Off the Crossbar

by David Skuy

  He tried to think of something else to say, but nothing came to mind. He was beginning to feel foolish when Julia said, “We play before you, then.”

  “I’ll come early to check it out,” he replied. “Who do you play?”

  “I can’t remember either,” she said. “Terrific captains we are, eh?”

  “I guess we’d better figure that out by second period or people will begin to talk,” he said.

  “Hey, Julia,” a high-pitched voice called out. “Come over here for a sec.”

  A group of her friends had gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

  She took a few steps towards them, then turned back to Charlie. “Lead your team to gold, or Sir Karl will be very disappointed,” she said, before heading off to join her friends.

  “I’ll do my best,” Charlie replied.

  Scott came up behind Charlie and put him in a headlock, adding a few knuckle rubs for good measure before letting him go. Nick, Zachary and Pudge came over as well.

  “I want you to know that it was my vote that put you over the hump, so you have to be nice to me,” Scott joked.

  “I think it was the fifty bucks I gave everyone,” Nick added.

  The boys laughed, except for Pudge. In a serious tone, he said, “You deserve to be captain. A lot of the guys told me they voted for you.”

  “Thanks, Pudge,” he said. “I hope I won’t let you guys down.”

  “You’d better not let us down,” Scott said. “We made you, and we can break you.”

  “You got that right,” Jake growled as he walked past, followed by Liam and Thomas.

  Charlie and his friends watched as they left the cafeteria.

  “It never ceases to amaze me what a jerk he is,” Scott declared.

  Charlie sighed. “I wish I knew why he hates me so much.”

  “Jake has to be the best player,” Pudge said. “I’ve been on his team since Atom, and he’s always been like that. He knows you’re better, and he can’t handle it.”

  “We need Jake,” Charlie said, deflecting the praise. “He’s the best goal scorer we’ve got, and Liam, Matt and Thomas are no slouches either.”

  Scott looked startled. He held out his hands to interrupt. “Wait a second,” he said. “I thought Charlie was our best goal scorer. That’s why I voted for him.”

  “My specialty is defence, you know that,” Charlie replied.

  They all laughed. “I’ll introduce you to our end sometime, Mr. Defensive Specialist,” Nick said.

  Principal Holmes clucked disapprovingly. “Boys, please. You’re going to be late for class. You simply must get going.”

  “Coach Hilton asked us to stay behind,” Scott replied, “to go over strategy for the game tonight. He wants us to use the four-star abracadabra defensive forecheck lock down.”

  Nick covered his mouth with his hand and the others struggled not to laugh. Charlie suddenly realized that Scott was joking. The guy had no fear when it came to being funny.

  Principal Holmes shook his head. “Dear me. I’ll never understand all these sports terms. It’s like another language.”

  Ms Cummings gestured for him from the cafeteria floor.

  “Yes, I’m coming,” Principal Holmes said. “Please excuse me, boys. Good luck tonight, and I hope the four-star abracadabra … locking strategy thing works out.”

  As soon as he was out of earshot all five boys roared with laughter.

  “You’re gonna get us suspended one day,” Nick said, slapping Scott on the back. “Forecheck lock down — now that’s a classic.”

  “I’m proud of that one myself,” Scott said, patting himself on the back.

  “We probably should get to class,” Pudge said.

  They jumped off the stage. Charlie looked back before he left the cafeteria. He wanted to hold on to this moment for a little longer — to be elected captain, in grade nine, was a huge honour. It could also add a huge amount of pressure. All eyes would be on him tonight. He closed the door gingerly and followed the others down the hall to his locker.

  Later that day Charlie sat at the dinner table with his sister and mother. They were eating pasta, a pre-game ritual his father had always insisted on.

  His mother had gone to great lengths to make it exactly the way he liked, but Charlie was barely eating, just picking at it with his fork and playing with the sauce.

  “You should eat a little something before the game,” his mother said.

  Charlie shrugged. “I’m not that hungry, I guess.”

