by David Skuy
“But it’s a big win, boys. They’re a good team; they beat us five times last season. Four to two is a great result. Remember we have a tournament next weekend. I’ve sent your parents an email with all the details. It’s kind of last minute, but the tourney I was interested in folded up and I want to get one in before the break.” She clapped a few times. “Nice win! Go Big Blue!” She flashed a thumbs-up and left.
“Hey, Rocket. How many did you get tonight?” Blake said.
Rocket knew he was being messed with. “Four,” he said softly.
Blake counted on his hands. “Bro, that’s all the goals we got.”
Forgetting his shoulder pads, Rocket pulled off his sweater.
“You sure don’t like to bulk up. Those pads from a museum?” Blake said.
So much for keeping them a secret. At least nobody had laughed. “I lost my real pair. I’ll get new ones soon.”
“If you keep scoring like that, I won’t have to bother going on the ice,” Blake said. “I could set my Xbox up on the bench.”
“I’m up for that,” Dominic said.
“Might need a goalie,” Matthew offered.
Dominic responded with a cockeyed grin. “Rocket can rag the puck.”
The boys laughed.
“Let him score ten first, and then you can get gaming,” Reid said.
“Score twenty and we can all game,” Andrew said.
Rocket took his skates off. The guys were telling him something, and it was coming in loud and clear. They weren’t impressed with The Rocket Show.
“You ever got four goals before?” a kid named Michel asked. He was a winger.
He had — a bunch of times in house league, and a few with the Huskies. “That was a weird game. Every time I shot, it went in.”
“That wasn’t luck,” Blake said. “You smoked those dudes. It was fun to watch.”
Now Rocket was confused. Blake sounded like he really meant it. Maybe he wasn’t mad at him — maybe none of them were. They were all happy, talking to each other. No one seemed angry or jealous, like the guys on the Huskies would’ve been if he’d scored all the goals. Those guys would sulk if they didn’t get on the power play.
He thought about what Blake had said: “It was fun to watch.”
That was Blake’s problem. Too much watching.
Rocket couldn’t keep it in.
“You could’ve gotten a couple, easy,” he said to Blake. “Our line, well, it has to play harder. Every puck is ours. Every puck. Let them get their own puck. We also weren’t skating on every shift; sometimes we were standing still instead of meeting the puck at full speed. You’d be awesome out there if you went real hard. You got size and wheels and …”
The room had gone still. Not a sound. Rocket wanted to crawl into his bag. What a jerk. On the team for less than a week and here he was chewing Blake out in front of everyone.
A serious expression came over Blake’s face. Rocket hadn’t seen him look like that before.
“You’re probably right,” Blake said. “I … played like garbage. Sorry, boys. I couldn’t get going. Don’t know why. Didn’t have my head in it.”
“Me, neither,” Noah said. “I didn’t take it as seriously as I should have. This tournament I’m going for it.”
Rocket hadn’t wanted to kill the mood, but maybe this moment was good for the Blues. If the Toros were a decent AA team, then Rocket was convinced the Blues could at least compete this season. Maybe they could even win a few games against the weaker teams and squeak into the playoffs. The question was, did they want it enough to make it happen?
“I swear, this weekend will be different for me, too,” Blake said. “I’m starting to get it from watching Bryan play like he does every shift. We can pick it up, all of us, every shift. We do that and we’ll win some games.”
The boys all started talking at once.
Griffen had warned Rocket not to take too long. Again, he was the first one dressed.
“Looking forward to the tourney, boys. See you at practice,” he said.
Everyone gave him a nice goodbye.
Coach Sonia was talking to a parent in the hall. When she noticed him, she patted the woman on the arm, and waved to him. The other woman walked away.
“The team played well,” Rocket said to her.
“It did. It did, indeed,” she said, nodding slowly. “I wanted to ask if you were getting to know your teammates.”
“It’s only been a practice and a game,” he said.
“If you have any problems, you let me know. Okay? It’s not easy being the only new kid on a team that’s been together for a while. I’ve been there, and I know how tough it is.”
