Breakaway (6 page)

I gave Amber a ride nearly every day last year. The kid asks the craziest questions. She totally cracks me up.

But today she doesn’t say much.

“I’m sorry you got cut,” I tell her right off.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I get it. I wasn’t good enough. I’m going to play on one of the ladies’ teams. I already talked to some people.”

“You’re going to play
senior
ladies?”

“You make them sound old,” Amber says. “Some of them aren’t much older than I am.”

I check the traffic before making a right turn. “I didn’t know that.”

“They practice once a week and have games on Fridays. They even go to tournaments. You don’t have to feel sorry for me, Jessie. I’m on student council this year. And I’m getting a part-time job because I want to buy my own car.”

“So you’ve got everything figured out.” I give her a quick once-over to see if she’s just saying this to make us both feel better.

But she looks happy.

By the time we get to the Comp parking lot, she’s talked me into helping her out with the talent show next week. As I back into a spot, I wonder why I ever worried about her. Amber’s one of those people who knows how to bounce – whether she gets rubbed out on the boards or served up a big helping of Reality.

On the other hand there’s Teneil.

She’s waiting for us in the courtyard, sitting at our “team” table. It’s not like we won’t let anyone who’s not on the team sit with us. We’re not a clique or anything. But nobody’s ever been cut before.

As soon as Amber and I sit down, Teneil starts in. She doesn’t even say hi. “So when’s your first practice?”

“Monday.”

“Found a head coach yet?”

“No.”

She raises an eyebrow at Amber. “I was looking on the internet. Most AAA teams carry more than seventeen. Lots of them AP players.”

Hard to guess where this is going.

Amber smiles and shrugs.

Teneil turns to me. “Did Sue ever say why she only wanted seventeen?”

“Not that I remember.”

“How many out-of-town girls made the team?”

“I’m not sure.”

Teneil’s inquisition goes on until Miranda arrives. Then the two of them sit there and whisper while Amber tells me about potential part-time jobs, and I pretend to listen.

I’m relieved when the other girls show up.

And even more relieved when the buzzer sounds for first period.

English. Mrs. Buckingham. She’s the greatest. I had her in Grade Eleven, and she doesn’t disappoint. I don’t think about hockey even once during her class.

After English, there’s homeroom.

I’m still with Mr. Gervais down in the band room, and – surprise surprise – so is Amy Fox. She looks big, even with khaki shorts and a tank top replacing her pads. Her long brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she doesn’t wear a lick of makeup.

“Where are you billeting?” I ask her.

We’re sitting on one of the carpeted tiers, legs stretched out in front of us.

“My aunt,” she says. “That was the plan all along. I want a university scholarship next year, and I needed to transition to girls’ hockey. Playing in Estevan means my dad won’t have to pay someone to billet me.”

I gather money is an issue for Amy’s family. I know her dad raises cattle, and the beef market has been in trouble for a while.

“Bet he’ll miss you on the farm,” I tell her.

“I’ve got three brothers,” she says.

“So where do you want to play next year?” I ask. “Best case scenario.”

“An Ivy League school,” she says. “I won’t be choosy. No offence, but another reason we picked this team is because my numbers are going to look better if I get lots of shots.”

Some other kids come over to talk, and I introduce them to Amy. While they’re getting acquainted, I think about Amy’s assessment of the Oilers.

Lots of shots on Amy means the opposition is blasting right past the defence.

My position.

And there’s no way I want
that
to happen.

–
Chapter Eight
–

I
check the list
of talent show entries on my clipboard. “I don’t know why people bother to enter. Everybody knows Jodi’s going to win.”

“Yep, she always wins,” Kathy agrees. “But I still say you should have played your flute. You’re always telling us how good you were in junior high.”

“I lied.”

The guys on stage finish their air band routine, performed to “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and back off the stage, bowing and waving their arms like rock stars.

“I have no idea what that song’s about,” I say philosophically.

“Who’s next?” Amber demands.

“Calm down, Kowalski.” I check the clipboard again. “Liam MacArthur.”

“He’s Indian,” Kathy says.

“You should say
First Nations,”
I correct.

Kathy tries to peer at my clipboard, but I pull it tight against my chest. “Can you at least tell me what he’s doing?” she asks.

“Rope tricks,” Amber says. “What would you expect from somebody in Rodeo Club?” She walks out on the stage to introduce him.

Liam enters from the opposite side, wearing Wranglers, a checked shirt, boots, a white Stetson and a huge, shiny belt buckle. He walks to centre stage, uncoiling a lariat. Kathy puts on a Keith Urban song, and Liam starts his routine. He keeps the rope in continual motion, twisting and snaking around him.

“He’s good,” Kathy says. “You know him?”

“He was in one of my math classes last year,” I reply. “Talked to him a few times, but we’re not friends.”

“Of course you’re not. You never let any guys get close to you,” Kathy says.

“Do you blame me?” I ask. “They all know about that time I got drunk at Shauna’s. I don’t trust any of them.”

“Jessie, that was a long time ago. Everybody but you has forgotten about it.”

When Liam finishes his performance, the crowd cheers and hollers. He removes his hat and inclines his head, flashing a gap-toothed smile. His dark hair is cut short, with one big cowlick on his forehead.

He borrows the microphone from Amber. “For this next bit, I need a volunteer. Would someone from the audience...”

Kathy shoves me violently from behind, and I end up on hands and knees on stage, my clipboard skittering across the smooth surface.

