Rebel Power Play

by David Skuy

  “Just great. What do you do here, anyway?” He waved his hand dismissively. “Mikey, take Sean’s line off. They couldn’t score a goal in twenty periods.”

  “Hold on a minute, Coach,” Zachary said. He had his helmet off. “Something’s wrong. I need to sit off another minute.”

  “Great!” Dunn yelled. “We need a goal and you’re fiddling with your helmet. Fine, third line’s up. Don’t take more than thirty seconds.” He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Sean, get off.”

  All three players on Sean’s line skated over and Charlie and his linemates jumped over the boards. “Go for it, Charlie,” he heard Pudge say.

  Charlie’s legs were tight as he skated to his end — not surprising, since he’d watched practically the entire game. Nick had the puck behind the net. He circled behind and took it, and Nick followed. A forechecker shifted across. Charlie put it into high gear and blew by him along the right boards.

  “Take it in, Charlie,” Nick yelled. “I’m with ya!”

  Jonathon and David were on the wings up near centre. Charlie swerved to his left and continued up the middle. A second Tornadoes forward came at him. He slipped the disk to Jonathon, and jumped past. Jonathon gave it right back. Out of the corner of his eye Charlie could see Nick hustling up the left side. David had dropped back to cover.

  The few Hawks supporters began to cheer — practically the first time in the game they had a reason. Charlie stormed into the Tornadoes’ zone, the defencemen back-pedalling fiercely to prevent him from gaining the corner. Charlie stopped at the hash marks and the defender slid past. He then cut to the inside, parallel to the blue line. Nick continued on to the net, while Scott camped out in the slot, his stick raised for a slapshot. The defenceman panicked and charged at Charlie. He waited until the defenceman committed himself, then slid the puck between his feet to Scott. The defenceman covering Nick scrambled to intercept. Scott blocked him off with his body and passed to Nick. The goalie stacked his pads, thinking Nick would shoot. He was wrong. Charlie had slipped past the confused defenceman. Nick flipped a pass across the crease. Charlie had an open net for an easy goal.

  Scott and Nick threw their hands in the air and pummelled Charlie on the helmet and back. “That felt good, dude,” Scott said. “Taking candy from a baby or what?”

  “Nice passing,” Charlie said.

  “Nice to have someone to pass to.”

  Jonathon and David joined the huddle.

  “Awesome display, guys. That was beautiful to watch,” Jonathon said.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  The noise caught Charlie’s attention. He looked towards the bench. Mike was standing up, smashing his stick on the boards. He wasn’t celebrating the goal, however.

  “Joyce, change it up.”

  Charlie wanted to throw his stick across the ice. He scores a goal, and Dunn hauls him off the ice?

  “I’m starting to understand our coach,” Scott said. “The worse you play, the more you play.”

  “Hey, what’s Zachary up to?” Nick said.

  He was next to Dunn, his helmet still off.

  Charlie skated over to the bench.

  “Can I go on already, Dad?” he heard Mike plead.

  Dunn was not paying attention. He’d gone down to the floor practically on all fours.

  “What’s up?” Charlie asked.

  “A screw dropped out of my helmet,” Zachary said. “We’re looking for it. You guys stay out.” He winked. It occurred to Charlie that perhaps the screw had not fallen out on its own.

  Mike was in a rage. “Joyce, get off the ice!” he screamed.

  “We gotta keep the lines together,” Zachary said. “Take a pill, dude, and relax. Do you mind if I fix my helmet?”

  The two boys faced each other. For a moment Charlie thought they were going to fight. Zachary stared right into Mike’s eyes, even taking a step forward, their faces practically touching. That lasted a few seconds, and then Mike sat down, banging the shaft of his stick against the top of the boards.

  “Totally bogus team,” he muttered.

  The ref’s whistle blasted. “Line up, Hawks,” he yelled.

  Charlie raced to the circle. He barely had time to set up before the ref dropped the puck. Both centres missed it. Their sticks crashed together and the puck bounced to the side. Charlie reached out with his skate blade and kicked it back to Nick. He flipped it to David near the boards. The right winger took two steps over centre and fired it into the Tornadoes’ zone. Jonathon was first in on the forecheck.

