Off the Crossbar

by David Skuy

  The process was repeated, with another group of three. Charlie did his best to look cool when his turn came, along with Scott and Nick’s. The two coaches waited in the corridor, a few dressing rooms away.

  Hilton’s serious expression changed into an expansive smile when they got near. “Congratulations, fellas, we’re going to need all three of you for the team.”

  Scott gave a loud whoop and clapped his hands. “Awesome,” he shouted.

  Hilton laughed. “Scott and Nick, we’d like you to team up as a defence pair. You played great today, and I think your styles compliment each other. Nick, we like your offensive ability, and we’re going to exploit that. Scott is solid defensively, which will let Nick wander a bit more. As for you,” he said, turning to Charlie, “we think the move to centre fit your game perfectly, and that’s where you’re going to stay. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds good,” Charlie said, still overwhelmed.

  Scott was not so subdued. “It sounds better than good, Coach. It sounds totally good!”

  “Just one thing,” Hilton said, pointing at Scott and Charlie. “I can’t have a repetition of the … scuffle. Tryouts are over, and I appreciate that it’s a stressful experience. I am counting on you to put all bad feelings aside, and work together as a team.”

  “You can count on me for that,” Charlie said earnestly.

  “Ancient history,” Scott concurred.

  “Good to hear that. Now, can you ask Mike, Richard and Jonathon to come next? I think they’re in your dressing room.” Hilton asked.

  As they made their way back, Scott elbowed Charlie and pointed to Nick. “Can you believe I gotta watch this pretty boy prance around the ice every shift, while I do all the hard work?”

  “Doesn’t solid defensively really mean can’t skate?” Nick asked Charlie.

  These two were never serious. Why should he be?

  “I’m kinda surprised either of you made it, to be honest,” he joked.

  Scott stopped short, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. “Does Charlie Joyce have a sense of humour?”

  “I did not know that,” Nick intoned.

  “I’m actually extremely funny,” Charlie deadpanned. “Many people consider me the life of the party.”

  “Not sure I wanna go to that party, Joyce,” Scott shot back.

  “I think Coach Hilton wants to see you next,” Charlie told Mike when they got back to the dressing room. “And Jonathon and Richard too.”

  Zachary caught his eye. He raised his eyebrows. As inconspicuously as possible Charlie flashed a thumbs-up. Zachary winked and went back to changing. Across the room, Jake, Liam and Thomas were staring at him. No way he’d give them the satisfaction of knowing just yet. He turned away and kept his head down.

  Hilton came into the room and held up his hand. “Well, that’s everyone,” he said. “Once more, I’m sorry we can’t take you all. For those who didn’t make it, best of luck with your club team, and there’s always next year. For the rest of you, be prepared to work hard over the next week. We’ll practise tomorrow at the same time. The first game is next Friday, so we’ve got lots of work ahead of us.”

  Mike plopped himself next to Charlie looking none too happy.

  “Bogus freakin’ team! Last time I bother with this stupid school. Haven’t won the tournament in, like, forever and he picks the worst players.”

  Charlie had no desire to listen to Mike’s tantrum. He dressed quickly in the hope of missing the rest of it. He wasn’t so lucky, unfortunately. As he was about to leave, Mike said, “So, like, how can Hilton make cuts after only two tryouts?”

  Charlie hoisted his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his stick. “It’s tough to do, for sure — like he told us.”

  Mike peered up at Charlie. “You didn’t make it, did you?”

  No point lying. “Um, well, sort of.”

  “What do you mean, sort of?”

  “I’ll catch you later,” he replied, leaving without answering any more of Mike’s questions.

  As he walked towards the arena doors he spotted a player standing by the window, his back to him. He looked familiar, although from behind he couldn’t tell who it was.

  “That was a sweet goal,” the player said, turning around. Pudge blushed slightly and pushed the door open for Charlie.

  “Thanks,” Charlie said, stepping into the cool night air.

  Charlie couldn’t think of anything to say. He nodded, and headed towards home. He’d only taken a few steps when Pudge called out, “So I’ll see you at the practice tomorrow.”

