
“I think you mean girls,” Colin corrected.
“You’re hilarious,” I said, turning back to the window.
“You couldn’t play us, anyway,” Colin said. “You haven’t even played each other.”
“Drills, drills and more drills,” Kenny chimed in.
I couldn’t argue with that, so I gritted my teeth until Mrs. Cavanaugh dropped Colin off, then pulled into my driveway.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, once I’d climbed out of the van. I swung my heavy bag onto my back and nodded to Kenny. “See ya.”
I carried my bag to the front door, amazed I could even lift the thing, which seemed twice as heavy as it was that morning. Of course, I’d still had hope way back then.
As soon as I made it to the mudroom, I dropped the bag on the floor and walked into the kitchen. I was tired and thirsty and all I wanted was a big glass of juice.
Mum stood in front of me, her hands on her hips.
“What?” I asked, moving toward the fridge.
She took a step to her right and blocked me. “That sounded suspiciously like a big bag of hockey gear being dumped on the floor.”
Here we go.
“That’s because it was,” I said, trying to pass her again.
She was too quick, especially after camp had totally worn me out.
“We’ve had this conversation before, Jonathan.”
I sighed. “So do we have to have it again?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Apparently, we do. You know you’re not supposed to treat your gear like that.”
While she was talking, I walked back to the mudroom and unzipped the bag, half-listening to her as I pulled my Canucks jersey and my stinky socks out of it.
“When you get home from practice, you —”
“Sort it and put the stuff that needs to be washed in the laundry room,” I finished for her. I dropped the dirty stuff into the basket.
“So that you’ll be ready for tomorrow.”
“But that’s the thing,” I told her. “I don’t think I’m going tomorrow.”
“What?” Mum said, frowning.
“I might skip it,” I shrugged.
“Skip what?” Wendy asked.
She always showed up when things were getting tense. It was like she had snooping superpowers.
“Hockey camp,” I said, moving past her and finally making it to the fridge. I grabbed the carton of orange juice and pulled a glass out of the cupboard. A big one.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Wendy said, with a snort.
I turned to give her the most serious look I could. “Nope.”
“You’re going to skip the camp you begged to go to?” Wendy asked, reaching for the juice carton as soon as I was finished pouring my glass.
“No,” I said, sitting down at the table.
“But you just said —”
“I’m not at the camp I begged to go to. I’m at Katie Gunnar’s camp.”
“This again?” Mum sighed.
“Yes,” I told her. “This again.”
“What’s going on?” Dad asked, walking into the kitchen and intercepting the juice carton just before Wendy put it back in the fridge.
“Jonathan wants to skip hockey camp tomorrow,” Mum told him.
“Really?” Dad asked me, looking totally surprised. “Are you sick?”
Yeah. Sick of the whole mess. “No.”
“Then what is it?” Dad asked.
I shrugged. “You know.”
“We don’t know,” Mum said. “You’re going to have to explain, Jonathan.”
“It’s Katie Gunnar.”
I told them about how she wouldn’t let me switch teams and how we’d spent two whole days running drills instead of playing. Then I told them how much fun Danny Holbrook’s team was having.
“It isn’t all about fun,” Dad said. “You’re supposed to be learning, too.”
He sounded just like Patrick.
“I know,” I groaned.
“This camp wasn’t cheap,” Mum said.
“I know and I’m sorry, okay? I had no idea it was going to turn out like this.”
“Regardless of how it’s turned out, you talked us into sending you.”
“Yeah but —”
“I’m afraid that you’re going to have to see it through until the end.”
It was really weird that the hockey camp I’d dreamed about for weeks was turning into a punishment. I was actually being forced to go.
“Yeah,” Wendy piped in. “You can’t just spend your whole life being a quitter.”
“I’m not a quitter,” I snapped.
“So prove it,” she said, with a smirk.
My body was aching, I was tired of the conversation and to top it all off, I was totally turned off by what I’d seen next to the orange juice in the fridge. We were having cabbage rolls for dinner.