  “Your puck, Jonathon,” Charlie said, cruising in behind.

  Jonathon impressed Charlie by first digging hard and winning the battle for the puck, and then skating away with it along the back wall. The Tornadoes centre left the slot to cut him off. The front of the net was wide open.

  He raised his stick. “Quick pass,” Charlie said.

  Jonathon’s head was down, though. He continued around the net for the wraparound. The goalie saw it coming and easily batted the puck into the corner. Charlie gave chase. A Tornadoes defenceman was there first and fired it around the boards and out of the zone. The puck slid deep into the Hawks’ zone. Scott hustled back. Charlie saw Mike standing up at the bench.

  “Joyce, change it up. Come on. Move it.”

  He ignored him. It was 8–1, and he’d hardly played all game. He wanted one more rush. He circled near his own blue line and Scott hit him with a hard pass. He had to swerve quickly to avoid a forechecker. The Tornadoes’ centre pressured him next, but Charlie was able to swing past him with a neat move, slipping the puck between his skates. Nick joined the rush, with Jonathon on the left and David standing near the far blue line. Charlie headmanned it to Nick, and the smooth-skating defenceman hoofed it up the left side.

  Nick crossed the blue line, holding up close to the boards near the top of the circle, the right defenceman watching him closely. David went straight for the net, attracting the other defenceman. A Tornadoes forward charged Nick, bending down low, stick and right leg along the ice. That left a gap at the top of the slot. Nick saw it and saucered the puck over the forward’s leg. Charlie arrived precisely as the puck touched the ice.

  The goalie came well out in a deep crouch, glove hand up high. David and the defenceman battled for position in front. The goalie was playing him to shoot. Charlie was about to fake a shot and try a move short side, when he heard his name called. Jonathon was perched at the far side of the net, all alone. Charlie slid the puck across without hesitation.

  “Lots of time,” Charlie said.

  Jonathon was either too excited or too nervous. Instead of stopping the puck and tapping it into the open net, he tried to deflect it in one motion. The puck slipped off the heel of his stick and into the corner. A Tornadoes player got the puck and iced it.

  Tweet!

  The icing call meant a line change. Disappointed, Charlie skated to his bench. A stick hit his shin pads.

  “Beautiful pass,” Jonathon said, shaking his head. “Could I have had more time? I thought there was a guy right on me.”

  Charlie didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. Why bother? It would only make him feel bad about missing the open net. “It was a good play. You just fanned on it. Part of the game. You’ll get the next one.”

  On the bench Jonathon smacked his linemates’ helmets. “Not a bad effort,” he said. “One goal, and we should have had another. Give us a bit more ice time and we’ll tie this baby up.”

  Charlie knew that wasn’t likely.

  His line only got one more shift, and a short one at that. The Tornadoes answered Charlie’s goal with three more of their own. The Hawks managed two late goals — both by Mike. His first came off a blistering shot from Pudge. The puck squirted between the goalie’s pads. Mike had done little more than hang around the net all game waiting for Pudge and Zachary to feed him, and he was there to shovel the puck into the wide-open net. Then, with a minute left, Zachary went end to end before feeding Mike for an e
asy tap-in from three feet out. Mike celebrated each goal by pumping his arms and racing to the bench to slap gloves with the players on the bench.

  “Goal scorer’s goal!” Dunn declared jubilantly. “Did you see how he got himself into a position to score? Hey, Shaw, I told you he’d break free eventually.” Coach Shaw smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “Two goals. I love it. But he can’t win the game himself. I’m gonna need way more effort from the rest of you — and I’m gonna get it, trust me.”

  Jonathon elbowed Charlie’s side. “A chair could have scored those goals,” he said.

  He laughed to be polite, although nothing seemed funny right now. The game had been a waste of time. All he’d done was sit and watch the Hawks be annihilated 10–4 by the worst team in the league. He corrected himself — by the second-worst team. The Hawks were most definitely the worst.

