by David Skuy
“Broke my stick warming up,” he complained. “Had to use a piece of junk. The flex was way too high. Then during the race I caught a rut in the corner. This is the worst camp ever. I lost my concentration and choked in the stickhandling.” He looked off in the distance. “I’ll see you back in the room. Hope you do well.” He pushed between them and walked down the hall.
“That dude is from another planet,” Slogger said.
Charlie didn’t respond. Slogger didn’t know about Corey’s relationship with his father. He bet Corey wasn’t looking forward to the next phone call.
As soon as Charlie stepped onto the freshly flooded ice, Scott and Nick came racing over.
“Competition must be weak if you two made it,” Charlie said.
“What event are you in?” Nick asked.
“Stickhandling and skating,” Charlie answered. “Slogger’s doing battle in the shooting competition.”
“Shooting competition?” Scott said. “That’s too bad. I’m in that too, so you have no chance.”
“I will destroy you,” Slogger said to Scott, sounding like a robot.
Scott shook his head and his face got all pouty. “I know guys on Team 1 get cranky if they lose. Should I just let you win?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Slogger said.
They both laughed and slapped each other’s pads.
“Let’s warm up and scare the competition,” Scott said to Slogger, and they went to retrieve some pucks from the net.
“Ready to stretch the legs?” Charlie said to Nick, and the two of them skated around the rink a few times before Trevor blew his whistle and called them all to centre.
“The order of events is as follows: stickhandling, shooting, and the speed race. For the first two events players go in team order, with Team 1 going first, Team 2 second, and so on. The speed race is two heats of six skaters, and then a final. Give me the stickhandlers down at the far end.”
Jen and Trevor set up the pylons in a zigzag pattern. When they were done Trevor skated over.
“Team 1 is up. Who’s going first?”
Savard, Gabriel and Charlie looked at each other. No one wanted to go first. It was always better to relax a bit at the beginning by watching. Finally Charlie volunteered. He slid a puck to Trevor and stepped forward.
“You know the drill. Same as before. Stickhandle between the eight pylons and shoot the puck into the net. Miss the net and the clock continues. Cool?”
Charlie nodded.
“On your marks … get set … go!”
Charlie pushed the puck ahead of him and carved around the first pylon at the top of the circle, puck on his backhand. He whirled towards the second and carved around that, puck on the forehand. He got into a rhythm, and by pylon six he felt great, even faster than he’d done it last time. He zoomed around seven and powered on to the last pylon.
A groan went up in the crowd, and none louder than Charlie’s. The puck had stuck in a patch of wet ice that hadn’t dried from the flood. Charlie had to backtrack and retrieve it. He fired it into the net to stop the clock, even though he knew it was over. The delay would kill him; he couldn’t win now against guys like Savard and Gabriel.
He whacked the boards and sat back on the bench. Scott and Nick came over.
“Not sure if stopping the puck like that was a good idea, Joyce,” Scott said.
“Leave the cheering up to me,” Nick said. “You totally suck at it.” He patted the back of Charlie’s helmet. “That was bogus. You should get another try. You were the first one. The ice will be perfect when the other guys go.”
Burnett was standing nearby. “I thought you had it going, Charlie. Tough break.”
“Don’t think I could take J.C. anyway,” Charlie said. “This is his event.”
In fact, Savard was flying along as they spoke, proving Charlie right. He avoided the spot that tripped Charlie up by going a touch wider, and then fired it into the net. Gabriel went next and narrowly missed matching Savard’s time by a tenth of a second. No one else was close. Third place went to Pete, who really impressed Charlie with his agility.
The shooting competition was fun to watch, especially with Scott’s antics, although after the stickhandling, Charlie was a little down. After every shot, the speed was posted on an electronic display. Each player got three shots. In the end, Burnett edged out Slogger for the win — and Scott came third. That cheered Charlie up; and he still had the race to redeem himself.
The racers crowded around Trevor.