  He whirled around. “How’d you know I made it?” he asked.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. You were the best player out there.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said, “but thanks for the compliment.” He paused, then said, “and congrats yourself on making the team.”

  Pudge gave a mock bow.

  As soon as he knew he was out of eyeshot Charlie threw an arm into the air and jumped up. He’d made it. He’d actually made it. That would show Jake and those clowns. Now that he was on the team they’d have no choice but to accept him. Besides, Scott, Nick and Zachary had made it, and they were cool guys. They almost seemed like friends already; and Pudge was making an effort to be nice. So what if Jake and his crew didn’t like him? At least there were four guys on the team to hang with. Best strategy was to ignore Jake and just play hockey.

  For the first time since coming to Terrence Falls, Charlie was looking forward to the next day.

  7

  STEPPING UP

  It was Wednesday morning, and Charlie was in a situation that was becoming all too common. He had stayed up late finishing his French assignment, and then watched some television before going to bed. The result was a late wake-up and a very slow start to the day. He looked at his watch and groaned. He had ten minutes to drop off his hockey bag at the rink and get to homeroom. He struggled to run, but his bag, slung over his shoulder, made anything more than a quick shuffle impossible. His helmet had somehow lodged itself into the small of his back and was banging on his spine, but he didn’t dare stop.

  When he turned the corner and the arena came into view, he took off as fast as he could.

  “Oh great,” he said under his breath.

  Jake and Liam were up ahead. He wasn’t about to walk with them, so he slowed to a walk, resigning himself to yet another late slip — and probably a stern lecture from Hilton.

  “Come on, already,” he muttered.

  The two boys had stopped. He thought they were talking about something at first, but then he noticed Pudge off to the side. They weren’t letting him on the sidewalk, taking turns ramming him with their hockey bags. He heard Jake and Liam laughing, as if they were just having a good time, but the horseplay had a touch of cruelty. He’d seen this before and, in his opinion, Pudge was being bullied. Pudge had gone out of his way recently to help him out, telling him about the school, the other players on the team, and the general gossip that a new kid like him could never know. The sight of him being pushed around by his supposed friends made Charlie’s blood boil.

  He watched in anger from a distance. That anger turned white hot when Jake kicked Pudge’s hockey bag on the side, karate-style, and sent Pudge crashing to the ground. Liam and Jake hooted and hollered, exchanging high-fives. Pudge lay on the ground, looking like he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

  Without thinking about what he was doing, Charlie ran to Pudge’s side, dropping his bag and stick, and reached out a hand to help him up. Pudge seemed on the verge of tears, but he stifled them back and got up himself.

  “What’s your problem, Jake?” Charlie said. “What was that all about?”

  “Maybe you want some of that too?” Jake snarled.

  “Maybe you want to get a life,” Charlie said.

  His heart pounded in his chest, and he knew that a fight would mean getting kicked off the team, and maybe even a suspension from school, but he was too mad to care
.

  Jake stepped towards him, his fists balled. Liam held up his hands. “Cool it, bud. If Hilton hears about this, we’re off the team. This isn’t smart. Remember what he said to us.”

  Jake continued to glare at Charlie. “We’ll pick this up at a later date, Chuckles,” he said, heading off towards the arena.

  Liam walked backwards, keeping an eye on Charlie. “You’ve made your last mistake, punk. We’ll take care of you. Count on it. Coach can’t protect you forever. Your life’s over once the tournament’s done.” And with that parting shot, he ran to catch up with Jake.

  Charlie watched them as they went through the arena doors.

  “That wasn’t a very good idea. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of those guys — especially Jake,” Pudge said in a soft voice.

  “Too late for that,” he said. He was all too aware of the danger Jake represented, but he pretended not to care, and went over to retrieve his bag. They continued on to the arena, neither saying a word. Charlie finally broke the silence by asking a question he’d had on his mind since the first day of school.

  “I gotta ask you,” he began. “Why do you hang out with those guys?”