“I will. Thanks. Everything’s good.” He tapped his stick on the ground a couple of times. He could see Griffen through the glass doors.
“By the way, do you have a problem with your equipment? I noticed you’ve had two sets of shoulder pads, and neither seems very safe.”
The obsession with his shoulder pads continued.
“I lost mine. These are temporary. I’m getting new ones.”
“You don’t need to,” she said. “I have three kids in hockey. I have a ton of equipment at home — enough to open a store, I think. I keep wanting to give it away and never get around to it. My husband says it’s because I don’t want my kids to grow up.”
“I’ll be okay. Thanks, though.” He could see Griffen glaring at him.
“Maybe I’ll bring a pair for you to check out.” She patted him on the back. “You did well, Bryan. Very strong skating this game, and I liked the tough defence, especially the blocked shot. That showed commitment. Good for the other guys to see that, too. See you at practice.”
He said goodbye and pushed the doors open.
“About time,” Griffen said to him. “I’m not spending any more time at a rink. Crappy coffee and the hot dog was rubber.”
Rocket realized he’d forgotten to ask about a carpool again. It was too late now — Griffen had already pushed through the doors into the parking lot.
Maddy shook her fist at Griffen as they followed him out.
Rocket smiled at her, but it was going to be a long ride home.
CHAPTER 21
Rocket bounded up the stairs two at a time. At least the trivia team gave him something to do most lunches and sometimes even after school. This week they’d gone hard at it to prepare for the first match against Woburn. For some reason, he was totally pumped. He’d even begun spending hours on trivia sites. It turned out he actually had a good memory, and most things seemed to stick.
Megan had also taught him a memory trick. She’d said to turn words into images in his head, then imagine those images in familiar places. She called them memory palaces. He’d tried it — and it had worked!
He marched to the classroom and pushed open the door. It was empty. Maybe the meeting had been cancelled? They hadn’t said anything on the announcements this morning.
Now what to do? He couldn’t stomach another lunch in the library. He’d heard about an Ultimate Frisbee game in the field, but that was out. Kinger and the crew would likely be there.
Rocket turned to leave and almost ran headlong into Des. Rocket felt a weight lift off his shoulders. “Not like you guys to be late,” he said.
“Late? We’re waiting for you,” Des said.
“Did we move?”
“We have a floor hockey game,” Des said. “I sent you a message.”
“I forgot to check.”
“You’re playing, right?” Des sounded worried.
“I … umm … I could if you wanted.”
“Great! Come on. Game’s starting. Nigel says you’re awesome, and we need some awesome, believe me. It’s been a dream of ours to score a goal. Maybe you can set me up.”
Des took off down the hall before Rocket could reply.
“I forgot you had a team,” Rocket said, as he scrambled after him.
“We’re the Organians,” Des said.
/> “What’s an Organian?”
Des looked like aliens had just landed in front of them. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Let’s assume I’m not,” Rocket deadpanned.
“The Organians. It’s a classic Star Trek episode, from the original series. The Organians are made of pure energy, but they take the form of humans to be nice to the Klingons, who think they’re taking over the Organians’ world, but of course they can’t because the Organians are way more advanced, and there’s going to be a war between the Federation and the Klingons until …”
Rocket held up his hand. “I’ll download it. Sounds … awesome.”
“Next to The Trouble with Tribbles, it’s the best episode,” Des said.
If Adam or Kinger found out Rocket was on the Organians, he’d be labelled a geek forever.
He decided to play just this once, keep it low-key, and then he’d tell the guys he couldn’t play anymore. He’d make up some excuse, like he’d hurt his knee.
Bird, outfitted in goalie pads, gave a cheer as Rocket walked into the gym. Nigel was in front of the net, on defence, and Daniel was up at centre, opposite Kinger.
This was going to be bad.
“Go Organians!” Megan cheered from the corner.
Kinger folded his arms on the butt-end of his stick. “Check it out, boys. The Orga … The Organisms have picked up a free agent. Got the extra-mini version, though.”
