The Ice Chips and the Magical Rink

by Roy MacGregor

  Lucas knew the flood wouldn’t be as beautiful as Scratch’s, but it would be good enough. And his freshly sharpened skates would help.

  Lucas’s parents and Connor took their seats in the stands as he made his way down the hall toward the dressing room.

  Swift was probably already there, tightening her purple laces beside an empty spot on the bench—the spot she always saved for Lucas.

  And Edge had almost certainly arrived early, as he always did. He’d be dressed and sitting in the stands, quietly thinking about the game, just as his father used to do before his field hockey games. Mr. Singh had a name for it, but Lucas couldn’t quite remember it. “Envisioning”? Or “imaging”? He almost had it, but it didn’t matter. That was Edge’s tradition, not his.

  Lucas had his own routine to think about: he had to touch the old photograph of the championship team in the trophy case, wipe his hand over the ledge of the skate sharpener’s shop, and straighten that crooked picture frame for luck. His pre-game ritual.

  This wasn’t exactly a game, but Lucas knew he’d need all the luck he could get.

  * * *

  All through the arena, the kids were preparing for tryouts.

  When the doors to the rink opened, the kids flooded into it with cheers.

  On the ice, players from both leagues swirled around Lucas, greeting each other, talking about what they’d done over the summer, and boasting about the new equipment they’d bought.

  The old pants Lucas was wearing were black rather than the light blue the Ice Chips normally wore, and one of his shin pads was still cracked, but for some reason, he didn’t care.

  He was just glad to be there, to be soaking it in.

  Crunch and Swift skated up to Lucas, and all three pounded gloves. Soon, Edge was there, too, moving back and forth on his skates—eager to get going.

  * * *

  Fweee-uuurllll!

  A whistle blew at centre ice.

  Lucas swallowed hard, pushing those raging pterodactyls back down where they belonged. He took a deep breath and skated with the other kids to surround the coach in charge of the tryouts. The kids looked like bees hurrying to the honey hive.

  “Okay, boys and girls,” the on-ice coach said. “You know the drills. We’re going to divide you into groups and see how you do. No need to be nervous. Just enjoy yourselves—and good luck!”

  No need to be nervous, Lucas thought. Ha!

  Up in the stands, the coaches and assistant coaches, the team managers, and the executive of the minor hockey system were all holding clipboards on their laps and staring down at the ice. On each clipboard was a sheet of paper listing the names of all the players, along with the numbers they’d been assigned in the dressing rooms. There were boxes in which the judges could mark the players on skating, shooting, stickhandling, passing, and other skills.

  Both Mr. Blitz and Coach Small were up there with them.

  Still nervous, Lucas looked around at the other players in his group, sizing them up, trying to see where he fit in.

  There was Alex Stepanov—“Dynamo”—the tiny forward from Moscow, Russia, who was still learning English when he’d joined the Ice Chips two years ago. He was good—no, great—but small.

  And Maurice “Slapper” Boudreau. He had a great slapshot and was huge. Just huge. He played defence for the Chips and was already as big as some ten-year-olds, but he was a slow skater.

  Edge was there, too.

  And then there were some new kids from school: Dylan Chung—had he really come out?—and Tianna Foster. Tianna, who was born in Jamaica but had just moved to Riverton from Chicago, seemed to be able to skate, but she was holding her stick all wrong. And Dylan, the non-stop talker, looked like he might have a great wrist shot if he could focus on the puck long enough.

  There was another girl, too, but Lucas hadn’t caught her name because Dylan was talking. And now her face was turned away from him . . .

  Wait—Sadie?!

  “You seriously think I’d give up this ice . . . after that night?” Sadie whispered with a smile, giving Lucas a friendly punch in the shoulder. Figure skating, she said, was still going to be held at Mr. Blitz’s synthetic rink—the fake ice she already knew she hated—so she’d simply decided to switch sports.

  “You can call me ‘Blades,’” she said, grinning, just as the coach announced the final member of their group . . .

  Lars Larsson.

  Lucas had actually shivered.

  Chapter 18

  Fweee-uuurllll!

