Any Way You Slice It (21 page)

We skate a full circle around the rink and as the varsity team takes the ice, the tension in the room crackles. Varsity looks even bigger with their equipment and skates on. The Viking, Vernon High's team mascot, runs up and down the aisle in front of the bleachers. Up in the stands kids are holding signs. I see a couple that say “Kill Team Reject” but then I see one that says, “Go, Rats!”

Too bad we're about to get crushed.

The roar of the crowd is distant, even though we've got the biggest audience we've ever had, the Plexiglas keeps the noise low. We're all a little nervous, skittering around the bigger guys as we warm up. I'm playing center, and I imagine how Jake would approach the situation. I try not to look at Hunter Tilton as the referee drops the puck at our feet.

I push my stick into his business, but he deftly sweeps the puck away from me and flies toward Carter at net. None of our defense even gets near him. He shoots, but Carter reaches up and swipes the puck away.

Warren traps Mark Temple in the corner and gets a penalty for high-sticking him in the ribs. Temple doubles over but manages to stay on his feet.

Varsity is firmly in control of the game, but every time one of them tries to score, Carter manages to block.

When the referee isn't looking, they get nasty. Warren knocks Flores onto the ice with a shove. The crowd goes crazy, yelling for the ref to open his eyes.

“Time out!” Coach screams. As we huddle for a quick talk, he says, “Listen. This is going to be a rough game. They are going to try to get away with playing dirty. They are going to be on the edge of illegal actions—so don't let it make you sloppy. Let them take themselves down. Get back out there and play the best you can.”

At the beginning of the second period, the goalie on the other team goes left to block a shot and takes a stick to the knee from one of his teammates. He shakes it off, but he starts leaning left after that.

As soon as I realize it might give us an advantage, I yell to Temple. “Aim over his right shoulder!”

I can't figure out why his coach doesn't take him out. Warren yells, “What the hell, Ryder, block the frigging net!”

By the end of the second period, which seems like it takes forever, we're up three to one. We never expected to score on them, let alone score more than once. During the break, the varsity coach realizes his goalie is hurt. He pulls him and sticks in the backup goalkeeper.

I glance up at my parents. It's hard to decipher their expressions from this distance. But I imagine it's a cross between elated and worried. Grams, on the other hand, is on her feet wolf whistling. She gestures enthusiastically at the camera crew when she sees me looking.

Lori leans over the railing that goes up into the stands. One look at her face and its evident something is wrong.

I yell to Coach. “Gotta hit the bathroom!”

He waves for me to go. “Be fast. You've got less than five minutes.”

As soon as she sees me moving toward the locker room, Lori starts down the stairs at a run. She meets me in the hallway.

“I've only got a second; Coach thinks I have to pee. What's up?”

“The other team is cheating. You've got to tell them.” She's panting like she's just run a marathon.

“What are you talking about? We scored three times during that period.”

“Seriously, I've been watching the clock. The timekeeper is totally trying to give them more time to catch up. During that last point, when Warren had the puck? It took like thirty seconds for the last ten seconds to count down. Even though he missed the shot, the timekeeper was trying to give him more time.” She takes a breath. “A few of the kids in the stands were talking about it. They know the kid at the timekeeper's desk. Apparently, he bragged that he was going to do it if varsity got in trouble.”

I'm shaking my head like I don't believe it, but it makes sense. “They've been slashing at us when the ref isn't looking, too. Did you see Hunter Tilton trip Johnson?”

She nods. “Too bad the ref is the varsity coach's brother-in-law.”

Seriously? Even the adults are cheats.

This time, maybe we can use the camera crew to our advantage. I whisper the plan to Lori and she smiles. “I love you when you're evil.
”

I wobble on my skates as I totter back to the bench to hear the end of the pep talk.

