Breakaway (9 page)

“Why don’t you leave the singing to Jodi?” Carla asks.

“Shut up, Bisonhead,” Miranda says.

Whitney throws open the door and makes an entrance. “Hey, girls! Want to know which Bruin I had last night?”

“Let me guess.” Kathy taps her lower lip.
“All
of them?”

The remark doesn’t fizz on Whitney, who launches a detailed account of her date with the Bruins’ seventh defenceman. I try not to listen. None of the other girls talk about sex in the dressing room, even though I know most of them are on birth control.

Jake farts, and we start howling.

Whitney’s pissed that she never gets to finish her story. She gestures at the doll. “What
is
that?”

“It’s a baby, Johnstone,” Kathy says. “That’s what
you’ll
get if you keep screwing the Bruins.”

“Jealous?” Whitney asks, fluttering those beautiful eyelashes.

Fortunately Jodi walks in then, and we put on their game faces. Kathy manages not to stir anything else up before Sue arrives for our pregame pep talk.

Mr. Johnstone is one step behind her.

“I apologize to you ladies for making you play in these old uniforms,” he says. “Your new ones will be here soon, I promise.”

Jake starts crying, and Miranda does her best to quiet him.

Sue stares at the doll and wrinkles her nose.

“He comes equipped with smell
too?”
Kathy demands.

Miranda hustles him out, and Sue runs through the lines. She’s got me paired up with Jennifer on D while Carla gets a Rookie. Jodi and Kathy are our centres, but Jodi will also drop back to quarterback our first power play unit.

Mr. Johnstone interrupts Sue to offer us some advice. He knows his hockey, but he sure doesn’t know his place. The second time he does it, she asks him to go find a new marker for her whiteboard.

During the warm-up, I try to concentrate on the drills and not gawk at the Weyburn girls at the other end of the ice. They look big and fast and confident.

“Hey, you’ve got fans! Did you notice?” One of the Rookies taps me on the shoulder and points into the stands.

There’re two guys up there, with signs. One of them says, “Hockey Girl, I’m having your baby.”

“Who are those guys?” I ask.

The Rookie shrugs.

I take a closer look. The guy with the sign could be Liam MacArthur. I haven’t talked to him since the talent show.

“Looks like somebody thinks
you’re
cute,” Kathy murmurs in my ear.

I skate away.

–

O
pening faceoff. I look at Number 19, lined up across from Kathy at centre ice. She doesn’t look big enough to be last year’s runner-up in the SFMAAAL scoring race. She wins the puck back to her left D and steps around Kathy like she’s standing still, pounding her blade for a pass. She comes straight at me, and I try to poke check, but she puts the puck between my legs, glides past me, and blisters a shot off the crossbar.

I hurtle into the corner, arriving just ahead of Number 19. I turn myself to get body position and hold her off while I use my feet to inch the puck along the boards. Now there’re two sticks gouging at my skates, and it’s all I can do to stay on them. Somebody elbows me in the ear, and my head bangs the Plexiglas. The ref is yelling at us to play the puck. Kathy barrels in, using her ass to block the two Gold Wings, and fishes out the rubber. Before she can do anything with it, 19’s got it back. She fires on her backhand, but Amy deflects it with her blocker. The juicy rebound falls on 19’s blade and she stuffs it in.

While the Wings celebrate, there’s nothing for us but the walk of shame back to the players’ box.

My next shift starts on the fly with Jodi taking the puck deep into Weyburn’s end. One of their D-men smacks the puck away from her and tries to chip it over the blue line. I arrive just in time to pinch along the boards, cycling to Larissa. She passes to Whitney, who stickhandles in a tight circle, looking for an opening, and then passes back to me. I slide the puck to Jennifer, and she fires it right back. My slapshot hits the Weyburn left-winger square in the shin. While she goes down squealing, 19 picks up the puck and blasts down the ice on a breakaway, with me on her heels.

Not a chance of catching her.

Amy skates out to meet her, and 19 takes a wrist shot, glove side.

Right where Amy likes it.

She does the splits and snaps the puck out of the air.

I love this girl.

Line change.

Back at the bench, Sue draws me aside and shows me a play she’s drawn up on her whiteboard. I get the feeling she thinks I forgot some basic defensive rules over the summer.

You are the weakest link, my little voice tells me.

A few minutes later Kathy takes a roughing penalty. We get trapped in our end for the whole PK. When Weyburn’s biggest D-man lines up a slapshot, I block it with my belly.

Carla says blocking a shot gives her as much of a rush as scoring a goal. Frankly, I find shot-blocking to be mostly painful.

This time is no exception. Especially since I end up on top of the puck, with three different players trying to gouge it out with their sticks. Mercifully the ref blows down the play, and I skate back to the bench, holding my stomach.

Jennifer pounds my shoulder blades the whole way. “Way to take one for the team, Mac!”

The guys with the signs are going crazy in the stands. Liam’s yelling, but I can’t make out the words.

Sue gives me a pat on the head as I come off while Crystal’s mom, our trainer, waves me over. I know I’m going to have some major bruises. Good thing I took out my belly button ring.

After the penalty, it takes a while for us to get some momentum. Then Jodi dekes the Gold Wing’s goalie into oblivion and scores unassisted, popping the water bottle. It’s her first goal in almost two years, and it’s an amazing moment. Strangely, Jodi doesn’t seem that excited as she skates by to receive our high-fives.

“I can’t believe how good she is,” the Rookie D says when I meet her on my way back out.

“Believe it,” I say.

Then Whitney nearly runs into me. “That wasn’t unassisted! I should have gotten a point!” she pouts.

Sue always says it takes all kinds of players to make a team.

Why do some of them have to be such prima donnas?