  The coach’s whistle blew again, and the skills tests began.

  First was to skate around the faceoff circles, where pylons had been placed a few feet apart. The players were to weave around the pylons and try to do it fast. Edge was fastest, but Lucas wasn’t far behind. Nor was Sadie.

  Lucas secretly wished that Lars—horrible Lars—would fall and then quit in a huff like he had at their “final skate,” but he didn’t. Lars, too, was at Lucas’s heels.

  The players then moved to the next station, where they had to stickhandle a puck toward a hockey stick that was lying on two small stacks of pucks—one stack at each end, like posts. The players were to let their pucks slide under the stick while they hopped over it. Then they’d scoop their pucks up again on the other side.

  Lucas fell on his first attempt, got up, and noticed the Blitz twins, Jared and Beatrice, smirking at him. Luckily, Lars had been busy looking into the stands at a blonde woman who, if her face was any sign, had a few pterodactyls of her own. That must be his mother, Lucas thought as he brushed himself off.

  “You okay?” a voice called out—it was Tianna. “I’m sure you’ll get it next try.”

  “Thanks,” said Lucas. He was embarrassed but ready to go again.

  Tianna offered him a warm smile. “I’ve only ever played roller derby. I can skate, but I’m not doing too well with the stick. Any tips?”

  “I guess . . . don’t worry about what anyone else thinks.” That was all Lucas could come up with.

  Then they were on to the next round.

  Lucas was terrific on the third drill, where they stickhandled around the pylons. He’d always had good hands, and it seemed that this year he was even better. Edge was great and handled the drill effortlessly. Dylan was surprisingly good, and Tianna fumbled her way through—Sadie, too.

  And then it was Lars’s turn. He lost the puck several times and knocked over three pylons!

  Lucas didn’t think that should make him happy, but it did.

  Was he turning into a bully, too?

  * * *

  Up next were the faceoffs.

  In a far corner of the rink, one of the helpers was having players from two groups face off against each other. Edge was called to face off against Beatrice Blitz and—just as Lucas knew he would—used his old trick of plucking the puck out of mid-air just before it bounced on the ice.

  Edge moved so fast he was like a cat reaching out from under a sofa to swat a dangled string.

  Lucas couldn’t help laughing, but no sooner had the laugh popped out of his throat than he felt something burning into his cheeks.

  It was the stare of Beatrice Blitz—angry, furious, wicked, nasty, ugly, and mean.

  “Lucas,” the coach helper called out, checking his list of players. “And Lars.”

  Lucas’s heart sank like a stone.

  He skated over to the faceoff spot, his cheeks still burning from Beatrice’s nasty stare. Lars was skating in from the other side.

  Lucas was certain that Lars had briefly turned to look over at his mother.

  The two young players faced each other. The assistant held the puck out for what seemed like forever—long enough for Lucas to glance up and see that Lars was more scared than he was.

  The puck dropped, seemingly in slow motion, like a round black balloon coming down from the ceiling. Lars reacted too quickly, probably trying to cuff it out of the air as Edge had done, but in moving too fast he had just cuffed air. His
stick was well off the ice when the puck slapped down flat and stayed—perfectly—on Lucas’s stick blade. Lucas stickhandled twice, then tried a little puck flip back onto the blade—and for once, it worked. He held out his blade with the puck and the helper took it, his eyes open wide.

  “You’re good!” the young helper said.

  Lucas felt his cheeks burn again—but this time, it felt great.

  Frowning, Lars just turned and skated away.

  The next to face off were Crunch and Dynamo. Lucas wanted to go and talk to Edge about his nifty little move and began skating over toward his friends.

  But then down he went!

  He hit the ice hard, his helmet bouncing off the solid surface and his shoulder stinging. He then slid into the boards right beside Edge, turning quickly to see what on earth he had stepped on.

  Lars was bending down to retrieve his stick. He was grinning. Right behind him, Beatrice Blitz was sticking out her tongue.

  “Sorry,” Lars said. “It was an accident.”

  Who does Lars think he is? Tommy Boland from Saskatoon?