  “Are we perhaps a little nervous?”

  “Maybe a little,” he admitted. “I just wish that the guys hadn’t made me captain. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. But I’m new to the team, and it probably would have been better to choose one of the guys who’s been around longer.”

  “I’m sure they voted for you because they liked how you play and wanted you as their captain.”

  Charlie was not ready to accept that. “I think they were voting against someone, rather than for me. And I think some of them are going to have second thoughts.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged and poked at his food with his fork.

  “He means they voted against Jake Wilkenson because he’s such a jerk,” Danielle said.

  “Danielle!” Charlie hissed.

  “Well, it’s the truth,” Danielle huffed, sticking her tongue out at him. “Hannah told me, and her sister goes to your school.”

  His mother put her fork down. “So what’s the deal with this Jake Wilkenson?”

  Charlie sighed. “I don’t really know. We got off on the wrong foot the first day of school. Actually, we got off on the wrong foot even before that, at that pickup game you dragged me to.”

  His mother gave him a stern look.

  “Sorry. The pickup game you took me to. Anyway, he’s had it in for me since then. We even had a bit of an … argument … at one of the tryouts.”

  “Hannah told me all about it,” Danielle said breathlessly. “Charlie nailed some guy during a drill, and Jake and his buddy charged at Charlie. Then another guy pulled another guy off Charlie, and the coaches had to pull everyone apart.”

  “Thank you, Danielle,” their mother said. “It’s amazing how you seem to know everything that’s going on.”

  Danielle winked and stuffed a big fork full of pasta into her mouth.

  “Now what was this about a fight?” his mom asked.

  Just then the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” Charlie said, relieved not to have to answer his mom. He opened the door. It was Pudge. A car idled in the driveway with the lights on.

  “Hey, Pudge. What’s up? You off to the game already?”

  “My dad wants to see the junior girls play, so we’re going early. You wanna come?”

  “That would be cool. But my grandparents are coming over. I should wait for them. We’ll be leaving soon.”

  “No problem. I’ll see you there.”

  Honk.

  “Okay, Dad. One second,” Pudge said between cupped hands. He leaned forward. “I also just heard some news, and I thought you’d be interested.

  “You got my attention. What’s the news?” Charlie asked.

  “Jake, Thomas and Liam went to Hilton to complain about you being named captain.”

  “That’s great!” Charlie groaned.

  “They told him it was stupid to make you captain when you didn’t know any of the guys. Liam said that Jake had been captain of his school team last year, and it won the district championship, and since some of the same guys are on this team he should be captain.”

  “So what did Hilton say?” Charlie asked.

  “My source suggests that he turned them down flat. He said you won the vote, so there wasn’t anything he could do about it.”

  “How do you know about all this?”

  “Jake was doing his usual big-mouth routine after school, and Dylan was there — you know him, he’s a forward on the third line. He t
old me.” Pudge looked down the street. “I think he lives around here, actually.”

  Charlie considered the news. “Thanks for telling me, Pudge. I appreciate it. Maybe they’ll drop it now that Hilton’s turned them down.”

  “I doubt it,” Pudge said. “Those guys don’t let up that easy. I’m a little worried about the game tonight. What do you think they’ll do?”

  “Hopefully, just play well,” Charlie said. “Deep down, those guys want to win as much as you or me. Besides, it’s just a weekend tournament. It doesn’t really matter who the captain is. We only play six games at the most.”

  “You could be right.”

  He didn’t sound convinced.

  Honk.

  “I’d better split. I’ll see you at the rink.”

  “Sure. Sounds good. I’ll see ya — and thanks for the info. I owe ya one.”

  Pudge waved and got into the car.

  “Who was that?”

  His mom had joined him on the porch.

  “That was Pudge. He asked if I wanted to go early. Told him Grandma and Grandpa were coming so …”

  “That was nice of him. You two starting to become friends?”

  Charlie was embarrassed. “I dunno. Maybe, I guess. He’s an okay guy. Don’t really know him.”

