The Ice Chips and the Stolen Cup

by Roy MacGregor

  “It’s a great idea,” said Edge, his heart suddenly feeling full.

  So the Face, the kid who always wanted the attention—any attention—on him, opened his mouth and yelled:

  “MAAAAAAHRIAA SHOT!”

  “KEETA GOAL!” the rest of the Ice Chips answered at the top of their lungs.

  “MAAAAAAHRIAA SHOT!”

  “KEETA GOAL!”

  “MAAAAAAHRIAA SHOT!”

  “KEETA GOAL!!!”

  Then Lucas, the team captain, took over:

  “WHO OWNS THE RUBBER TIKI?”

  “WE DO!”

  “WHOOOO OWNS IT?”

  “WE DO!”

  “WHO OWNS IT?”

  “WE DO!”

  “GOOOOOOO, RIVERTON ICE CHIPS!!”

  The Face’s cheeks were red from all the shouting. He was smiling—almost glowing. The Chips’ second goalie, probably the only person on the team who’d never scored a goal or had an assist, had just taken Edge’s grandmother’s special call . . . and roofed it.

  Chapter 19

  Lucas didn’t even use the gate when it was time for the next line change. He was so eager to get back onto the ice that he leapt over the boards.

  The Chips were changing on the fly. Slapper was already out and Lucas took a pass from Mouth Guard, who was heading for the bench so Edge could get on.

  At the same time, the Blitz twins were coming onto the ice from the Stars’ bench, with Beatrice skating fast toward Lucas.

  Lucas held the puck, and then passed it to Edge a second after his friend’s skates touched the ice.

  Jared was on Lucas like a nasty mosquito—a mosquito with elbows—but once the puck had been passed, the mean Star turned and went after Edge.

  The Chips’ forward used his tuck move on Jared, and it worked—again! Maybe this is why Jared booed so loudly when I used this move on the Orcas? He’s got nothing to counter it! Edge smiled to himself as he used the same trick on the Stars’ goalie, who practically left him an open net on which to shoot.

  It was 3–2 for the Chips! They were winning again!

  Edge’s teammates piled onto him, and the cheering from the crowd quickly turned into a roar.

  There was one voice, however, that was louder than all of them. And Edge was proud to pick it out.

  “MAHRIAA SHOT, KEETA GOAL!!!”

  “Beauty,” Lucas said to his friend once the players were moving back into position.

  “Slapper” was all Edge said back, but he was smiling. He was hopeful.

  “I know,” said Lucas, glancing up to the corner where Slapper’s dad was sitting, wearing his usual Montreal Canadiens hat. And waiting.

  The next goal went to Beatrice, tying the game at 3–3. It had slipped so easily through Swift’s five-hole that the Chips’ goalie immediately skated over to the bench.

  “Put the Face in,” she said to Coach Small. “I’m getting tired—give Matías a turn.”

  “Are you sure?” the coach asked. When Swift nodded, he called out: “Rodriguez, you’re up!”

  Swift could have sworn the Face had tears in his eyes when he turned.

  Despite the goal she’d just scored, Beatrice gave Edge a sour look when she showed up to take the next faceoff against him. The puck was dropped and she plucked it out of the air, right in front of him, then sent it back to her brother.

  “This is it—you’re done!” Jared yelled at the Chips, loud enough for the entire rink to hear him. He was smiling like a firefighter who’d just saved a dog from a burning building, but he hadn’t done anything of the sort. He’d cheated, he’d played nasty—as usual, Jared had been a jerk.

  The game is tied and we’re about to go into overtime, thought Lucas. But that doesn’t mean that any of this is over.

  Mouth Guard was scrambling to get back out and into the play when Jared shot the puck back to Beatrice. She lunged for it, hoping for a hat trick, but Mouth Guard had already snapped it up and passed it on.

  Now Lucas had the black disk, and Slapper was in perfect position.

  A quiet “Mahriaa shot, keeta goal!” sounded in the stands, as the big bear of a defenceman smiled.

  Lucas’s pass was still spinning across the ice when Slapper’s stick smacked down right on top of it with a clack! The onlookers gasped when they realized that this young player had just slapped the puck harder than they’d ever seen in a novice game—with the force of Zdeno Chara.

