Breakaway

by W. C. Mack

  A solid unit.

  We skated lines for what seemed like forever and I wanted to stop for a break. I was sure my lungs would actually explode, but when I saw Ashley Bosko and Cara hanging in there, I pushed myself to keep going.

  “Nice work, guys,” Katie called out to us as we finished up the lines, totally out of breath and sweaty.

  “Skate a couple of cool-down laps while I set up the cones.”

  As tired as I felt, I was also glad that Gunnar was taking the camp as seriously as we were. I was glad she had something riding on the scrimmage against the Heroes, too.

  It was all about pride, for all of us.

  All morning, we worked together, whether it was sharing shots on goal, encouraging each other to give it our best or just keeping the puck moving between us.

  It was a lot of work, but it was totally fun, too.

  Just like every other day, I kept an eye on what was happening across the ice, and just like every other day, the kids were running the show while Holbrook did his own thing.

  I tried to imagine what it would be like to make it all the way to the NHL, retire after a pro career, and years later be asked to run a camp for kids who were dying to be around you.

  And not care at all.

  I honestly couldn’t imagine it. Hockey was my life and if I had the chance to be a star way after my career ended, I’d be all over it. I’d be giving kids pucks that I’d taken the time to autograph myself. I’d tell stories about my days in the NHL. I’d give everyone tips on how to play better while making sure they knew they were doing a pretty awesome job already.

  I’d be a coach.

  Every now and then, I’d see Katie watching them too, and I had the feeling she was thinking the exact same thing.

  “Next drill,” Gunnar said, interrupting my thoughts. “We’re going to work on backchecking.”

  Ugh. Definitely not my favourite thing to do.

  We were supposed to break into pairs, so before anyone could ask me to be their partner, I asked Tim to be mine. I still felt bad about calling him nothing but a benchwarmer and I was pretty impressed about how he’d been playing all week. It seemed like the right thing to do.

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I’m with Patrick.”

  “Cool,” I said, disappointed. Maybe it wouldn’t be quite that easy to win him over after I’d been a jerk. And that was fair.

  By the time I turned back to the rest of the team, they’d all paired off.

  Except Ashley Bosko.

  Uh-oh.

  I glanced at her brother, who was busy re-tying his skates.

  “I don’t have cooties,” Ashley said.

  “I never said you did.”

  “So we’re partners.”

  I nodded, hoping Bosko would take at least fifteen minutes with those laces.

  Gunnar explained that the first two pairs would wait in the end zone circles on either side of the goal. When she blew her whistle, the first pair would skate around a cone closer to centre ice, one with the puck, the other backchecking. Once they got around the cone, the one with the puck would try to shoot on the empty goal. When she blew the whistle again, the second pair would go and the next sets would move into the circles to wait.

  “Sounds easy enough,” Ashley said.

  “I hate skating backwards,” I told her.

  “Man up, Nugget,” she said, laughing. “You’ll be fine.”

  And, surprisingly enough, I was.

  When Gunnar blew her whistle we got started, and thanks to the drill work I’d been doing all week, it was easy to concentrate on what Ashley was doing with the puck instead of getting distracted by my footwork.

  Gunnar really knew how to coach!

  I actually managed to steal the puck from Ashley and take the shot myself.

  “Nice one!” Gunnar called out to me, then blew her whistle for the next pair.

  “She’s right,” Ashley said. “You’re a really good player, Nugget.”

  “Thanks,” I said, lining up beside her to wait for out next turn. “So are you.”

  What?

  “Nah.” She shook her head. “I’m decent, but I’m not that good.”

  “Sure you are! You’re fast, you always find an open space and your shooting is awesome.”

  She frowned at me. “Did my brother put you up to saying that?”

  I gulped. “No! In fact, he’d probably try to strangle me if he heard it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, it was nice of you to say, but I know I’m just average and I’m okay with that.”

  I totally disagreed, but I let it go.