  Lucas struggled to his feet as Lars and Beatrice skated away.

  “That was no accident,” Edge said. “He meant to trip you. And I’ll bet that sneaky little Beatrice put him up to it.”

  Lucas turned to stare after his “tripper.” Beatrice was off with her brother, Jared, obviously telling him what a great thing Lars had just done to that “loser” Lucas. But Lars wasn’t with them.

  He was over near his mother and she was ripping into him. She looked angry—maybe even embarrassed—but she was keeping her voice down so Lucas couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  Next thing Lucas knew, Lars was skating back toward him and Edge—and this time, his cheeks were the ones that were burning. He looked like he was about to cry.

  Lars skated up, stopped, and stuttered, “I’m . . . really . . . sorry.” He almost spat out the last word—the one that counted.

  Is he sorry?

  Then he skated away quickly, his cheeks flaming.

  Edge looked at Lucas, his eyes as wide as pucks.

  “What was that?” Lucas said, stunned.

  * * *

  The fate of each player now rested on a dozen or more clipboards. The tryouts were over and done with, and there was nothing anyone could do but wait to see which team he or she’d been placed on.

  Lucas was confident that Swift and Edge would be on the Ice Chips again. Swift was perfect in goal during the shootout—the last drill—and Edge had impressed the coaches as usual. Lucas didn’t think he’d made any serious mistakes, apart from that one little stumble over that stick lying on the stacks of pucks, but he couldn’t be sure.

  And then there was Lars . . .

  Lars had done some things well—really, really well. But he’d also had some problems. Lucas couldn’t tell what the coaches had thought of him.

  “Don’t worry . . . Lars will be perfect for the Stars,” Swift said quietly, grinning as she patted Lucas’s helmet and they followed the other players into the dressing room.

  Chapter 19

  BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

  Lucas had just finished packing his shoulder pads and skates into his bag when his comm-band buzzed.

  Then it buzzed again.

  And then Swift’s. And then Crunch’s.

  “Ugh, what is he doing?” Lucas asked as he let go of his hockey bag zipper and raised his wrist to answer his comm.

  Lucas, Swift, and Crunch were still in the dressing room, laughing over the drills and enjoying themselves, but Edge—who undressed faster than anyone else on the team—had gone off into the public part of the arena to find his parents. And now he wouldn’t stop buzzing!

  “What?!” Lucas half-shouted into his comm-band, laughing. He knew the lists of who’d made which team hadn’t been posted yet—that’s all the other players were talking about. Why couldn’t Edge just follow the coaches’ instructions like everyone else: try to relax and hang out while he waited for the results?

  “This isn’t about the teams,” Edge said, breathless, whispering. “Come out here—now. There’s something you’ve got to see.”

  * * *

  Edge had asked them to meet at the skate sharpener’s—immediately! So Swift, Crunch, and Lucas had all rushed over. But then there they were, just standing and waiting: watching Quiet Dave drill a new hole in the freshly painted wall outside the closed shop.

  What was the rush?

  Unless . . .

  Lucas hadn’t wanted to tell his friends that he was worried about his ritual all through tryouts. Before he’d stepped onto the ice, he’d touched the trophy case and run his hand along the ledge at the skate sharpener’s, just as he’d planned. But the frame he usually straightened had been missing—was still missing. Lucas guessed it had been taken down to repaint the arena, now that their rink was open again, but what had that meant for his luck today?

  “You’re never going to believe this,” Edge said as he snuck up behind them, smiling. “Lucas, this is going to blow your mind.”

  When Dave’s hole was drilled, a few inches higher than before, he put in a screw and bent down to pick up the picture frame—the one Lucas always straightened.

  Dave held out the frame with both arms . . . and turned it around.

  That’s when Lucas’s mouth dropped open.

  His hands started sweating. And the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

  Edge was right!

  What was inside the frame was no longer a black-and-white photograph of old skates. Now there was a faded pencil drawing with lines, shapes, and arrows—a blueprint. The page looked like it had been folded many times, and its corners were worn. It was old . . .

  But it wasn’t! Was it?