“Here’s your stick,” Des said, holding it out to Rocket. “What’s the strategy?”
“Harry, listen up,” Kinger said. “The professor’s about to teach.”
Harry folded his arms on top of his stick like Kinger.
The sight of those two grinning apes made Rocket’s blood boil.
“Strategy is, we kick some butt,” he said, looking at Ty and Adam.
Both boys looked away.
“Maybe we should forfeit?” Kinger said.
“Do what you want,” Rocket said, snatching the stick from Des. He stomped over to centre and put his blade down.
“I’ll … um … play defence with Nigel,” Des said.
“You need a new nickname,” Kinger mused. “You got anything, Ad-man?”
Adam silently took his spot on the wing.
Kinger shrugged. “I’ll take care of the faceoff.” Then he raised a finger in the air. “But his Rocket thing doesn’t work for me. I dub thee Pocket Rocket. That’s more like it. That’s what we got here, a little itty-bitty Pocket Rocket.”
“We’re playing floor hockey,” Ty said. “Just, you know … no big deal.”
“I know,” Kinger said. “I’m just talking trash, right, Pocket Rocket? I’m not serious.”
Rocket gripped his stick so hard his fingers burned.
“No big deal,” he muttered. “Let’s play already.”
A kid wearing a ref’s shirt that hung down to his knees came over with an orange puck. He looked like he was in grade five. “You’re the Butt Kickers?” he asked Kinger.
Rocket braced himself
“We are the Butt Kickers!” the team chanted.
They did that before every game — Rocket’s idea.
“You’re the Organians?” he said to Rocket.
The gym was silent.
Rocket nodded.
“Love ya, Organia!” Megan cried.
The ref held the puck out.
“You two could be in the same class,” Kinger said. “You’re about the same height.”
The puck dropped. Kinger took a swing at it. He could have saved himself the effort. Rocket had already drawn it back to Des — letting his top hand follow through to smack Kinger in the ribs.
Kinger didn’t mind; he even joked about it.
“Pocket’s got some jam,” he said. “I’ll give him that.”
Rocket buttonhooked in the zone between Ty and Harry, and banged his stick. Des didn’t look his way. Instead, he whacked the puck at Ben, who caught it easily and laid it to the side of the net for Harry.
Ben put his arms over the crossbar, as if he were sunning himself on the beach.
Rocket took the slot. “Des, watch Ad-man — Adam,” he said, and Des scurried over. “Back up D and watch the guy behind you,” he said next. Kinger had been sneaking up the side, looking for a breakaway pass.
While Rocket organized his teammates, Harry waited nonchalantly behind the Butt Kickers net.
“Are you ready?” he said.
“Bring it,” Rocket said.
Adam began to walk slowly toward him, and Rocket noticed Kinger hustling back to the Butt Kickers end. He almost laughed — the pick play! Did they really think he’d fall for it? He bent his knees and leaned on his stick pretending he suspected nothing. Sure enough, Adam suddenly broke into a run, just as Kinger came over to set up a pick on Rocket’s right side. Harry took the puck out on Rocket’s right and passed it over to Adam.
The Butt Kickers ran that play all the time. The pick stopped the forechecker from getting to Adam, so it was usually a clear, and easy, pass. Or it had been when Rocket was the guy taking the pass. Adam was a touch slow, and Kinger underestimated Rocket’s speed. Rocket slipped past Kinger’s pick before he got his feet set. Rocket cut sharply to his right and extended his stick. He heard Ty try to warn Harry. Too late!
The puck was in the net before Ben could take his arms off the crossbar.
Megan let out a whoop and began cheering like crazy. “First goal of the season; first goal in two seasons. Long Live Organia!”
Rocket hoped she would lay off the Organia stuff — definitely not helping his rep.
Kinger banged his stick on the floor. “C’mon, Harry. You’re supposed to pass to our team.”
Harry gave Kinger a dark look and kicked at the floor.
“Doesn’t matter,” Adam said. “Let’s stop messing around and get it back.”