  I couldn’t help thinking again about how weird it must be to feel like the only average person in a family packed with superstars.

  It would be really hard, but Ashley didn’t seem bothered by it the way I would be. She just kind of accepted it.

  On our next turn, Ashley pulled a sneaky move and got the puck away from me. She missed the net, but not by much.

  “Nice check,” I said.

  “You let me steal it.”

  “No, I didn’t.” It was the truth.

  “Whatever. You don’t have to pretend you stink just to make me feel good.”

  Pretend I stink?

  “I didn’t,” I told her.

  My attitude might have improved, but I still wanted to shine on the ice. Sure, I wanted Gunnar to be the one to notice my most awesome plays now, instead of Holbrook, but I still wanted them noticed!

  * * *

  For the rest of the morning, we kept up the pace, and when lunchtime finally rolled around I was dying for a break. And a sandwich. And a burger. And maybe a steak.

  Just before we skated off the ice to grab our lunches, Gunnar told us she had something to show us.

  We all crowded around her, and when we did, she pulled two velvety boxes out from behind her back. I knew what was going to be inside as soon as I saw them.

  She opened the first case and there it was: her 2006 gold medal.

  “Whoa,” Patrick and Cara whispered at the same time.

  “Can we touch it?” Ashley asked.

  “You can wear it,” Gunnar said, smiling.

  I couldn’t believe it!

  She opened the second box, then we each took a turn holding one of the medals. I got the one from Vancouver in 2010, which was awesome. When I hung it around my neck, I was amazed at how heavy it was. I’d watched a whole bunch of the Olympics with my family on TV, but I’d never seen what the medals looked like up close.

  It wasn’t totally round, and it was kind of wavy, like water, instead of flat. There was some carving on it, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

  “Each medal was part of a big piece of art,” Gunnar told us. “It’s hand cut, so every one is unique.”

  “Awesome,” I whispered.

  Ashley had the 2006 medal from Italy, which was a perfect circle with a hole in the middle that the ribbon went through.

  “They aren’t the same for every Olympics?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Gunnar said. “Kind of makes you want to collect them, doesn’t it?”

  “Definitely.”

  I could tell that Patrick was dying to see it, so I pulled the medal from my neck and handed it to him.

  “It looks good on you,” Gunnar said.

  “My own would probably look better,” he said, grinning.

  I turned and saw Danny Holbrook sneering at Gunnar and before I really thought about it, I skated over to him.

  “It’s too late to change teams,” he said.

  I didn’t say anything, but skated in a slow circle around him, looking him over from head to toe.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped.

  I stopped skating and stared up at him, thinking about how mean he’d been to my awesome coach.

  “Looking for your Olympic medals,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Oh, I forgot,” I said, smacking my helmet. “You don’t have any.”

  I
thought he would say something nasty, but he just shook his head at me, turned, and pulled his cell phone out.

  Typical.

  “What was that all about?” Gunnar asked.

  “The difference between a Holbrook and a hero,” I told her, skating off the ice to enjoy whatever Mum had packed for me.

  * * *

  At the end of the day, I walked outside with Kenny, but instead of Mrs. Cavanaugh, Mum’s minivan was in the lot with my sister behind the wheel.

  “What’s going on?” I asked her.

  “Kenny’s mum had to take their dog to the vet.”

  “Is Badger okay?” Kenny asked.

  She stopped chewing her gum to stare at him. “Do I look like a vet?” Then she saw how worried he was and said in a much kinder voice, “I don’t think it’s anything serious. She didn’t look upset or anything.”

  “Badger?” he asked.

  “No.” Wendy rolled her eyes. “Your mum.”

  “Cool,” Kenny said, obviously relieved.

  Wendy looked around to make sure no one had witnessed the two seconds she was being nice. “So are you dorks getting in, or what?”

  I opened the sliding door and hoisted my bag inside, but Kenny hesitated for a couple of seconds. He knew all about Wendy’s driving “skills.”