  The Tornadoes players leapt over the boards to congratulate their goalie when the game ended. The Hawks skated slowly to their end. A few players slapped Simon’s pads half-heartedly, and then the entire team followed Mike to shake hands. The Tornadoes goalie took Charlie’s hand and held on.

  “You’re Charlie Joyce, right?” he said.

  Charlie nodded.

  “You hurt or something? Why didn’t you play?”

  He was at a loss for words. “Coach was trying new lines,” he said.

  The goalie looked confused. “I don’t mind you on the bench,” he said. “You made me look bad on that goal, and you almost got another on that pass across.”

  “You guys were too much for us today,” Charlie said, letting go and moving down the line.

  “What was the goalie saying to you?” Pudge asked, as they skated off.

  “He played in the school tournament for Flemington. He remembered me.”

  “So what’s your secret?” Zachary said from behind.

  “Secret for what?” Charlie said.

  “For getting off Mike’s line. I didn’t get a pass from him all game.”

  Zachary usually never let things bug him too much. He was obviously unhappy about the game. Who wouldn’t be, after losing like that?

  “I think we need to speak to the coach,” Charlie said. “We three have to get on the same line. And I also have to speak to him about Matt. It’ll be fine once we get the lines sorted out.”

  “I don’t think he’s the listening type,” Zachary said.

  “We’ll have to make him listen,” Charlie said, “or we’ll lose every game we play.”

  9

  EARLY BIRD

  Charlie forced a spoonful of porridge into his mouth. He wasn’t used to eating so early, and his stomach didn’t seem to be awake yet. He added a third heaping spoonful of brown sugar.

  “So, I’m hoping you’re up at six-thirty in the morning to do some schoolwork,” his mom said, joining him at the kitchen table. Charlie smiled awkwardly. School was a bit of a sore point between them. They’d had a few mother–son talks about him pulling his marks up. He wanted to, and he honestly liked school; he just never seemed to have enough time, especially with hockey. He also knew that his mom would never accept hockey as an excuse for not doing well at school.

  “So … what exactly could motivate you to wake up at this hour? Have you decided to actually get to school on time?”

  “Nothing so crazy. I have to meet someone before class and I don’t want to miss him.”

  “Who are you meeting?”

  “A guy.”

  “What guy?”

  She wasn’t going to like the answer.

  “A guy from the hockey team. I want to go over a few things.”

  Her look hardened slightly. “Like what?”

  Charlie hoped to patch things up with Mike. Pudge had told him that Dunn always dropped him off at school around eight o’clock on his way to work, which is why Charlie was up so early. Charlie figured the best way to get Matt on the team was to win Mike over, and then Mike could ask his dad. Charlie also wanted to talk to him about the lines.

  “I want to ask him about some plays. I had an idea … and wanted his opinion.”

  His mom watched him closely, and Charlie had the uneasy feeling she was going to lecture him about school again.

  “Try to eat a little more,” she said. “You’ll be starving in an hour. There are some bananas on the counter — they’ll fill you up.”

  “Sure, Mom,” he said, quietly relieved.

  “I’m getting ready for work. I have to leave early too. Grandma’s coming over to take care of Danielle until school. If you wait a bit I can give you a lift.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll walk. I’ve got lots of time.”

  “Isn’t it nice not to rush? Maybe you should get up this early every day.”

  “I think I’ll stick to the old routine. Early mornings don’t agree with me.”

  His mom ruffled his hair and kissed him on the cheek before heading upstairs.

  He pushed the bowl of porridge aside. He couldn’t do it. Maybe he could force down a banana. Besides, he was nervous about speaking to Mike. It was obvious Mike wasn’t his biggest fan. He’d have to think of something to say — and he had about thirty minutes to do it.

  * * *

  Charlie kicked a clump of dirt along the sidewalk as he made his way to school along the dark and empty streets. A voice startled him.

  “Charlie, what’s up?”

  It was Dylan.

  “How’s it going?” he said.

  “Not bad. What’s got into you? School doesn’t start for over an hour. You want to make sure you’re on time for once?”