Rocket’s teammates, looks of disbelief on their faces, held their hands in the air. Embarrassed just by being here, the last thing Rocket wanted was a big celebration, but he slapped their hands to be polite.
“I’m taking the draw,” Rocket heard Ty say. He set up at centre, and he didn’t look too happy.
Rocket decided to make a joke about the goal. “Thanks for the gift,” he said. “Bet it’ll be my last against you guys.”
Ty relaxed his stance and looked up. “Dumb pass. You made a good play.”
Rocket put his blade down. He and Ty used to practise faceoffs for hours in Ty’s basement, with his little brother as ref. Ty was good, but Rocket won most of the time.
Rocket figured Ty would play it straight and go for the backhand sweep, so he stayed with the forehand. When the puck dropped, he jammed Ty’s stick and used his right foot to kick the puck back to Nigel. Ty slid around Rocket to forecheck, with Adam covering Daniel wide right. Rocket turned and moved to his left a couple of metres, hoping for a pass. Nigel held the puck, looking right and left, then he did the worst possible thing by flinging it right at Ty.
Ty caught it with his hand and tossed it to the right, bursting to the outside. Rocket gave chase. Ty turned the corner, puck on his backhand, and pulled it across his body onto his forehand. Rocket dove stick-first and knocked the puck forward to Bird, who dropped on it. Rocket winced as he got up, his knees and elbows stinging.
Bird shook the puck in his glove. “You take it,” he said to Rocket.
There were no faceoffs when a goalie froze the puck. The defending team took it from behind the net, usually one of the defencemen.
Rocket shook his head. “Daniel or Nigel should take it out,” he said. “I need to go up.”
“You can take it,” Daniel told Rocket. “I’ll cover the front.”
Rocket felt self-conscious. This was becoming a one-man team. His teammates stood around watching him. “Spread out, guys,” he whispered.
Kinger’s laugh echoed off the walls. “Don’t be fooled,” he said. “The Organisms only pretend not to have a clue.”
Ty didn’t so much a
s crack a smile — neither did Adam.
Bird dropped the puck behind the net to Rocket, which signalled that play was on. For an instant, no one moved, and then Ty and Adam came at him from opposite sides. Rocket’s mind raced. He was going to be sandwiched, and there was no one to pass to. He figured he had only one play.
He waited until they were about two metres away, and then he flicked the puck onto his blade and jumped through the gap between Adam and the goalpost. Bird was so taken by surprise, he flopped to the floor in a butterfly. Des, Nigel and Daniel stared at Rocket as he slid the puck onto the floor.
“Go, Bryan, go!” Megan chanted.
“Play the body,” Kinger growled, his stick forward and his right arm out to the side.
Rocket knew Kinger was only imitating a defenceman. He probably hadn’t faced a one-on-one as a defence in his life. Rocket dangled the puck, then brought it back to his left foot and pretended to snap his wrists together, as if taking a shot. Kinger closed his legs and pressed his arms to his sides to block. Rocket had no intention of shooting, however. Standing straight up like that, Kinger couldn’t move laterally, and Rocket slashed to his right and streaked past. He was in alone. Ben was set this time: he crouched deeply, his big glove held high. Rocket liked the look of his five-hole.
The puck squirted through and in. Ben looked up at the ceiling. Rocket let himself smile. The Butt Kickers would win, but 2–0 would be sweet while it lasted.
Kinger’s stick smacked him on the thigh.
Rocket whirled. “Watch the slash, jerk.”
Kinger’s eyes flashed. Without a word he cross-checked Rocket in the chest, sending him flying to the floor. Rocket jumped to his feet, enraged. Kinger crossed his arms and laughed.
Rocket clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to wipe that cocky grin off Kinger’s face.
CHAPTER 22
Words were his only weapon. Fighting Kinger would be like fighting a mountain.
“You suck on so many levels, it hurts. If you’re this useless at floor hockey, I can’t imagine how much you suck on the ice,” Rocket said.