  “It’ll be fine,” I told him.

  He took a deep breath, threw his bag into the back and climbed in after it.

  “Just keep your eyes closed,” I said. “Tight.”

  I couldn’t wait to see his reaction when Wendy peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

  I was just about to jump into the front passenger seat when I heard Bosko say, “Hey, do you think we could get a ride, too?”

  I turned around and saw that Ashley looked as surprised as I was. Bosko only lived two blocks away from the rink.

  He pointed to the bag at Ashley’s feet. “That’s a lot of weight for my little sister to carry.”

  “Big sister,” Ashley said, rolling her eyes.

  “Well, you’re smaller than I am.”

  That wasn’t saying much, considering the guy was built like King Kong.

  I’d seen him carry his gear like the bag was filled with marshmallows. He could have easily carried both home on one shoulder.

  Never mind that I’d seen Ashley carry her own.

  “Fine,” Wendy said. “Whatever.”

  It took less than two minutes for us to drive to Bosko’s house and in that time, he never even blinked. He just stared at my sister like she was some kind of a goddess.

  And Wendy? She pretended to scowl the whole time, but I knew she loved the attention (or stalking, which is what I would have called it).

  When she pulled into the driveway, she turned off the engine. “Since we’re here, I’m just going to zip in and say hi to Shane,” she said, hopping out of the van.

  “Seriously?” Kenny groaned. He knew as well as I did that once those two got together, it was almost impossible to pull them apart. Especially their lips.

  Gross.

  “Do you guys want to come in?” Ashley asked.

  I watched my sister walk through the front door and figured we didn’t have much choice. There wasn’t a whole lot to do in the driveway in the middle of a rain shower.

  “Do you think it’s scary in there?” Kenny whispered to me as we followed the Boskos.

  “Nah,” I told him. “It’s fine.”

  He stopped walking and stared at me. “You’ve been here before?”

  “Yeah. For dinner.” I felt kind of cool saying it, like I’d done something super scary, like spending a whole night in a haunted castle or trick-or-treating at our principal’s house.

  He didn’t say anything else while we walked up the path to the house, but I heard his breathing get a little faster.

  As soon as we got inside, his eyes locked on that living room packed with trophies and awards.

  “No way,” he whispered.

  “I know,” I said, wishing I had a tenth of what the Boskos did.

  “I’ll get you guys something to drink,” Ashley said. “Just follow me to the kitchen.”

  “I wanna check those trophies out,” Kenny said, practically drooling.

  She grabbed both of us by the arm and started to pull us down the hall.

  “Ashley, is that you?” Mrs. Bosko called from the kitchen.

  “Yeah. Me and some kids from camp,” she called out, then said, “Come on, you guys.”

  “We should take our shoes off,” Kenny said, starting to slip his off while staring at a section of the wall that was filled only with medals. Like, hundreds of medals.

  “You can leave them on,” Ashley said, sounding ticked off. “Let’s get something to drink.”

  “I’m not thirsty,” Kenny said, totally distracted.

  “Ashley,” Mrs. Bosko called. “I need some help in here.”

  “Just a second!” She tugged harder on my arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Now, Ashley!” Mrs. Bosko shouted, sounding less friendly than I’d ever heard her.

  Ashley let go of my arm and just stood there for a couple of seconds, like she couldn’t decide what to do.

  “Ashley!” Mrs. Bosko shouted again, even louder.

  I hated to think what her next try would sound like.

  Ashley sighed and headed for the kitchen.

  “What are they for?” Kenny asked, walking into the living room for a closer look.

  I followed him, curious as well.

  “Math, rugby and hockey,” I said, knowing that’s what Eddie and Shane were into. “And probably some science stuff for their little sister.”

  “Ashley,” Kenny asked, looking at the biggest trophy, which was taller than he was.

  “Casey,” I corrected.

  “No,” Kenny said, pointing. “Ashley.”