Coach gestures with his hands. The guys are focused, sitting and staring at him from the bench. “I know you want to go out there and hit those guys with the same dirty tactics they're pulling on you. The crowd is demanding it. But that's not why we're here. Ignore the crowd; they have nothing to do with you. If you have to hit, hit with purpose.” He paces in front of the bench like he's jacked up on sugar and caffeine. “I want you to stay focused. Don't look at the clock. Don't think about your math test on Monday. Don't think about the party later. You can outskate these guys. Just play like I know you all can.” He leads a cheer and the sound is deafening.

“Rink Rats, Rink Rats, Rink Rats!”

The boys are totally pumped. Carter stands up and paces like he's chugged an extra strength Red Bull. “We
got
this.” He gets in Flores's face and yells, “Do you want this?” He punches his shoulder and Flores practically falls off the bench.

I've never seen them like this. Probably because as long as any of them have been playing here, they've never had a game that really mattered. We've been up by a point, but never by two. And winning has so rarely been on the table, and never with opponents like these guys. It doesn't even matter that we're up because of their stupid goalie's pride.

It's amazing what a little positive press can do. I wonder how much of this is due to our article, or the sponsorship, or the fact that we have a full house watching us today. The Restaurant Network crew is out there using this as a special-interest story as part of Slice's spot for the show. I hope that Lori can convince them that varsity is cheating.

I open my mouth to tell the guys about the timekeeper, and then I decide against it. We're up two points even with the cheating. I don't tell Coach, but something about the way he glances at the clock tells me he might already know.

Third period starts off slow—we're tired and it shows. I skate around the edge of the rink warming up again. I look into the stands and notice a few more kids holding signs with our team name on them. The girls' varsity team is sitting together about halfway up the stands. As I'm watching, they hold up signs that say, Spaulding Rocks! I can't believe they even know my name. I suddenly feel like I'm doing this for more than just my team. We are the underdogs. We are the ones the bullies love to push around. We're the ones minding our own business and getting beat up for just being ourselves. We need to win this for all the other kids who are rooting for us.

Jake is on his feet at the glass. He's yelling instructions to us, but he forgets it's hard to hear from the other side of the glass. I wave and point to my ear, shaking my head.

The ref blows the whistle. I'm poised for the face-off. I look up and realize I'm fighting Warren McNeill for control of the puck just as the ref drops it on the ice.

Warren grabs the puck and cruises down the ice toward Carter. I take a breath and bolt after him. It feels so natural now to race down the ice in full gear with my stick—I barely think of the equipment as I get into the corner and flick the puck back toward Temple. I can't believe a few short weeks ago, I'd never held a hockey stick.

Knowing Dad is watching me gives me a jolt of energy. He knows what it's like to feel this exhilaration. The way I feel right now, I could conquer the world.

I glance over at Jake sitting in the stands and he pumps his arm in the air. It doesn't matter what the final score is; I've already won.

And that's when I take the full body blow and hit the wall.

My butt and back hit the ice first and then my head whips up and down as my helmet hits the hard surface. I have a weird vision of myself as Wile E. Coyote, with stars circling my head. The lights above the rink are swaying. I'm wondering if this is how Dad felt the last day he played hockey. Jimmy Flores is the first one to my side. “Oh my God, Pen, are you okay?” He's trying to take off my helmet, but I hear a voice yelling at him to stop.

Jake's voice from far away. “Don't touch her, Jimmy!”

Coach's pale face appears above me. “Can you hear me, Penelope?”

I remember barreling toward Warren McNeill, chasing down a puck, and then nothing. A blank space where my memory should be.

Dad's voice. There's a slight waver in his tone. “Pen? Penelope? Can you hear me?”

Someone's carefully taking off my helmet. A cold breeze hits my neck, and I try to raise myself up on my elbows.

“No, sweetheart.” Dad slides a folded towel under my head. “Stay still.”

And then someone takes my glove off and holds my hand. “Hey, Blades. What's up?”

I squeeze his hand to make sure he knows I'm glad he's here. I'm scared because I can't remember the last five minutes, and I have no idea how I ended up flat on my back on the ice.

His voice quavers. “I hope you appreciate that I just fell on my ass twice on my way out here.”