  “Well, Grandma and Grandpa will be here any minute, so eat up and get ready.”

  Charlie went back to the kitchen. Pudge’s news hardly helped his appetite. He managed one more mouthful and then got ready. By the time they arrived at the arena, his stomach was all in knots. He tried to force the butterflies to calm down, without success.

  His mother turned around in the car. “Just have fun out there, dear, and good luck.”

  “What about me?” Danielle piped up.

  “You can have fun too, dear.”

  “I’d have more fun with a bag of popcorn and a drink.”

  “I think I can arrange that.”

  Charlie got out and pulled his bag from the trunk. Fun was the farthest thing from his mind. At least their first game was against Cliffcrest High — according to Pudge the worst team in the tournament. Jake would score a bunch of goals, and he’d be happy. A win was just what the team needed. Then they could get ready for the tough games tomorrow.

  13

  DEBUT DISASTER

  A knock on the door woke Charlie from a restless sleep. Although he’d gone to bed early, he still felt tired, and he moaned loudly as the light shone in through his curtains and hit his eyes. He flopped over onto his stomach and covered his head with his pillow. The memory of last night’s game returned to him, for maybe the hundredth time since he’d first tried to get to sleep. He couldn’t get it out of his head, and had barely slept all night because of it.

  What a disaster. They’d been so confident. Some of the guys were betting on how many goals they’d score. Last year Terrence Falls had beaten Cliffcrest 14–0. Yet, somehow this year they’d lost 4–3. Jake scored all three goals, but still it wasn’t enough. Charlie’s line played terribly. They’d been on the ice for three goals against, including a giveaway by Charlie in his own end that led to the fourth goal — the winning goal, as it turned out. Charlie’s game had been awful, and more than a few of his teammates commented on it, during the game and afterwards in the dressing room.

  If Terrence Falls lost one more game they’d be eliminated from the playoff round. So much for the four gold medals. He smashed his fist down on the mattress. His punch didn’t make him feel better, and he almost clipped his mother who had come in to make sure he was awake.

  Charlie peered sheepishly out from under his pillow. “Sorry, Mom,” he said. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Good to know that you were only trying to beat up your bed, and not me.”

  Charlie turned onto his back. “It didn’t give me a very good night’s sleep, so I thought I’d teach it a lesson.”

  “Did it learn?”

  “Mattresses are not good students, as it turns out.”

  She ruffled Charlie’s hair. “You weren’t much in the mood to talk last night,” she said. “Maybe now you can tell me what went wrong during the game.”

  Charlie sat up, shaking his head. “I wish I knew. It was like I’d never played a game in my life. Everything I did was wrong. I singlehandedly let Cliffcrest win.”

  “That’s going a bit far.”

  “No, it’s not. I was on the ice for almost all of their goals, and I barely had a shot on net. My stupidity gave them the winning goal. Cliffcrest is terrible, and we lost to them.” He stopped, too upset to continue.

  “I admit it wasn’t the best game I’ve seen you play.”

  Charlie hung his head. “I can only imagine what the guys think. They vote me captain and I turn in a stinker like that — and in my first game.”

  “I’m no hockey player, but I know the real Charlie Joyce wasn’t playing last night. That was an imposter who stole your sweater. You figure out how to get your sweater back.” She ruffled his hair again and left.

  Charlie didn’t really need to figure out what went wrong. He’d known even before the game ended. Passing when he should have shot, chasing the puck rather than playing his position, he’d tried to be Mr. Nice Guy to justify being captain. He wanted the guys to like him. Even worse, he’d spent the game terrified of making a mistake — and ended up making a ton of them. You can’t play scared, his father had always told him — the best players have the confidence to mess up.

  Charlie got dressed and went downstairs.

  “Hurry up, Charlie,” his mother said. “We have to leave relatively soon — maybe forty-five minutes.”

