Hat Trick (11 page)

The next day, I sat in the stands with my family to watch the game against Comox. They’d always been a pretty good team and I knew it would be a close game. I wished, for the millionth time, that Math hadn’t gotten me into this mess. Why hadn’t I just done the stupid homework assignments all along?

Because I never thought I’d be stuck on the stands if I didn’t.

I watched my teammates warm up by skating laps and passing the puck back and forth. I wished my own warm-up wasn’t a hot chocolate, since whipped cream was a pretty lame substitute for scoring goals.

The ref blew his whistle and once the guys were lined up, the game got started.

Patrick took possession and started hustling toward the visitors’ net. He had one guy right on his tail and he passed the puck at the perfect moment, which was right before he tripped over his skates and wiped out.

At least the pass had been clean. My parents and I
jumped up to cheer as Eddie Bosko slipped the puck between a defenseman’s skates and picked it up again on the other side.

“That kid is great,” Dad said.

Great? “Well,
good
, anyway …” I said, but he wasn’t listening.

Just then, Bosko got checked and lost the puck. We all groaned, but within seconds he’d snatched it back and we were cheering again. I wasn’t quite as loud as everyone else, especially when he scored what could have been my goal.

Man, it was hard to watch someone else do my job.

Or
our
job.

“So, Math and hockey are covered,” Dad said. “What else can this kid do?”

I hated to think.

As I watched the game, I thought about all the things I could have done differently, and how much better they could have turned out. I made some mistakes in Math class, but even worse was the way I’d hoped for Bosko’s failure and didn’t even root for Kenny when he finally got his chance to be a star.

Pretty lame, really.

At least I’d have a chance to make up for it, though. If I got my seventy-eight on the final Math test, I’d be back on the ice in time to play Victoria. Eddie Bosko and I would tear the ice up … together.

And there was always the possibility that Coach would give in and let me play against Shoreline before then.

A guy could hope, anyway.

I got more excited about the game as I watched Jason make a killer save, then Patrick score a goal. I was proud to be part of such a good team, and even more proud when we won.

I even cheered when Eddie scored the winning goal, and only felt the tiniest bit jealous.

* * *

During the week before the Shoreline game and Math-geek Nationals, Eddie and I worked on word problems in the library every single afternoon.

“How do you feel about the test?” he asked.

“Nervous.”

“Don’t be. You’re better than you think you are.”

“Really?” I asked, seriously doubting it.

“Dude, we’ve been practisng pretty hard. You’ve spent more time on Math in the past month than I bet you did in your whole life.”

“That’s true.”

“You can totally do it, Nugget.”

“I hope so,” I said, starting to read over the next problem.

Eddie cleared his throat. “So, did Wendy say anything about her date with my brother?”

“Not really. We don’t talk about that kind of stuff.”

“Sure,” he said, nodding. “No big deal. I was just wondering if they were, you know … going out again.”

As hard as it was to believe, it seemed like it was my turn to help Bosko. “You know, she’s a lot older than you.”

“Not that much.”

“She’s sixteen, Bosko.” I tried to think of the best way to say what I knew was true. “I don’t think she’ll ever want to hang out with someone her little brother’s age. You can’t take it personally.”

“That’s cool,” he said, even though I could tell he didn’t feel that way. He turned to his book.

That was when I remembered something I’d noticed in Math class. “Besides, I don’t know why you’d care about
Wendy when Carrie Tanaka is always looking at you.”

Eddie stared at me. “She is?”

“Yeah. I think she likes you.”

I would have been grossed out if anyone had said that to me, about any of the girls at school, but Eddie Bosko started to smile.

“Carrie Tanaka? Are you serious?” he asked.

I nodded. “Check it out next time we’re in Mr. Holloway’s class.”

“Cool,” he said, his face turning a bit red. “Thanks, Nugget.” He cleared his throat again. “I guess we should get rolling on these problems.”

I nodded, relieved that we could talk about something else.

Girl problems were a serious pain in the butt.

* * *

That final Friday test turned out to be totally brutal. I knew my hockey season was in danger as soon as I read the first question, and doomed by the time I reached the third one.

But I did my best.

When I finally finished with the test and was sure my head was about to explode from the effort, I had to sit and wait for the stupid results again. I had a book with me, but I didn’t feel like reading. In fact, I didn’t feel like doing anything but stare out the window.

The marking took longer than usual, and when Mr. Holloway told me he was finished, I figured I was too.

I walked up to his desk, my hands balled into fists as I waited for the bad news.

“Mr. McDonald, how do you think it went?”

“I dunno,” I mumbled. Seventy-eight percent was way too much to hope for.

I’d blown it for sure.

“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Holloway asked. “And please make eye contact when you speak, Mr. McDonald.”

I looked right at him. “I’m not sure how it went, Mr. Holloway.”

“Did you read through all of the questions first?”

“Yes.”

“Did you take your time?”

“Yes.”

“Review your work?”

“Yes.”

“So there you have it.”

Huh?

He must have seen how confused I was. “Now you know how to tackle a test.” He paused for a second, then smiled. “And even better? Now you know how to pass it.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Eighty-one percent.”

“No way!”

“Excellent job, Mr. McDonald. Truly excellent.”

Excellent
! I couldn’t believe it. I’d never come close to a mark that awesome in Math!