  “What?” I asked, moving in for a closer look.

  The huge trophy did have Ashley’s name on it. And so did the one next to it, and three of the plaques on the wall.

  What was going on?

  “Ashley, Ashley, Ashley,” Kenny read, pointing at each award as he said the name. “Eddie, Ashley, Shane, Shane, Ashley.”

  “Are you guys coming …” Ashley started to say from behind us, then gasped. “What are you doing in there?”

  I turned to face her. “Looking at all of your trophies.”

  She frowned. “They aren’t all mine.”

  “Just the huge ones?” I asked. “What about being normal?”

  She stared at me. “That’s what I wanted to know.”

  “Normal?” Kenny asked, still checking out the awards. “This isn’t normal.”

  “Why did you lie about it?” I asked, wondering how many dumb things I’d said in front of her. She’d probably told Eddie what a dork I was so the two of them could laugh at me behind my back.

  Okay, that didn’t sound like the kind of thing Eddie would do. But Eddie wasn’t a liar and Ashley was, so how could I know for sure?

  “Are you going to answer?” I asked.

  “I wanted to be normal for like, five minutes, okay?” she said. “Do you know what it’s like being a genius in a whole family of geniuses?”

  Kenny and I looked at each other, amazed that she could ask us a question like that without laughing.

  “No,” I told her. “We have no idea.”

  “I feel like a freak, you guys. A total freak. And for once in my life, I wanted to be normal.”

  I couldn’t understand that at all. I mean, all I’d ever wanted was to be a hockey superstar.

  And she wanted to be normal?

  I didn’t get it at all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I actually woke up feeling kind of bummed on Friday morning. It was the last day of camp, and even though I had the big scrimmage to look forward to, I knew that as soon as we’d played, it would all be over.

  I was also bummed about Ashley Bosko lying to me. I couldn’t understand why she’d do
ne it, especially since I thought were, well … friends.

  Man, was that a strange thing to realize.

  I’d never had a girl for a friend before.

  Of course, I’d never had a friend tell me a big fat lie like that and make me feel stupid, either.

  While I was in the shower, I focused on hockey instead of the lying. Gunnar’s team would finally have our chance to make the Heroes take back everything they’d said about how lame we were.

  We had to win. We just had to.

  But could we?

  “Why so glum, chum?” Dad asked when he passed me coming out of the washroom.

  “Last day of hockey,” I sighed.

  “You’ll be back to the Cougars in a week,” he reminded me. “And you’ve got a whole lot of street hockey to play in the meantime.”

  “I know,” I said, nodding. But it wasn’t the same.

  After I was dressed in my sweats, I glanced at the Olympic book on my bedside table. Then I looked at my hockey library and realized something I’d never thought about before. None of my books were autographed.

  I grabbed Gold and tucked it under my arm before heading downstairs.

  Wendy was coming up at the same time. I didn’t think I’d seen her awake so early in my entire life. Her hair was all messed up and at least half of the makeup she spent forever putting on every morning was smeared all over her face. The other half was probably on her pillowcase. Gross.

  “Twerp,” she grunted, as she brushed past me.

  “Creep,” I muttered back, quietly enough that she wouldn’t hear me. As much as I wanted to stand up for myself, I didn’t want to do it backed against the wall with my thug sister’s arm pressed against my throat.

  Been there, done that.

  When I walked into the kitchen, the first thing I noticed was that there was no feeling of breakfast in the air. No smell of warm maple syrup. No sizzling waffle maker, oozing blueberry batter. No eggs scrambling. No toast … uh, toasting.

  “I made oatmeal,” Mum said.

  Ugh. That would do it.

  I didn’t even try to hide my disappointment as I sat at the table and looked for a whole bag of brown sugar to dump on the lumpy stuff in front of me.

  “I was hoping for something good,” I muttered.

  Mum heard me. “Well, there’s good, and there’s good for you.”

  “See?” I said. “Even you admit they’re two different things.”