by David Skuy
Charlie was as tired as the rest, but he felt good all the same. He had been first to finish in practically every drill.
“Divide yourselves into five groups of eight and pick a faceoff circle,” Tremblay ordered. “Skate around the circle clockwise, four at a time, with your head turned to the outside shoulder and looking up at the ceiling. Let’s see how sharp those blades really are.”
“Goalies, follow me,” Hilton added, pointing to the far end.
Most of the boys broke into groups quickly. A few of the new kids stood around awkwardly, Charlie included, looking for a group to join. A tall, husky boy, with a red helmet and matching pants, skated over to Charlie and tapped him on the shin pads.
“Hey, why don’t you join us?” he offered. “We’ve only got seven.”
Charlie nodded gratefully and followed him to a nearby circle.
“Good. Now let’s get those crossovers going,” Tremblay’s voice rang out. “Four at a time, and we’ll shift every minute. We’re going clockwise. Okay? That means your right leg is on the inside.”
Four players in Charlie’s group took off, including the boy who’d invited him to join. Charlie was happy to let them go first. He was still breathing hard from the drills and was grateful for the rest. So far everything had gone well. Thankfully, Jake and his gang were all on the blue team, so he didn’t even have to drill with them. They had basically ignored him today anyway. Perhaps he’d overreacted in the homeroom class. Maybe things were not as grim as he’d thought. Those guys wanted to win the tournament, and if he made the team, then he was sure everything would be forgotten. They’d probably be joking about it by next week.
The whistle interrupted his thoughts, and Tremblay bellowed for the players to switch. They did the drill a few more times, then the whistle sounded, and Hilton was at centre waving everyone in. The players wasted no time getting there. Sweat poured down their faces, and most laboured to catch their breath. It was a feeling familiar to Charlie, a slight burning sensation in the lungs, a little bit tired, but still ready to play.
“Since we only have two tryouts and this one’s half over already, I think we should scrimmage. It’ll give you guys a chance to strut your stuff. Again, I trust you see the genius of the red and blue jerseys. I’ll coach the blue squad. Robert, you take the red. Don’t worry too much about positions or who you’re playing with. We’ll sort that out later.”
Hilton skated to one bench, with the blue players trailing after him. Tremblay remained at centre with the red team. “We have twenty skaters,” he said, “which means four shifts of five. Simple enough.” He pointed at five players to his right. “You’ll be line one.” He pointed at the next five. “You’re line two.” He divided the remaining players into two lines and headed to the empty bench, turning to call out, “Line one on the ice, everyone else off.”
Charlie took his place on the bench with the others. He was on line three. Next to him sat the fellow who’d invited him for the crossover drill. Tremblay placed a hand on each of their shoulders.
“So who do we have here?” he asked.
“Scott Slatsky,” replied the boy.
“And you?”
“Charlie Joyce.”
“Well, Scott and Charlie, can I prevail upon you to form a defence pair for line three?”
“Not a problem.” Scott beamed. “I am a defenceman.”
“Terrific. I see you’re both left-handed shots, but I think you can handle it.” Tremblay gave Scott’s shoulder pad a slap and moved down the bench to organize line four.
Charlie had always played centre, even as a five-year-old just starting out. Hilton had told them not to worry about positions, so he didn’t say anything. Still, it was irritating that they didn’t even ask him where he was used to playing.
“You can play left defence,” Charlie said. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
Scott nodded. He took off his glove and extended his hand. “We may as well meet formally,” he said. “So you’re the famous Charlie Joyce.”
Charlie shook his hand. “I don’t know about the famous part, but the rest is right.”
Scott gave Charlie’s right knee a punch and whispered, “I heard about your little discussion with Jake and the boys. Some of the guys were talking about it in the dressing room.” His voice trailed off and he didn’t say anything further, then blurted out, “I gotta say I admire your guts. They’re tough dudes, and you didn’t back down an inch.” He lowered his voice even further. “I don’t think much of that crew, to be honest. I could do without any of them.”