  Charlie poured a bowl of cereal. “We could play three games today,” Charlie told her. “If we win the first two, we have the quarterfinals tonight.”

  “Then you’ll need an especially good breakfast. Have a little fruit and some toast with that. You need something to stick to your ribs.”

  Charlie finished his breakfast, grabbed an apple, and went to the garage for his equipment. He was waiting by the car when his mother and sister came out to drive him to the game.

  Charlie didn’t talk to anyone while he dressed. The other guys were watching him, but he didn’t let on that he noticed. The real Charlie Joyce was going to play this time — not the imposter who worried what others thought. He’d prove his worth on the ice.

  Hilton came in, followed by Tremblay.

  “Listen up boys,” Hilton said. “The less said about last night the better. I can only hope you got it out of your system for the rest of the tournament. Maybe we were overconfident. I don’t know. At the very least, you won’t have the same excuse for this game. Chesswood is a very good team. They beat us 4–0 last year, and made it to the semifinals. We’re going to need a total team effort to win. All three lines need to work hard, and the defence has to clear the front of the net, so Alexi can see the puck.

  “We got killed by shots from the point last night. I think at least two goals came from rebounds off point shots. Wingers, you have to be disciplined and stay up high in our own end. That’s your responsibility defensively.”

  Hilton walked over to the blackboard hanging on the wall. He took out a piece of chalk from his pocket and quickly sketched out a series of Xs and Os.

  “Let me go over the zone coverage in our end. Assume the other team has the puck deep in the corner. The two wingers stay up high, near the top of the circle, watching the defencemen. One defenceman pressures the puck. The other is in front of the net. The centre cuts off the passing lane, and moves in to pick up the puck if it comes loose. The same applies for the other corner. You just shift over.”

  Tremblay added, “Don’t forget about stick position, boys. You didn’t do a great job of it last game. Anticipate where you think the puck will go and get your stick to that spot — and do it with two hands. Alexi, you need to be more aggressive today, especially with the puck in close. Get that paddle down on the ice
— hard. Okay?”

  Alexi nodded and slapped his pads with his blocker.

  Hilton looked around the room. “This is our game to win, boys. This is sudden death. We lose: we’re out. So what are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to take care of business, and then get that gold medal,” Scott thundered.

  A few of the players responded, but it was half-hearted at best. Charlie tried to get his teammates going, slapping shin pads with his stick, and telling guys to “take it to them.” No one was into it, so he stopped, stepping in behind the other players as they filed onto the ice. He skated around the rink as fast as he could. It was cold, and his legs were tight. As he circled the net, Zachary cut across to skate with him. He put an arm around his shoulder.

  “This is going to be your game,” he said. “Don’t be so worried about passing the puck. Use your speed to break them down, and Pudge and me will charge the net and get some traffic in front. We were too fancy last game.”

  Zachary skated away. Charlie reached out and scooped up a puck lying against the boards. Just then Scott whacked his shin pads with his stick.

  “Play your game, bud,” he said.

  Charlie turned towards the goal for a shot on net. Nick coasted up to him.

  “I’m going to be looking for you up the middle in our end. If you can get behind them early, we can get a quick goal.”

  Charlie shot the puck as the buzzer sounded to end the warm-up. It was clear what his friends thought — and they were right. Mr. Nice Guy was gone. His job was to put the puck in the net, not make pretty passes that went nowhere.

  The referee blew his whistle and skated to centre with the puck. Charlie took a final lap around. Jake’s line was starting, so Charlie took a seat on the bench between Pudge and Zachary. The three linemates didn’t say much to each other. There wasn’t much to say. They needed to prove that they deserved to be on the team.

  The game started slowly, neither side able to sustain much of an attack. Chesswood certainly knew all about Jake. Charlie watched their centre shadow him around the rink the entire shift, barely paying attention to any other player or the puck. And he was good too. He could really skate, and seemed to be a hard-nosed player who relished this kind of assignment. Even Jake was going to have to work hard to get any goals this game, he thought.