  Pudge didn’t respond at first. Finally he said, “They’re not usually that bad. A little worse lately is all.”

  “I don’t think you need to put up with their garbage. You’re a big guy, and you can handle any of them.”

  Pudge cast his eyes down. “I don’t know about that — maybe. But I’ve known them since grade school. I don’t have any other friends at school.” His voice trailed off.

  Charlie could see that Pudge was embarrassed. That made sense since no one wants to admit to being bullied. Best to change the subject. A random idea popped into his head — kind of crazy, but in a way it made perfect sense. Pudge obviously didn’t want to talk about Jake, so Charlie figured he may as well ask now.

  “I was talking to Zachary yesterday after practice,” he said. “You know Zachary, right?”

  Pudge nodded.

  “Anyway, we kinda got put on the same line, with me at centre and him on right wing.” Pudge was looking straight ahead. Was he even listening? “Yeah, anyway, so we’ve had a couple of guys on left wing. Don’t know why, but no one’s really worked out.” Pudge remained unresponsive. Charlie pulled Pudge’s arm and tapped his bag with his stick. “Maybe I could ask Hilton if you could move up and play left wing. You’d be perfect. We need a big, strong winger to get the puck out of the corner — someone to cause havoc in front of the net.” He grew more excited as he explained. “You’d also cover up defensively for a goal-suck like me,” he laughed.

  “You’re not a goal suck,” Pudge replied. “Not like Jake.”

  “I could talk to the coach before practice today if you want. I’m sure he’d give it a try.”

  Pudge wasn’t convinced. “I’ve always been a defenceman, and I made the team as a defenceman. I don’t think I’ve played a shift at forward in my life. Besides, we’d have to move a forward back for me.” He shook his head. “I don’t think Hilton will go for it.”

  “At least we can ask,” Charlie countered. “We’ll tell him we’ve been practising together for the last few days and worked out a bunch of new plays. Zachary will back us up. He’s a good guy. What do you say?”

  Pudge remained silent.

  “You won’t have to play with Thomas anymore.”

  “Tough to argue against that!”

  “Come on, we’d better hustle or we’ll be late for homeroom, and Hilton may not even let us practise,” Charlie said.

  They both broke out into a run and raced off to the arena.

  8

  A NEW LINEMATE

  Charlie held out his hands for the ball. It was phys. ed. class, and his teacher, Mr. Barton, had organized a series of three-on-three basketball games. Charlie, Zachary and Scott formed a team, and they were well on their way to winning their third straight game. The score was 8–0. All they needed was one more basket. Scott delivered the ball to Charlie at the top of the key. Charlie faked left, then with a crossover dribble cut to the right and drove to the basket. Two defenders shifted across to stop him. Charlie jumped up, which got the two defenders off their feet, and shovelled a bounce pass to Zachary, who was charging hard down the left lane. Zachary took the pass and calmly took it to the hoop for an easy layup.

  The three teammates congratulated themselves on the win. Charlie was an avid player, and had been selected to play for the city all-star team last year for his age group. He was about to ask where they had learned to play when Mr. Barton blew his whistle.

  “We only have about seven minutes left,” he bellowed. Mr. Barton had been a phys. ed. instructor at Terrence Falls for more than thirty years, and from what Charlie had been told, in all that time he’d never said anything quietly. “Most of you have finished your matches, so how about a game of dodge ball to end things up?”

  The boys responded with an enthusiastic cheer, and bounded around the gym, while Barton went into the equipment room for a ball.

  Ms Cummings, followed by thirty grade-nine girls, walked into the gym just as Barton left. They had been outside running track. As Barton emerged from the room with a red rubber ball, Cummings waved and went over to speak to him. This was her first year at Terrence Falls, and she seemed as quiet as Barton was loud. Cummings whispered something to Barton, who in turn looked surprised.

  “A capital idea, Ms Cummings Listen up, everyone. The ladies have finished early also. They’re going to join in on the dodge ball game.”