The whistle blew to signal the start of the scrimmage. Jake, Liam and Matt formed the forward line for the blue team. Jake lined up at centre. He choked up on his stick, deftly pulling the puck back to Thomas, who was the right defenceman. Thomas promptly passed across the line to Pudge, who one-timed it to a speeding Jake as he cut across the red line. Jake darted in between two red forwards and moved in on the defence, flanked by Liam on his left and Matt on his right.
Jake decided to go it alone. He faked a pass to Matt at the blue line, swung outside and then cut in on the goalie, cradling the puck on his backhand with one hand, using the other to ward off the defenceman. The goalie flopped to the ice and stacked his pads, expecting Jake to try to stuff it in on the short side. At the last second, Jake put both hands on his stick and flicked the puck into the top corner.
The blue players threw their sticks up in the air, and those on the bench pounded the boards. Jake held out his glove as he skated by his teammates. It was a beautiful goal, and Jake had made it look very easy. The defenceman Jake had beaten smashed his stick on the ice. He hung his head and drifted slowly to the blue line.
“Okay, boys,” Tremblay shouted to his team. “Not the best start, but don’t worry about it.”
The blue team quickly regained possession after the faceoff. It didn’t take too long for the play to end up in the red team’s zone. After a mad scramble in front of the net, Liam slid the puck under the sprawling goalie.
The blue team changed lines, the players coming off laughing and trading high-fives — and why not, with two goals in the first minute? Tremblay switched it up as well. “Put it behind you, boys,” he told the first line as they filed off. “They’re a pretty powerful unit, so don’t take it to heart.”
The second lines were more evenly matched, and the play swung from end to end, although neither team scored. When the whistle blew for an offside, Tremblay called for a line change. As the third line left the bench, Tremblay held Charlie and Scott back for a moment. “I want you guys to play it safe and just move the puck quickly. Don’t take too many chances. We don’t want to give up another goal. Okay?”
Charlie felt strange watching the faceoff back on defence, since he was used to taking the draw. He didn’t get much of a chance to get used to it either, because the opposing centre slapped the puck directly to him. Charlie skated backwards a few feet and then fired a pass over to Scott, who took it easily and feathered a pass to his left winger. Charlie was pleased to see that his new acquaintance was a good player. He was a fairly big kid, deceptively fast, and Charlie had already noticed that he had a blistering slapshot.
The left winger dumped the puck into blue’s end. It whistled around the boards behind the net and settled in the far corner. The red team’s right winger, a tall boy, very powerful-looking, who skated easily with long, purposeful strides, stormed after the puck, pressing against the wall to block the outlet pass. The defenceman with the puck decided to go back the other way, but the right winger caught him, lifting his stick and coming away with the puck.
The right winger skated behind the net, his head up, alert. Charlie sneaked into the slot, and the winger gave him a perfect pass. Charlie fired a hard shot at the top corner, but the goalie slid across and the puck hit his shoulder, then bounced off to the corner. Red’s left winger jumped on it and slid it back to Scott. The defenceman let off a hard shot. The goalie was up to the challenge and kicke
d it out. Charlie got a final shot on net from the point, before the goalie was able to flop on the puck. The whistle blew and the lines changed.
Tremblay was positively beaming when Charlie’s line came off. He rewarded the players with a solid rap on the helmet.
“Good puck movement, boys. I liked seeing you use the point. Everyone played their position, and was unselfish with the puck. He’s a good goalie, or we’d have scored for sure.”
Tremblay turned his attention to the game, shouting out words of encouragement to the fourth line.
Scott offered Charlie some water. “That was good fun,” he said.
Charlie took a sip. “I should have scored. That goalie’s better than good. Have you seen him before?”
Scott nodded. “That’s Alexi Tolstoy. His family came over from Russia three years ago. He’ll be the team’s number-one goalie, no contest. Probably the best goalie in Terrence Falls. He even practised with the senior team last year.”