“You’ve already done this with your teams, but I’ll go over the rules once more to be clear. You start on the goal line. Twice around, but the finish line is centre, so it’s a bit more than two laps. No pushing. No cutting off. Careful around the nets. Fastest three players go into the finals. I put all the names in a hat, and pulled them out at random for the heats. Line up in the order your name is called, first player closest to the boards.
“Give me Jake, J.C., Pete, Nick, Mathew and Charlie. The rest of you will go in Heat 2 — you can hang at centre and cheer. When I blow my whistle, the race is on.”
Charlie assessed the competition quickly. He didn’t know Mathew, a kid from Team 4. The others he knew were good — all powerful skaters. From the last race, he knew that once you got behind it was hard to pass guys, especially around the nets. He decided to get as close to the front as possible, and then hope for an opportunity to jump into first at the end.
Trevor held up his arm. “On your marks …” he said, “get set …” He raised the whistle to his lips.
Tweet!
Charlie exploded off the line, and took about ten short strides to get going. By the top of the circle he was at top speed and was practically flying when he crossed the red line. He was totally focused on being in front for the first turn. At the blue line he risked a quick glance to his right. Pete and Jake were a step behind, and maybe he had half a body length on Savard, but not much. Nick was just behind him too. This was perfect, he thought. As long as he was in front of Savard, even by an inch, he could turn tight around the net and they’d all have to slow down.
He could hear the others breathing hard. Charlie ducked his left shoulder and, with his skates lined up one behind the other, carved around the net. His inside shoulder glanced off the netting, but it didn’t slow him down. The guys in the stands were making tons of noise, cheering the racers on, and that fired Charlie up as he powered back. He’d done it. He was in first!
Charlie knew his speedy opponents wouldn’t be far behind, and he’d probably surprised them by going out so fast and aggressive. They might also think he’d get tired. Well, they were in for another surprise. This was going to be his race. Charlie carved around the net and began the last lap. Savard and Jake were only a step or two behind him, so he didn’t dare slow down. He lengthened his stride and forced himself to ignore the burning sensation in his lungs. He’d gone out hard. The last half-lap was going to be a killer.
The guys watching were really going crazy now, and the Heat 2 players were pounding the ice with their sticks. Charlie focused on the skates cutting into the ice behind him as he geared up for the final turn. Savard was on his outside shoulder. Charlie figured he’d try to make a move now, given there was only one turn left. Charlie drifted a little to the outside to force Savard wide and then carved hard around the net. It worked. Savard had to move over. Then, out of nowhere Jake tried to sneak inside Charlie and Savard. He got by the post, but the angle was too sharp and his skates gave out and he crashed into Charlie, who, in turn, crashed into Savard.
All three players wiped out, with Savard getting the worst of it because he was closest to the boards. Charlie and Jake sandwiched him and then fell on top. Charlie heard the other three skaters whiz by.
“What was that?” Charlie heard Savard sputter. “Get off.” He slapped Charlie in the facemask.
What? Jake had caused the pileup. Then another glove hit him in the small of the back.
“Joyce
cheats again,” Jake said, as he struggled to his feet. “Knows he’s going to lose and trips me. Typical!”
Charlie threw his gloves under Jake’s chin and knocked him backwards. “You’re the one that smashed into me. I’m so tired of your garbage, it’s not funny.”
Jake two-handed Charlie in the chest and he fell over Savard’s outstretched foot and tumbled to the ice.
“Get off me, already,” Savard yelled.
“Yeah, get off the dude,” Jake jeered. He held out his hand and pulled Savard to his feet. “That’s the second time this guy has messed with you in a race. I’m sick of him.”
Charlie jumped to his feet, and was about to charge Jake when Trevor intervened.
“Hold on, guys. I want to speak to Jen. She probably got a better view from the stands. It looked like someone was cut off and …”
It was too much for Charlie to take. How could he say “someone,” when it was so obvious that Jake had cut him off.
“It doesn’t matter,” Charlie said to Trevor through clenched teeth. “Disqualify me. I couldn’t care less about this stupid race or this stupid camp. Forget all of you.”