I try to laugh, but I'm having a hard time taking a breath.

The paramedics get there not thirty seconds later. Part of the rink regulations require medics on property during games. Someone's always going down in hockey.

It's just never been me.

A bright beam flashes in front of my face. A stranger's voice says, “Can you follow the light?”

I nod, but it makes me want to puke. There are too many people here for me to puke on the ice, and I know Mr. Thompson hates to clean up vomit.

“I need to get off the ice,” I whisper.

A couple more quick checks and they determine my neck isn't broken. Small miracle, because it feels like I got run over by the Zamboni. Jake and Dad each take one of my arms, as the paramedic lifts me to my feet. The crowd goes wild as they lead me off the ice.

I still feel nauseous, but somehow I manage not to throw up on anyone. “You rock, Spaulding!” I hear behind me. Carter has started a chant. “Spaulding! Spaulding! Spaulding!”

When we get to the locker room, they lower me gently on the nearest bench. Dad takes off my skates. I open my mouth, but he interrupts. “Don't say it.”

I close my eyes and will the tears to stop. It's not going to help. “Where's Mom?”

He looks at the door. “I'm guessing she'll be here in a second with your grandmother.”

Sure enough, a minute later, Mom, Grams, and Lori barrel through the door. Lori is panting again, as she grips the doorjamb. “You're going to give me a heart attack.”

Grams whacks her on the arm. “My granddaughter can take a hit. She'll be back on the ice next week.”

Surprised, I look up at Grams, who's grinning like a deranged hyena. “What? You were awesome out there, sweetheart.” She glances at Jake. “And why weren't you out there on the ice, my boy?”

Jake sputters. “Um.”

“If you'd been out there on her left wing, that big kid wouldn't have smashed her. If she's going to continue to play, she needs a team that has her back.”

“Grams. It's okay. Jimmy was playing left, it's not his fault. He's getting better. We all are … we're just outgunned.” I glance at Mom, wondering what she's thinking about Grams taking my side.

“What are you talking about? Those boys were grasping at straws trying to win. Your team played better and didn't let emotion take over. Those other boys were doing anything they could to play dirty.”

“Pen. You should have seen yourself. That slam was real.” Jake gives me one of his loopy grins, but it looks forced and I know it must have been a scary fall. “Your head is going to hurt for days.”

“Are they finishing the game?” There were only a few minutes left when I took the hit. “I want to go back out there.”

“Hold your horses,” the EMT says. “I saw the fall. You were lucky you didn't break a vertebra with that hit.” He glances down at a clipboard where he's making notes. “It's not that you got hit that hard, it's just the way you twisted when you fell. You landed with all your weight on the base of your neck. It's a good thing your helmet was as tight as it was, or we might be looking at something completely different here.”

The room gets quiet.

“I'm ordering at least a month off the ice.” He holds up his hand at our protests. “Concussions are nothing to take lightly, they are cumulative and you can't risk a second fall too soon after a bad one.”

My eyes start to sting. No hockey for at least a month? Just when Dad's allowing me to play? What will the team do without me?

The EMT isn't finished. “And while we're at it, no TV or electronics until you're symptom free. You should check in with your primary care doctor if you experience any headache, nausea, or dizziness.”

“But I'm fine; I don't even have a headache.” I feel the back of my head and find the goose-egg-sized bump. I glance over at my mother. I'm expecting her to tell me it's for the best; I shouldn't have been playing anyway. But she gives me a small smile, and puts her arm around me.

“We'll go see Dr. Simon in the morning.” She looks up at the medic. “Can she watch the end of the game?”

He nods. “Just take it easy. No sudden movements.”

“Hey, Pen. Just look at it this way,” Jake says. “You got off easy—if that fall had been worse, you'd be talking about never playing hockey again, not just taking it easy for a month.”

I look up at Jake expecting to see a smile, but he looks more serious than I've ever seen him. I glance at Dad and think about the fall that changed his life. I expect him to say, “I told you so.” But he just looks pale.