  “That’s—” Lucas sputtered as Dave placed the frame on the screw and turned around to face the Ice Chips.

  Lucas couldn’t believe it. It was the drawing that little kid had pulled from his back pocket in that dimly lit garage in Saskatoon. It was a picture of the skate-sharpening machine that Robert and Mr. Ward had been building . . . in 1936!

  “But that belongs to—” Lucas said, staring at the drawing and barely moving. He was confused—really confused.

  “It belonged to my father,” Dave said with an awkward smile.

  * * *

  On the night of the final skate, Lucas had eventually told Dave everything—everything he could remember.

  He’d told Dave about Saskatoon, about Gordon and Edna’s second-hand skates, about the trip to the skate sharpener’s house, about Little Robert, about his quarter, and even about the bully, Tommy Boland.

  At the mention of Gordon’s and Edna’s names, Dave’s face had flushed red, but Lucas didn’t know why.

  “Gordon? Are you sure?” Dave asked in his quietest voice.

  “Yes, Gordon,” Lucas repeated.

  What is Dave so worried about? Lucas wondered. The Ice Chips are all safe . . . all back home.

  But before the Chips left the rink that night, Dave had made Lucas promise never to time-travel again. Then he’d made him promise to make Edge and Swift promise. And Crunch, too. They would never use Scratch, touch Scratch, even look at Scratch again—and they would never tell anyone what they’d done or where they’d gone.

  Lucas had nodded, but he hadn’t said anything out loud.

  “Edge asked me about the frame—he called it your frame—during tryouts. And that gave me an idea,” Dave said now. “After hearing about Saskatoon . . . well, I thought this picture might have a little more meaning for you.”

  “Fan-tabulous,” Edge said, watching to see Lucas’s reaction.

  “Robert—Little Robert, as you called him—grew up and had a son,” Dave continued, amused. “That was me.”

  “Is he serious?” Crunch said, turning to Swift. He still had trouble believing that Lucas and the others had travelled through time. And Dave’s story was even more bananas.

  Lucas watched as Edge reached
out and unstraightened the blueprint—to make sure it was crooked. Then he nodded in Lucas’s direction.

  “Go, Lucas! Do your thing!” Swift said eagerly, giving him a gentle push. “The lists are almost up!”

  Lucas stepped forward, his mind reeling. The sign outside the sharpener’s shop in Saskatoon had said “Ward’s Sharpening.” And Dave the Iceman was Dave Ward. They were related!

  “Lucas!” Swift said hurriedly.

  Lucas reached up and carefully tilted his lucky frame to the right, then a little to the left . . . until it was perfectly straight. The ritual.

  But am I too late?

  Dave didn’t seem to think so.

  “You know, those kids you met out on the frozen slough?” he continued happily, keeping his voice down. “Well, they grew up, too.”

  “Edna and Gordon?” Edge asked, excited. He couldn’t wait to hear.

  Dave lowered his voice even further. “Yes, the brother and sister: Edna and Gordie Howe.”

  Edge nearly fell over backwards. Swift shook her head in shock. And Lucas . . . Lucas had tears in his eyes.

  “Gordie—who?” asked Crunch, blinking, wondering if he’d misheard.

  Dave’s childlike smile appeared as he spoke: “Gordon didn’t just grow up to become a hockey player. He grew up to become the best hockey player in the world.”

  Chapter 20

  “The lists are up!”

  Sadie screeched excitedly as she pushed her way into the middle of their group and nearly leaped into her sister’s arms. “I’m on your team!! I’m on your team!!”

  “You made it?!” said Swift with a huge grin on her face.

  Edge and Crunch both cheered and gave Sadie high-fives, but it took Lucas a second to realize what was happening—that this was the moment he’d been waiting for, that the big answer had arrived.

  Stars . . . or Ice Chips.

  Or neither. That could happen, too.

  Lucas had been so busy thinking about Gordon that he’d almost forgotten why they were at the arena in the first place. Dave’s story was too amazing: big, goofy Gordon, who’d just been learning to stand on those oversized skates in Saskatoon, was really Gordie Howe!