He pushed past Savard and skated towards the door leading to the dressing room. Catcalls and jeers fell from the stands, and Markus and Zane were dissing him as he left the ice. The race was the final straw. How could anyone not see what Jake did? And what was with Savard punching him in the face? He lost all respect for him as of that moment.
Slogger, Scott and Nick were at the boards. “Meet us outside,” Scott called to him.
He nodded, but didn’t stop to talk. He was done talking, done trying to impress the coaches, done trying to do anything. He was done period. He’d get these last two days over with and go home.
So much for the best summer of his life. How about the worst?
17
BLAME GAME
Charlie stomped into the dressing room. He pulled off a skate and tossed it into his bag. He felt like throwing it through the wall! Alarm clocks that didn’t work, ropes that flew from one side of a wall to the other, hockey equipment that magically disappeared, getting tossed down the escarpment, useless Zambonis that left water on the ice, and now a disqualification for no reason! This camp was haunted or cursed — or maybe he was.
He’d barely gotten his other skate off when the door opened and Trevor walked in, followed by Savard, Jake, Burnett and Slogger.
Trevor looked deadly serious. “Charlie, I told you to wait for me to speak to Jen. Under the circumstances, I can understand why you were upset, but still.”
Charlie didn’t know what to say. Why wait to hear them disqualify him? Meanwhile, Jake slumped to the bench and began to rip off his laces. He looked furious.
“Like I said, I spoke with Jen and she saw the whole thing,” Trevor said in a calm tone. “She told me that Jake tried to take you on the inside on that turn and he ended up crashing into you, which knocked you into J.C. I’m sorry I missed it. I was joking around with the guys at centre. I guess I was keen to see the ending. Anyway, Nick won the race and Pete came in second. It wouldn’t be right to make them race again. Although for the record they both offered to. We spoke to the coaches and they decided that you and J.C. should move on to the finals. We’ll just have an extra skater. I guess you should get your skates back on. You’ll probably need them, unless you have some fancy running shoes.”
Now Charlie felt embarrassed about storming off the ice. “Give me a sec … and I’ll get back on the ice. I’m sorry I lost it. Dumb reaction.”
Savard stepped around Trevor. “I’m the dumb one, and I’m the one who should apologize. Sorry about the punch,” he said. “No excuse for that.” He held out his glove, and Charlie, feeling self-conscious, gave it a tap.
The whole time Jake was making sure everyone knew how mad he was by throwing his equipment around. Finally, he took his entire bag and threw it into the middle of the room. “This is a bogus camp and that was a bogus decision,” he said loudly. “Joyce cuts me off, knocks me over, and I get DQ’d. That’s fair, Trevor. Real fair.”
No one was listening. All eyes were on the floor. They were looking at Coach Miller’s Stanley Cup ring, which had popped out of Jake’s bag.
“It’s like Joyce can do anything, and no one ever says …” His voice trailed off and then he, too, became mesmerized by the ring. “Where’d that come from?” he asked in a daze.
“From your bag,” Trevor answered, slowly emphasizing each word. “Can you explain that?”
Jake stared up at him. Charlie had never seen Jake look like that. He seemed scared, like a little kid. Despite all the terrible things Jake had done to him since he moved to Terrence Falls, at that moment Charlie actually felt sorry for him. It must be an awful thing to be caught stealing in front of so many people. But that vulnerable moment lasted only for a few seconds. Then Jake’s face hardened, and he looked mean again.
“I can explain it. Joyce put it there. He was in the room all by himself and wanted to get me in trouble. He didn’t know I’d be disqualified, and he wanted to get back in the race. And he certainly wants me out of camp to guarantee himself a spot in the Challenge Game.”
Charlie couldn’t talk. He just couldn’t. The shock robbed him of his power of speech. He stood still, mouth open, staring back at Jake.
“Jake’s full of it,” Slogger said. “We caught him red-handed. Of course he’d point the finger at someone else.”