  He turned to Cummings to explain the rules. “It’s a simple game. Students can run anywhere in the gym. Whoever has the ball tries to throw it at someone. If you hit someone below the waist, they’re out. The thrower’s out if someone catches the throw. If you try to catch a throw but drop it, then you’re out. You can take three steps with the ball. Bouncing the ball gives you three more steps. Hits above the waist don’t count. Hit someone in the head, you’re out.”

  Cummings listened politely. “They’ve played before,” she murmured.

  “Tremendous,” he shouted. “Then let’s go!”

  Barton walked to the centre of the gym and pounded the ball into the floor with his fist. The ball bounced high into the air, nearly touching the ceiling, while several of the more adventurous players stood underneath to try to catch it.

  Everyone started to yell, some shouting encouragement, others challenges. The action was fast and furious. It was a small gym, and with so many players, people were getting hit with nearly every throw. Before too long, only five remained. Scott and Zachary, who had worked together as a team, were huddled together in one corner. Charlie, who had remained in the background to avoid attracting any attention, was in the opposite corner. Jake had the ball in the middle of the gym. Julia, from Charlie’s homeroom, stood under one of the basketball nets.

  Jake looked around, and then charged at Scott and Zachary, holding the ball up over his shoulder with his right hand, making as if to throw. Zachary held his ground, but Scott decided to run for it. Jake instantly swerved towards Scott, sprinting behind him, bouncing the ball to gain three more steps. Jake raised his arm again. Scott jumped, anticipating a throw but Jake cleverly held onto the ball. When Scott landed, Jake was three feet away, and all he had to do was toss it lightly off Scott’s knee to get him out.

  Jake was on the ball like a cat, and soon had Zachary cornered. He made short work of him, using his favourite move — faking a throw to get him to jump, and hitting him when he landed. That left Julia and Charlie, with Jake still holding the ball. He was at the opposite end of the gym, and was dribbling the ball, moving steadily closer. Charlie was on the verge of running to another corner, when Julia came over and pulled on his sleeve.

  “I have an idea,” she whispered. “Let’s stick together.” She waved at Jake. “We’ll let you off easy if you just give us the ball,” she challenged.

  That set the onlookers off.

&n
bsp; “So give her the ball, Jake,” one kid laughed.

  “Quit now, Wilkenson. You got no chance against her.”

  “Go, Julia, go!” her friends began cheering.

  Since that first day of school Charlie hadn’t dared speak to Julia. She always hung out with a ton of friends. He had enough problems without being snubbed by a bunch of girls. Even so, he’d noticed her. She was the best girl athlete in grade nine, and judging from her answers in English, she was smart too. He’d always been a bit shy around girls. With everyone watching, and Jake moving towards them, he was completely tongue-tied. A nod was all he could manage.

  “Spread out a bit,” she said, pushing his shoulder. Charlie moved dutifully over a few feet.

  Jake had picked up speed, but then slowed, confused by the odd strategy. Charlie didn’t get it either — it didn’t make sense to let yourself be cornered. Charlie crouched down low, certain that Jake would go after him. Suddenly, he got it. Julia had tricked him to take the focus away from her. He looked over. She winked. He felt himself flush deeply. Why was he so lame? He totally fell for it. The entire school would be howling about this by lunchtime.

  Jake stood still, about ten feet away, holding the ball in his throwing hand, enjoying the attention. All the kids were watching intently. Everyone knew about Jake and Charlie. They too expected him to finish Charlie off.

  Without warning, Jake took two large steps and drew his arm back. He had a powerful arm. Charlie figured it’d be impossible to catch the throw, so he decided to try and dodge out of the way and trap the rebound off the wall. He leaned forward on his toes, readying himself. Jake brought his arm forward and Charlie jumped to his right, spinning at the same time.

  A huge roar sounded from the class. The ball hadn’t touched him. What happened? He looked around frantically for the ball. Jake hadn’t moved. He was looking up at the ceiling, his eyes closed. Charlie felt the ball touch his knee.

  Julia stood next to him holding the ball in her hand.

  “What happened?” he gasped.