  His lateness was becoming a school joke. He promised himself he’d start leaving earlier.

  “Nah — don’t want to mess with a good thing. I’m actually on my way to speak to your best friend about the hockey team.”

  “Best friend?”

  “Mike Dunn.”

  Dylan laughed. “Sorry I can’t join you. Band practice.” He held up a large case.

  “What do you play?”

  “Bass guitar. Jazz band. Once a week we meet with Mr. Parker.”

  Charlie liked music. He’d taken piano lessons as a kid, but he’d never gotten into it. He’d rarely practised, and eventually his mom stopped the lessons.

  “That’s cool. I didn’t know you played.”

  “You haven’t heard me yet. Reserve your judgment.”

  “I’m sure you’re good. That’s just your modest streak.” He kicked the clump of dirt to Dylan, who passed it back. “How’re the Tigers this year?” he said.

  “Let’s say average. We got thumped pretty bad by the Snow Birds — that’s one awesome team. They’ve got J.C. Savard up front, Burnett on D, Alexi in goal, and the rest of them can play too. We did have a serious game against your best friend last night.”

  “Best friend?”

  “Jake Wilkenson and the Wildcats.”

  This time Charlie laughed.

  “Those guys are crazed,” Dylan said. “Dirtiest team I ever played. Their coach is the worst. He tells his players to fight and spear — wait till you play them. We must have had three fights, and I think four guys from each team got kicked out.”

  Pudge had told Charlie all about the Wildcats’ coach, Don Schultz. His teams invariably led the league in penalties. Some parents hated him, but others liked him because he produced winning teams.

  “I guess Jake and Schultz were made for each other,” Charlie said.

  “Watch yourself when you play them,” Dylan said.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “I heard about your little encounter the other day — he’s out to get you.”

  Charlie pretended indifference. “Not much I can do about that.”

  The school came into view.

  “See you later,” Dylan said. “I go around the back.” He took a few steps and turned around. “And don’t forget to say hi to Mike for me.”

  Charlie grinned and waved goodbye.

  Interesting guy, he thought — al
ways had something on the go. Charlie had major respect for anyone who could play an instrument. He took a seat on a bench near the parking lot. Mike came from that direction. He pulled out a book and began to read. He was so engrossed he didn’t notice the time pass, and so was shocked to hear the warning bell. Mike still hadn’t shown up. Just his luck! The one day he got up early Mike came late. What a waste of time.

  He was about to give up when he saw Dunn’s sports car speed past. Mike had barely closed the door before Dunn put it in reverse. He flew out of the parking lot and spun the car in the street to go forward, an impressive bit of driving that made the tires screech and attracted a lot of attention from the students gathered in front of the school. Charlie steeled himself and jogged over.

  “Hey, Mike, you got a minute?” he said, in as pleasant a tone as he could muster.

  Mike narrowed his eyes. “I guess. What do you want?”

  “I want to talk to you about the team.”

  “Because …?”

  He wasn’t going to make this easy. Keep your cool, Charlie told himself. “I wanted to ask what you thought about getting Matt Danko on the team.”

  “Team’s been picked.”

  “I know. He missed the tryouts. His dad got laid off and he had to work after school. Anyway, Pudge was able to get him a job with more flexible hours.”

  “Yeah … and …?”

  “Okay. Well, he’s got the time to play again, and his dad’s found lots of work. He’s an amazing carpenter. He’s building a ton of stuff for my mom’s café, shelves and new counters, and I think he’s lined up a few more contracts — at least that’s what my mom told me.”

  “I can’t tell you how overjoyed I am that he’s building shelves for your mom. What’s it got to do with me, or the Hawks?”

  Charlie felt his temper rise. For Matt’s sake, he took the abuse and continued calmly.

  “Matt’s a great player — you know that. He’d be a sweet addition to the team. We need more firepower up front. He’s also a physical force, and let’s face it, we’re not the biggest team in the world.”

  “That’s my dad’s decision. I’m not the coach. Talk to him.”

  “I thought maybe you could talk to him. Get him on side.”