“And the right winger?” Charlie asked. “He sure knows how to play.”
Scott shook his head. “I don’t know much about him. He didn’t go to my school. I think his name’s Zachary.”
Tremblay changed the lines after virtually every whistle, so that everyone had a chance to play. Charlie’s line continued to dominate its counterparts, and on the next shift the right winger, Zachary, scored. Charlie followed Tremblay’s instructions, playing conservatively, headmanning the puck as soon as he got it. He was uncomfortable on defence, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do, and figured the best strategy was not to make any mistakes.
A couple of shifts later, Charlie got an unpleasant surprise. Jake’s line was on the ice. Liam begged Jake to win the faceoff, so he could “kick some butt real quick and score some goals.” The faceoff was in the blue team’s end. Jake grinned at his friend and nodded, pointing back to Thomas. As good as his word, he won the draw cleanly. The puck slid to Thomas, who promptly fired it around the boards behind the net to Liam. Liam was late getting over, however, and Charlie was able to pinch in from the point and shovel a pass into the corner for Zachary.
Liam took a run at Charlie, crushing him into the boards after he passed it. Charlie had been playing contact hockey since he was ten and was well schooled in the art of taking a hit. He pressed up against the boards, so that while Liam’s hit looked spectacular, Charlie hardly felt it, and more importantly, he kept his eye on the puck and stayed on his feet.
Zachary sent the puck behind the net to his centre, but Pudge made a nice defensive play, tying him up against the boards, holding the puck in his skates. Thomas whipped around the net and dug the puck out.
Thomas wired the puck around the boards to Liam again. Liam assumed he had lots of time, casually stopping it with his skate. But Charlie anticipated the play and Liam never saw him coming. He knocked the surprised winger off the puck, and carried it into the corner, looking for someone to pass to.
Jake had been covering Zachary in the high slot, as he was supposed to, but when Charlie got the puck Jake left his man and charged at him. Charlie waited until Jake had completely committed himself, and then sent a soft pass to Zachary. The centre had managed to extricate himself from Pudge’s grasp and had established himself down low in front of Alexi. Recognizing a screen, Zachary zipped a wrist shot to the top left corner.
Alexi didn’t have a chance. He barely moved to stop it, but luck was not on the red team’s side. A loud clang followed the shot. The puck hit the post, and it bounced harmlessly to the corner.
The first rule in hockey is simple. Keep your head up. Charlie broke that rule, first by watching his pass, and then by watching the shot. That’s why he didn’t see Jake and Liam come at him — and they took full advantage, delivering a thunderous check that drove Charlie backwards into the boards. Jake followed that up with an elbow to his jaw, while Liam added a nasty cross-check to his ribs for good measure.
Charlie lost it. Rather than skate back to the point, he stormed after Thomas, who had regained the puck behind the net. Thomas slid a pass back to Pudge, who one-timed it to Jake at the top of the circle. Charlie threw himself at Thomas, but Thomas saw him coming and neatly sidestepped the check. Charlie smashed into the boards and fell to the ice.
He looked up and groaned. Jake, Liam and Matt were charging up the ice, and he was lying on his back, totally out of position. The red forwards had been pressing when Charlie lost his temper and took a run at Thomas, so they were also caught behind the play.
Poor Scott was faced with a three-on-one. Jake, Liam and Matt bore down on him, as he backed up, furiously hoping to poke the puck away. He wouldn’t get the chance. Liam cut across the blue line and dropped the puck to Jake, who in turn sent it to a hard-charging Matt. Matt took the pass in full stride and cut sharply towards the goal. Scott turned and tried to hold him up, but he had been caught off guard by Jake’s pass and was unable to stop him. Matt waited until the goalie had committed himself, and then shovelled a pass across the crease to a wide-open Liam. The mischievous winger didn’t put it in, however. With a big grin, he held the puck close to the line. The goalie and Scott dove at him together, and when they did, Liam slid the puck back across the crease to Jake, who slammed it into the net.