Cabbage rolls. Could the day get any worse?
I couldn’t leave the kitchen fast enough.
I left the three of them and headed upstairs, where I could feel sorry for myself in private.
A few minutes later I heard Mum leave to go grocery shopping and I knew Dad was working in the den. No matter how hard I tried to tune her out, I could hear Wendy talking on the phone (as usual).
So I kept to myself and I messed around in my room, kind of reorganizing. I moved my Ducette poster to the spot next to the window, being super careful not to tear the corners when I pulled out the thumbtacks. I re-arranged the books on my hockey library shelf, first by colour, then by size, from biggest to smallest.
I thought about re-reading one of them, but instead of being inspired by Gordie Howe or Gretzky, I had the feeling the stories of their lives would only depress me.
I couldn’t imagine any of the greats being stuck in my crummy situation.
I listened to PUCK Radio for a little while. Stan Danielson was interviewing Matthew Crane, who played left wing for the Penguins. He was an awesome player and I wished that the Canucks had signed him when they had the chance.
When the interview was over, I looked up Crane’s hometown of Glace Bay, Nova Scotia in my atlas. It turned out to be on Cape Breton Island, and I thought it was pretty cool that he was an islander, like me.
I wondered how many teams had been in his league when he was growing up.
And if his mum had ever signed him up for the wrong camp.
I doubted it.
PUCK Radio started to play a repeat of an interview I’d already heard, so I turned it off and looked around my room.
I had nothing to do.
I glanced at the Math homework sitting on my desk and decided I wasn’t that desperate yet.
But I was still bored out of my mind, so I finally lay on the bed, tossing a puck into the air and catching it, over and over again. The whole time I was doing it, all I could think about was how much it stunk that I couldn’t wait for the Christmas holidays to be over so I could get back to my old schedule of regular Cougar practices and games.
I couldn’t believe I was ready to go back to school.
Well, maybe not school, but regular life.
The worst part of it was that hockey camp was supposed to be the highlight of the year.
I looked at my Jean Ducette poster and thought about wh
at life must have been like for him at my age. He actually had to work on his family farm during the holidays and fit in hockey with his brothers whenever he could. He grew up in a tiny town in Quebec that didn’t even have a rink, so he’d never played on Zamboni-smoothed ice until he was a teenager.
But he made it to the NHL.
He made it to the Canucks.
I knew I wasn’t up against the same kind of odds as Ducette. I knew that being part of a team like the Cougars was pretty cool, and it wasn’t something every kid who liked hockey could do in their own hometown.
Not every kid had a dad who’d been scouted by the Flames when he was younger, or a mum who was willing to get up way too early on winter mornings to drive him to practice.
“Nugget!” Wendy shouted. “Get down here!”
Then again, not every kid had a teenaged sister ready to explode every day.
“I’m busy!” I shouted back.
“Your weird little friend is here!”
I rolled off my bed and headed downstairs. My weird little friend? That could be just about anyone.
When I got to the front door, which was wide open, Kenny was standing there.
I turned to stare at Wendy, who was leaning in the doorway, stirring an organic yogurt.
“That’s Kenny,” I told her.
Wendy just shrugged.
“Kenny Cavanaugh.” I pointed past him. “He lives right there.”
Wendy scooped a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth and swallowed it before saying, “You little twerps all look the same.” Then she disappeared into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” I asked Kenny, hoping he’d come to apologize for talking trash in the car.
“You left this in the van,” he said, handing me my Gunnar jersey.
I knew I’d tried to drown it in my bag that morning, but it must have made it to the surface when I shoved my gear in after camp.
“Thanks.”
“You wanna play after dinner tonight?” he asked. “I can see if some of the other guys are up for it.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sore right now.”
“She really worked you guys out, eh?”
“Yup.”
Kenny seemed to realize I wasn’t going to invite him in like I usually did. He looked disappointed.
“Okay, well I guess I’ll see you later, Nugget.”
“Sure,” I told him, closing the door.