“No worries, Charlie,” Nick said. “Jake’s doing a Jake. The coaches are too smart for that.”
“Nick’s right,” Scott echoed, and then added, as if he couldn’t help himself, “although I can’t believe I just said that. But seriously, this is the lamest thing he’s ever done. No one will listen to him.”
“One thing after another,” Charlie said passionately. “Clark ordered me back to my room. They asked me tons of questions about where I’d been the morning the ring was stolen, and Jen was going on about my missing equipment.”
“You were with us after the obstacle course,” Nick said.
“And then we had a snack,” Scott said. “I remember that.” He patted his stomach.
“Then we had to piggy-back Team 2,” Slogger said. “I remember that.” He hunched his shoulders and held his arms out behind him as if he was actually carrying someone on his back.
“Apparently, Miller likes to work out in the morning, before breakfast, and he went for a skate. He left his ring in the locker because we were going back there for practice.” Charlie sighed and rolled his neck. “You didn’t see how he looked at me. He thinks I planted the ring on Jake. I know it. Jen was beyond mad. Even Trevor was looking at me weird.”
“He won’t get away with this,” Slogger said. “Jake’s a snake. Knew it the first time I saw him. Only guy worse than him is Zane. They deserve each other.”
“Jake’s done for,” Nick declared.
“This whole thing makes no sense. Why would Jake steal the ring? I know what he’s like — boy do I know,” he said, and his friends laughed, “but stealing a Stanley Cup ring? Not sure Jake’s that kind of guy,” Charlie said.
His friends continued to offer him encouragement, and he pretended to agree that everything would be fine, but he knew better. His feud with Jake was no secret, and Charlie had been alone in the dressing room just before the ring was found. Planting the ring would have been the perfect way for him to get back at Jake. And Jake was a good talker. Charlie had a sinking feeling the coaches would listen.
He was totally cooked. Worse yet, what would his mom say? She’d spent all that money and Danielle had given up her drama camp — only to have him kicked out for stealing? If he could turn back time he’d tear that invitation up into tiny pieces.
If only!
18
DECISION TIME
Charlie said goodbye to his friends and returned to his room. The reality of his situation had sapped him of all his energy. Even though it was only eleven o’clock in the morning h
e could have gone right to sleep.
“Take a shower, Joyce, and maybe you can clean off that bad luck that follows you around,” he said aloud to himself.
“Go ahead, I’ll wait.” Corey smiled and sat up. Charlie flushed. He hadn’t noticed his roommate lying on his bed. “I saw what happened. I thought Jake cut you off. You definitely got ripped on that call. You should go to Clark or Miller and complain. That’s what I’d do, and if you want me to back you, that’s no problem.”
He obviously didn’t know about the ring. “Don’t much care about the race. Bigger problems,” he mumbled.
Corey shrugged. “What problems? Did the coaches change the teams around?”
Charlie stiffened. What was he talking about? “No,” he snapped.
Corey opened his eyes wide. “I get it. The stress level is major-league high, what with the Challenge Game lineup being announced tonight. I figure I’m in a good spot. I had a great practice today. And the coaches don’t really care about the skills competition. You don’t win games stickhandling around pylons. You win by playing hard, being smart, hitting, forechecking and scoring.”
After what he’d just been through, Corey was tough to listen to. He told him about the ring to stop him from talking about himself.
“Wow! Did you take it? I mean, really?”
“No!” Charlie said.
Corey held up his hands. “I believe you; I believe you. I didn’t think you were that type. That’s whacked, though. The ring popped outta the bag in front of everyone? Crazy. I never trusted that … um … what’s his name?”
Charlie wished he’d never heard it. “Jake Wilkenson,” he answered mechanically.
“That’s right — Jake. I’ve seen him play a bit. Another guy who shouldn’t be on Team 1. I bet he won’t make the Challenge Game. I think he’s overrated, personally. He doesn’t go hard to the net. Perimeter player. No intensity. Of course, he stole the ring, so he’s gone from camp anyway.”