  It was a beautiful goal—the sort of goal Slapper, with his great one-timer, should have been scoring every game. And it had happened at the very last second, just before the final period had timed out and the buzzer sounded.

  “MAHRIAA SHOT, KEETA GOAL!!!” the fans on the Chips’ side all yelled as they quickly jumped to their feet. Slapper, grinning up at his dad as he rounded the ice, spun his stick into the position of an air guitar, got down on one knee . . . and played.

  The game was over.

  The horn had blown.

  And the Riverton Chips had won the championship!

  Lucas and his teammates gathered around Slapper, piling on top of him to congratulate him on such a spectacular shot—on their win!

  Now, thought Lucas, staring at Jared’s and Beatrice’s grumpy faces from the pile of players he’d landed in. Now, you can say it’s over.

  * * *

  “My hair smells like strawberry ice cream,” said Mouth Guard, nudging Crunch annoyingly, and then nudging him again. He was uncomfortable waiting in line to accept his medal. And he wasn’t the only one. The Stars were angry, and many of them felt cheated out of the trophy they thought they should have won. The Chips, however, exhausted from playing their hearts out, were blushing all the way down the line. They were excited about their success, but they were also nervous about the completely over-the-top Blitz-style celebration that had already begun.

  In the days leading up to this match, Coach Blitz had designed the winner’s celebration, just as he had the arena’s light displays—all of it with the Stars in mind.

  It was wild—like nothing anyone in Riverton had ever seen before.

  A red carpet had been rolled onto the ice, followed by a gold-coloured Cadillac—for the winning coach to sit in. If Coach Blitz’s team had won, he would have jumped into it right away and probably honked the horn through the entire ceremony, but George Small was just standing by the car, wearing his old baseball cap and smiling. He was happy his team had won—proud of them—but there was no way he was getting in.

  The sound system was playing music loudly, but it also had sound effects going. There was a screeching noise when the Cadillac rolled out, and when the podium was set up, it made sounds like huge metal blocks being moved in a video game.

  “Luckily, I love strawberry ice cream,” Mouth Guard said, smiling, as Mayor Abigail Ward walked past him and stepped up to the podium.

  “The Riverton Ice Chips have had a long road to get here,” she started, turning and giving Lucas, Edge, and Swift a wink—she hadn’t forgotten that this was their dream. “At the beginning of the season, they didn’t even have a rink. But they fixed that, and then worked their hardest out on that ice.”

  Jared moaned and Beatrice rolled her eyes, shifting on her skates. They’d worked hard, too, they probably thought. And they most definitely thought they deserved this more than the Chips.

  “I’ll give out the medals first,” the mayor said as four gold trays full of medals were walked onto the ice. “And then Coach Blitz has prepared something special for the trophy presentation.”

  Mayor Ward started with the silver medals on the left side of the podium, placing one over the head of each Star. Nolan and Shayna smiled when they accepted theirs—a silver was still a great accomplishment—but many of the other Stars sneered or giggled, unable to hide their disappointment.

  Next, the mayor moved on to the Chips.

  “Number 12, Sebastián Strong,” the announcer said into his wireless microphone as he walked along behind the mayor. “Number 21, Dyla
n Chung.”

  The mayor stepped up to Crunch and put a gold medal around his neck, and then she did the same to Mouth Guard, Bond, and Slapper, who couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Do you think we can get little stickers shaped like medals, to stick onto our hockey cards? I’ve already signed mine,” Slapper asked eagerly. But the mayor was already farther down the line. She was placing a medal around Blades, then Lars, then Dynamo, then the Face, then Edge . . .

  “I have no idea what Coach Blitz has planned,” the mayor said as she put a medal around Lucas’s neck, then Swift’s. “But I hope you’re ready to lift that Golden Grail up over your heads—you all deserve it. I know that you’ve put in a lot of extra practice.” She winked after this last sentence, which made Lucas wonder if she knew about the practice they’d been getting outside of Riverton, with the help of some of hockey’s greatest stars. Does she know we’ve been leaping?