–

A
my stands on her head, and Jodi gets a hat trick. We beat Weyburn 3–1, even though the shots are 37–21 for the Wings. As we line up to shake hands, I can tell they’re choked.

“Good game,” I tell Number 19, who brings up the rear.

“We’ll get you next time,” she says. “Your refs are friggin’ homers.”

I watch her skate away. Liam leans over the glass and smacks our helmets as we exit the ice. Mr. Parker, who’s been manning the booth, announces the three game stars: Jodi, Amy and me.

I am blown away.

“Don’t let it go to your heads,” Sue tells us in the dressing room. “You’ve got your work cut out in this league. Eat properly. Stretch. Hydrate. Work hard in practice.”

“Will you be there this week?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

Great.

–
Chapter Twelve
–

I
dip my brush
in the shiny orange acrylic paint and brush it on the wall, managing not to drip any on my coveralls. Painting the outside of the Sarcan Recycling building is part of a project for my senior art class. One of my classmates came up with the colourful design of crushed cans and geometric shapes.

I’m happy just to be applying paint, and not having to freehand the objects on the storefront.

“Would you mind staying until four thirty?” Mr. Tilson, our visual arts teacher, stares up at the sky, frowning. “There’s rain in the forecast tonight. I’d like to finish this part today.”

“I have hockey practice right after school.” I hastily add, “I’m sorry.”

He steps back and looks up at Kathy, who’s standing on the scaffolding above me. “What about you, Kathy? Can you stay?”

When she gives him the same excuse, he stalks off, obvi
ously frustrated.

I’m frustrated too. Sue won’t be at practice again, which means Whitney will goof off to impress the Bruins, and the Rookies will follow suit. The Regina Rebels are hosting us in an exhibition game on Saturday, and I doubt we’re ready for them.

“I don’t know why Whitney’s so confident we’ll beat the Rebels,” I say loudly. “She dicks around too much in practice.”

Kathy’s face suddenly appears, inverted, as she peers at me from the scaffolding overhead. Her long blonde hair is dangling below her face. “How’re you getting to Regina?”

“I’m going up with the Gedaks after school tomorrow. Evan’s game is at seven.”

“Will Evan get to play much?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t cracked the starting lineup yet.”

“Your parents aren’t going?”

“They’re coming up Saturday morning.”

“Where are you staying Friday night?”

“With the Gedaks – at the same hotel as the Dinos. I’m not sure which one.”

The sound of a loud muffler makes us both start. An old pickup pulls in and lets out a loud, rattling cough as the engine dies. A guy in a baseball cap jumps out and climbs onto the rear bumper, leaning way over to grab some garbage bags.

“Nothing says ‘hug my buns’ like a pair of Wranglers,” Kathy observes.

“Parker!”

“Come on, Mac. Get a load of that caboose.”

I let my eyes wander in his direction. Not bad, at all.

Kathy pulls off her paint gloves, puts her forefingers in her mouth, and wolf whistles. The guy straightens and looks over his shoulder at us.

It’s Liam MacArthur. My nemesis.

I turn my back and start painting.

“Your caboose isn’t half-bad either,” he says as he walks past.
I hear the automatic door swish open and shut behind him.

Kathy throws herself down on the scaffolding above me, beating it with her palms and soles, laughing hysterically. Finally she leans over to look at me.

“So whose caboose did he mean? Yours or mine?” she asks, breathless.

“Since I’m wearing coveralls, and you’re not, my guess is
you,”
I tell her.

We resume painting, but I keep listening for the sound of the door. A while later it swishes, and a voice behind me asks, “Trying to get on full time?”

I turn and open my mouth to say something smart-assed. Then the meaning of his question registers.

You see, Sarcan employs individuals with mental challenges.

“It’s rude to make fun of the people who work here,” I say.

His gap-toothed grin vanishes. “That’s not what I meant.”

I turn my back and resume painting.

“Tell her she’s got the wrong idea.” From the increased volume of his voice, I gather he’s directing this comment at Kathy. “I don’t go around insulting hockey girls or people with mental handicaps.”

“Challenges!” I call over my shoulder.

“You girls played great the other night,” he says. “Especially you, Jessie.”

I keep painting.

“I better get going,” he says. “See you, hockey girls.”

I hear the sound of boots on gravel. A truck door creaks open, slams shut, the truck coughs again as it ignites, and the loud muffler gradually disappears in the distance.

“I don’t think he meant to insult you.” Kathy climbs down from the scaffolding and joins me at ground level. She picks up some mineral spirits and begins cleaning her brush with a rag.

My pocket beeps. I wipe the paint off my fingers and pull out my phone. It’s a text from Mom, asking me to pick up Courtney and drive her to volleyball.

“Is it from Evan?” Kathy asks.

“No, my mom.”

“When’s the last time you talked to him?” Kathy asks.

“I told you I’m seeing him this weekend,” I respond, irritated.

“Look, Jessie, if you’re having second thoughts about going out with him, you should tell him right away. Don’t keep stringing him along.”

“I’m
not
having second thoughts, and I am
not
stringing him along.” I drop my phone in my pocket. “I have to go.”

–

I
wait twenty minutes for Courtney to come out of the school. At this rate, I’m going to have a tough time being on the ice at five. Not that the Bruins will care.

When Courtney finally appears, she’s got Gia with her. They’re breathless with laughter. Too bad I’m immune to their good mood.

“Can you give Gia a ride too?” Courtney asks, opening the passenger door and flipping the seat forward.

“Why not?”

Before I know it, both of them are in the back. Gia’s got her auburn dyed hair pulled up into two perky ponytails that stand straight up in the rearview mirror. Even though she’s two years older than Courtney, she’s a full head shorter.