Someone – it sounds like Randi – yells, “Way to go, Jessie!”

Liam bends over, picks up my clipboard, and hands it to Amber. “Thanks for volunteering.”

“But...”

He’s already stepping away from me, rearranging the coils of rope. “Would you mind standing very still?”

I get up and turn around, throwing daggers at Kathy. She grins and waves. I face Liam and stand very still indeed, my cheeks flaming while Liam shakes out a loop and begins. The rope whirs around me like a bumblebee, barely grazing my hair. I try to make eye contact with Liam, determined he should see how pissed I am, but his dark eyes register total concentration, and his thick black brows are beetled together.

The performance concludes – again to thunderous applause –
with me trussed and hog-tied like a steer. Like a moron, I hop offstage, where Kathy and Amber are doubled over.

“Would you mind untying me?” I fume.

Naturally they think it’s funnier to leave me in my present state.

Liam jogs off the stage. “Are you finished with my rope?” He has to speak loudly because the audience hasn’t stopped cheering and whistling.

Naturally that sends my two friends into hysterics. It’s a wonder they don’t pee their pants.

He unravels the rope in a few deft movements, setting me free. “Frankly I’m surprised you volunteered so quick. Usually it’s a lot harder to coerce someone.”

“Go take another bow!” Amber shouts.

Liam steps back out. The volume increases immediately.

“He’s cute,” Kathy says.

“He’s not good looking,” I say.

“I said he’s
cute.
There’s a difference,” Kathy points out.

The audience starts chanting, “Jessie! Jessie!”

“And you said you didn’t have a talent.” Kathy puts her hands on my shoulder blades.

“Don’t push!” I snarl at her.

Liam is suddenly back. “Come on!” He grabs my hand and pulls me to the middle of the stage, then drags my arm over my head, like I’m a prizefighter.

Right now I’d like to go a few rounds with him
and
Kathy – armed with my hockey stick.

“Encore!” someone shouts.

Liam leans over and murmurs in my ear. “Can I tie you up again later?”

“What?” I rip my hand from his grasp.

Suddenly Amber’s there, introducing the next act, another air band. The guys are dressed and painted up like the members of KISS.

I stalk off the stage, grabbing my clipboard from Kathy.

“Hey, I’m sorry!” She doesn’t even sound apologetic. “He looked like your type.”

“My
type?
I
have
a boyfriend! And besides, that guy is
sick!”

Liam comes backstage. “Hey you...Hockey Girl!” he says.

“Get away from me!”

“I just wanted to find out if you’ll do it!”

“You are twisted, you know that?”

His eyes widen in surprise, and he backs up a step.

“Kathy, this guy asked if he could
tie
me up later! Have you ever heard of anything so perverted?” My face is burning.

He looks just as embarrassed. “I didn’t mean
that!
Honest! I was just wondering if you’d help if I advance to the final round.”

I wish there was a trap door on this stage, so I could disappear through it. “Oh.”

“Well, will you?” he asks.

“No,” I say slowly and distinctly. “I won’t.”

Liam turns to Kathy. “How about you?” he asks.

“I have to run the music,” she says sweetly. “Love to, but no.”

He heaves a disappointed sigh and exits, using the back stairs.

“I still say he’s cute.” Kathy turns to the sound system and cues up the air band’s CD.

“What’s with you anyway?” I ask. “You’ve hounded me for two years to take Evan seriously. And now that I’m dating him, you try to throw some other guy in my face!”

Before Kathy can answer, Jodi comes backstage to get ready for her performance, and I push the incident with Liam to the back of my mind.

Good place for him, my little voice says.

–
Chapter Nine
–

R
utherford Rink.
U of S campus. Saskatoon. There’s less than two minutes left in the period.

I’m lined up at centre ice.

We lead the U of S Rookies 5–4.

Kathy looks over her right shoulder and grins. She’s having a great game, and so am I. Why wouldn’t we be? We don’t have to make
this
team,
this
year.

But the girls we’re playing want to.

Badly.

This is the second time I’ve been invited to attend the U of S Huskies’ fall camp. Last year I got a decent evaluation, and this year, I plan to do even better.

Kathy wins the draw back to me, and the Rookie left winger skates right at me. I pass to my D-partner, who puts a move on the Rookie rightwing and fires the puck in deep.

The old dump and chase.

I like our chances.

–

H
i, Jessie.” I turn around and see Holly Chamberlain, Mark’s girlfriend, standing in the hallway between the Rutherford ice surface and the dressing rooms. She’s wearing sweatshorts and a tank top, and she’s got a green bandana tied around her short, feathery brown hair. Holly is a little bundle of dynamite, with muscles popping in her forearms and calves.

“Hey, I was hoping I’d see you this weekend,” I tell her, trying to inject some sincerity into my tone. “How’d you know I was in Saskatoon?”

“I saw your status on Mainpage,” she explains. “Thinking about coming to U of S next year?” she asks.

I nod.

“It’d be great if you made the Huskies.”

Holly wrestles for the university team. Last year she was a CIS All-Canadian, and she’s medalled two years in a row in her weight class at Nationals. Besides that, she’s brilliant. She’s working on a Bachelor of Science, majoring in microbiology.

“Next year when I come to this camp, I’ll be coming as a rookie.” The thought makes my insides twist and turn.

“Is that what Kathy’s hoping for too?” Holly gestures at Parker, who’s standing just outside the dressing room, schmoozing some of the Huskie vets.