All the while Charlie could do nothing but watch. Everyone on the blue team’s bench leapt to their feet, cheering and banging sticks on the boards. He knew the goal was his fault. Jake and his crew had made him look like a fool. Neither coach was going to be impressed by his little temper tantrum, and Charlie wondered if he’d just blown his chance to make the team.
4
TWO-HAND TOUCH
Charlie walked down the hall. His math class had just ended, and he had lunch period next. He was getting familiar with the school, figuring out where things were and how everything worked. Lunch period was killer boring, though. He hadn’t made any actual friends yet, so he ate by himself. Then he would just wander outside until his next class. Yesterday, he’d gone to the library to study, but it was too nice to stay inside today. He sat down at an empty table and began to eat. He’d been one of the first to get to the cafeteria, so he was finished before most of the kids had even sat down. No sense waiting here, he thought, getting up to leave.
Charlie headed to the far end of the school, next to the parking lot. He’d already gone there a few times to wait for class to start. He liked it because it was out of the way — no one else ever seemed to be around. He’d feel awkward hanging out at the main field or in front of the school when he didn’t know anyone.
A small field bordered the parking lot, about forty yards long. He picked up some stones and started tossing them at a large oak tree on the other side of the field. He had a good arm. Once he’d warmed up, he was hitting it almost every time. He heard voices coming towards the field.
“Okay, losers, you take the other end. Champions are always the home team.”
“One lucky win doesn’t make you champions, dude. It makes you ugly!”
“You want ugly, look in the mirror.”
Two kids pushed each other, and then one ran down the field, cutting hard to his left after ten yards.
“Hit me, Thomas. I’m so open it hurts.”
Thomas threw him the football. The receiver caught it and turned up field, pretending to elude tacklers. He jumped up in the air, spun, and spiked the ball over his head.
“I da man — I da man,” he said, celebrating his imaginary touchdown.
“Toss it back, Mike.”
Mike and Thomas threw the ball back and forth, while more boys piled onto the field.
“What are the teams?” Mike asked.
“Same as yesterday.”
“Then you guys have no chance, Tyler. It’ll be another crushing defeat.”
“You won on the last play of the game,” Tyler said.
“We just wanted to make it dramatic. We’ll win by ten touchdowns today.”
The boys divided themselves into two teams.
&
nbsp; “Since we won so easily before, we’ll kick off,” said Mike, who had the ball. He walked towards the far end, where Charlie was standing.
Charlie didn’t know what to do. He’d look ridiculous watching guys play football. It was like advertising that he had no friends! But it would look just as ridiculous to walk away. He decided to wait until they started playing. Then he could sneak off without them seeing.
“Hey, we’ve only got four players,” Tyler said. “Where’s Dylan? I thought he was playing.”
“He said he was,” Mike said. “He must be afraid of losing again.”
“He knows we could win with four,” an opposing player replied.
“You couldn’t win with ten and a pack of killer attack dogs, Zachary.”
“Just kick the ball,” Zachary said.
Charlie recognized Zachary, the right winger at the tryout who’d impressed him with his skills.
Mike took a few steps towards Charlie. “Hey, you! We need another body. You play football — even a bit?” Charlie nodded. Mike turned to Zachary. “You take this guy. Now you got no excuses.”
“I know that guy,” Thomas said to Mike. “He’s a jerk. Let’s just play with the guys here.”
Mike shrugged. “I didn’t know. Too late now.”
Charlie had overheard Thomas, but didn’t say anything. He lined up next to Zachary.
Zachary recognized him also. “You were at the tryout, weren’t ya?” he asked.
“We played a few shifts together,” Charlie said. “You’re on the wing, I think.”
“That’s me. And I think you were on defence. Anyway, you played much ball before?”
He played during practically every recess at school last year. “A little, I guess.”
“Well, here are the rules. It’s eight-steamboat rush, with one guy on the line. Three for the field. Two-hand touch. No laterals, no running plays, and the quarterback can’t run. Kickoff from your goal line.”