  When it was time for the Golden Grail to appear, Lucas couldn’t believe how nervous he felt.

  Coach Blitz’s light show projected a bunch of balloons on the ice, and then had them break apart and sail up into the rafters. When they reached the top, the small light creations exploded, sending fake holographic confetti onto the heads of everyone on the ice below.

  That’s when the hockey holograms returned.

  First it was Beatrice, then Jared. They were holding a hologram of the novice trophy above their heads as they skated around the ice.

  “Just bear with me,” said Coach Blitz as he coughed and leaned in to the microphone on the podium. “Obviously, we thought the game would go another way—but my guys look good, don’t they?”

  The Blitz twins’ holograms evaporated as the lights slowly dimmed. Mayor Ward and her father, Quiet Dave, disappeared into the Zamboni chute, and when they came back, there were carrying the Golden Grail on a golden platter. Lucas actually gasped. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this year’s Golden Grail trophy are . . . South Riverton’s Ice Chips!!” the announcer yelled, finally sounding enthusiastic about their team.

  The mayor stood in front of Lucas with the platter, but it took a few moments for him to get what she was doing.

  “Will you take it?” she asked, grinning as the entire audience looked on—waiting. “We’ll need a new picture for your trophy case.”

  With the sound of cheers and applause in the background, Lucas reached over and took the Golden Grail with the help of his two best friends.

  Once Lucas, Edge, and Swift had the trophy hoisted over their heads, the flash of a camera went off, leaving everyone blinking.

  Chapter 20

  The black basketball bounced off the Plexiglas at the back of the net and went through the hoop with a whoosh.

  “I bet you can’t keep going,” said Lucas. He was making fun of Edge, trying to see how many times in a row his best friend could sink a shot, but he was also quite impressed. The basketball practice Edge and his dad had been doing for the past couple of weeks was really paying off. Edge was already up to twelve!

  “How’s your Naismith Game?” Bond asked, giggling, as she steered her skateboard onto the basketball court at Riverton Public School—the place where Edge and Lucas had told all the leaping Chips to meet. She snapped her board up into her hands before resting it against the picnic table.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” Edge said with a grin. “Just let me get it in the peach basket a few more times first.” He tossed the ball up against the backboard and into the net, grabbed the rebound, and did it again.

  “Lucky shot! You must have put your underwear on backwards this morning,” Swift joked from the picnic table, where she was sitting with Crunch and reading about the Chips’ gold medal win on his tablet. The story said that the mayor was proud of them. That the town was proud of them. And that winning the Golden Grail had meant everything to the team.

  “Dadi doesn’t believe in Top Shelf’s underwear trick,” Edge said with a laugh as he went for a layup and sunk that, too. “But she does think it’s funny.”

  At the end of the trophy ceremony, all of the Chips’ friends and family members had joined them in a large conference hall at the side of the Blitz arena. They’d had cups of juice and tiny fancy sandwiches—all stamped with the Stars’ logo, all from Coach Blitz’s original plan. Everyone had had a great time, not just because of the win, but also because they were all together.

  It was one of the biggest parties the town of Riverton had ever seen.

  That’s when the Face had explained that he’d always wanted to be an outplayer, scoring goals, but had decided to play net because he had asthma like Jacques Plante, the first goalie to wear a mask in a regular game (and a French Canadian who’d knitted his own toques as a kid!).

  That was also when Swift’s parents had presented their daughters with the pack of movie tickets they’d promised if they won, joking that their next trophy would get them each a gold Cadillac like the one on the ice.

  “Maybe if it’s the Stanley Cup,” Blades had answered, laughing. “Or the Isobel Cup—that’s the one Swift wants to win!”

  Swift’s cheeks turned red and tears began to well up in her eyes. She was thinking about their latest leap: how she’d held the Stanley Cup and met Isobel Stanley, for whom the championship trophy of the National Women’s Hockey League was named. Isobel, the goalie had since learned, had married—changing her name to Isobel Gathorne-Hardy—and had been gone for a few decades by the time the cup was created in 2016. Her spirit, however, had definitely remained.

  At one point, Slapper’s dad had come over to where Lucas and his friends were dipping strawberries in a chocolate fountain, and he’d given his son a big, awkward hug. Then he’d given hugs to Lucas and Edge, too, for the assist.

  “He’s no Walter Gretzky,” Slapper had said with a shrug when his dad left to get a sandwich. He was talking about how Wayne Gretzky’s dad had played such a big role in his son’s hockey career—he’d probably been to every game and every practice. “But I do love the big guy.”

  Slapper, finally feeling like he was back in with his friends, had told his teammates that he’d basically been born a fan of the Montreal Canadiens. His father was a fan, and his father’s father. And his great-great-uncle was the guy who’d started the team—John Ambrose O’Brien, from Renfrew.

  “John O’Brien’s the same guy who got rid of the rover position,” Slapper’s dad had added, his mouth full. He wasn’t expecting any of the Chips to know what he was talking about, but of course, the ones who’d been to Ottawa in 1892 would never forget that kid.

  Near the end of the night, Coach Small had made the shortest speech ever, saying only, “Thanks to all of you for a great season. Congratulations!”

  And then Edge had grabbed the mic and shouted: “Hey, South Riverton, enjoy this moment and have fun with it!” just like Kawhi Leonard had after the Toronto Raptors won the NBA final in 2019.

  Edge and Lucas went home with their families—with Dadi wearing Edge’s medal—but then the two of them had talked on their comm-bands late into the night. They’d never been so happy.

  * * *

  “I forgot to thank your grandmother for our win,” said Lucas, grabbing Edge’s rebound and going for his own shot—a toilet bowl that rolled around the rim for what seemed like forever before finally swooshing through the net.

  “You still don’t think we did it on our own?” Edge asked as Bond stepped in and grabbed the ball.

  “No, we played well,” said Lucas, smiling. “But my awesome underwear trick and that dot you showed me behind your ear at the party might have helped. I guess we’ll never know!”

  Bond took a shot that bounced off the pole, and then another that was off the backboard and in. “I’m just warming up,” she said, sticking out her tongue like Beatrice, even though she knew none of her teammates would laugh at her.

  Sports really are something, Edge thought to himself as
he watched his friends take their shots. Hockey didn’t just live in an arena or in the sound of a really great slapshot—he’d felt this for a long time. It lived in the hearts of every single player who played the game—however, wherever, and whenever they played.

  “Hey, did you hear Connor at the party?” Lucas asked, suddenly laughing. “He yelled, ‘Poopy baby bum!’ at the top of the lungs whenever he got near the trophy. So embarrassing.”

  “Yeah, Shayna and Nolan’s cousins thought he was hilarious,” said Swift, standing and grabbing Bond’s rebound. The cousins had flown in from Eabametoong First Nation to do something on Parliament Hill—something about water—and they’d giggled at Connor’s jokes all evening.

  “Yeah, that was ridiculous—your brother’s so funny!” said a voice from the schoolyard gates, suddenly joining in.

  All the Chips turned.

  It was Slapper.

  This was supposed to be a secret meeting, thought Edge, who’d wanted to talk about Scratch’s glitches with his teammates. Now what are we going to do? Edge also had something else to tell them—well, to tell Lucas—but he’d been waiting for the right moment.

  Bond rolled her eyes. She’d been waiting for a moment, too. Now she couldn’t talk to the leaping Chips about how she’d known where Isobel’s leap would happen. When they’d passed by the display case at the beginning of Isobel’s tour, Bond could have sworn she’d seen Scratch’s reflection in the glass. She’d convinced herself it was just a lighting trick, but when they’d looked at it the second time, she’d seen him again and known for sure—the wormhole was in the hallway of Rideau Hall.

  “So who’s signed up for HOCKEY CAMP?” Slapper asked, flicking one of his hockey cards against the gate. He was expecting to hear a half-dozen voices shout, “Me! Me! Me!”

  “Of course I’m going—duh. I signed up the very first day!” said Lucas, excited, as he passed the ball to Edge. He liked basketball, but he loved hockey—and he looked forward to hockey camp almost as much as he looked forward to the Chips’ regular season. There was nothing cooler than a hot summer morning in a skating rink, followed by an afternoon at a pool. Nothing.