“Three tests and three solid grades. I can’t say that I’m an expert when it comes to the vernacular for our nation’s sport, but —”

“Vernacu-what?”

“Terminology,” Mr. Holloway explained, but that didn’t actually explain anything.

“I don’t know what that —”

“What I am attempting to get across, Mr. McDonald, is that while I haven’t mastered the language of hockey, I am quite certain that you have just achieved the mathematics equivalent of a hat trick.”

It took me a second or two to get it.

A hat trick? In Math? It was incredible! And if that wasn’t amazing enough, something happened a second later that I
really
couldn’t believe.

Mr. Holloway gave me a high five.

When I shared my Math score, Mum and Dad hugged me and told me how proud they were. It felt awesome, especially because I’d never imagined how cool good grades could be.

At the dinner table that night, I told Dad how important the Shoreline game was to me, especially since I’d been missing out on playing already. He and Mum both listened to what I had to say about Bosko being away that weekend and even Wendy managed to stay quiet while I explained why I needed to help the Cougars beat Shoreline.

When I was finished, Mum agreed that Dad could talk to Coach O’Neal and give their permission for me to play.

Considering I’d convinced my parents that it was a good idea, I was totally shocked when Dad told me the next day that Coach had disagreed.

It was totally unfair and I didn’t know what to do, so I stopped by Coach’s office to talk to him myself.

He sat at a desk covered with pictures of Cougars teams through the years. There were framed news clippings from when the team won big games up on the walls, and he had
a trophy shelf with awards and a couple of photos from back in the days when he played. Coach O’Neal made it to the minors, but not the NHL.

“I don’t have to ask why you’re here,” he said.

“The Shoreline game,” I said, nodding. “Bosko is going to be out of town and —”

“Nugget, we’ve been through this before,” he said.

“I know I’m small, Coach, but I’m tough and —”

“They’re huge.”

“I know, but —”

“Your Dad and I discussed this already and he understands my concern.”

I felt my hands ball into fists. It wasn’t fair. “I can’t do anything about my size, Coach.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I wouldn’t feel good about letting you go out there. If you hurt yourself —”

“I’ve been hurt before,” I reminded him. “Lots of times.”

“I just don’t feel right about it.”

“But —”

He stopped me by holding up one hand. “I’m the coach, and my decision is final.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just stared at him.

“I’m sorry, Nugget. Maybe next year.”

“Maybe,” I sighed, and started to leave.

“Listen, I’m going to need you in every other game this season. I hope I can count on you.”

“You can,” I told him.

On the way home, I tried to understand how it was possible that after all of my hard work on the ice, off the ice, in Math class, at the dining room table and everywhere else, I
still
didn’t get to play.

It totally stunk.

* * *

What didn’t stink was that we ended up beating Shoreline.

Kenny broke the tie in the last seconds of the game and the crowd went totally crazy. He looked so shocked and happy when the guys swarmed him, patting his back and helmet, I couldn’t stop smiling. But even though I was super proud of him, I had to admit that I wished it was me. I hoped with everything I had that next year I’d be out there playing Shoreline.

In the meantime, I knew I’d be a part of the next game and every game after that. After all, the season had barely started, and Coach said needed me. We’d be taking on Victoria the very next Saturday, and we’d play a team from Nanaimo the week after that.

Sure, I regretted missing out on Shoreline, but I had plenty to look forward to.

Starting with the Canucks game and that perfect shot from centre ice.

* * *

For the next week, I practised shooting in the driveway every night after I did my homework. I had to be ready for my big moment. I spent every spare second imagining myself at centre ice, calm, cool and totally ready to amaze the crowd with one big, bad blast of the puck.

Everyone at school knew I was going to be taking the shot, and every day more kids wished me luck. When I went grocery shopping with Mum, the cashier wished me luck. Mr. Howard, our next door neighbour, told me he’d be rooting for me and wished me luck.

Luck, luck, luck.

The truth was, I didn’t need any. It was all about practise, and I’d done so much of that, I knew had nothing
to worry about. Shooting was as natural to me as breathing and it felt like my whole life had been building toward that moment in Rogers Arena.

I couldn’t wait.

* * *

When Dad and I got up on the morning of the Canucks game, I was shocked that I’d actually slept. I’d laid out my clothes the night before, so I was totally ready to go. Once I was out of the shower, I put on my favourite jeans, a pair of Vans, a blue hoodie and my Jean Ducette jersey on top of it.

I looked like a super fan.

No, I looked like the ultimate fan.

No, it was more —

“Like a bride on her wedding day,” Wendy said, when she saw me standing in front of the mirror.

“Very funny,” I told her.

“Nugget?” she said.

“Yeah?”

Before I had a chance to defend myself, my sister was
hugging
me. “Good luck,” she whispered.

I started to say I didn’t need any, but knew that wasn’t the point. After all, Wendy didn’t even hug me on Christmas. “Thanks,” I told her, and meant it.

“Ready?” Dad asked, when I got to the kitchen.

“Definitely,” I told him. I looked for a bag lunch on the counter top, and when I didn’t see anything, I turned to Mum.

“You guys are going to have a great time,” she said, pulling me into my second hug of the day. “And if that means greasy hamburgers and too much pop, I don’t want the details. Deal?”

“Deal,” I told her.

“Have a wonderful day, Jonathan,” she told me. “And good luck.”

Dad and I drove to Nanaimo, where we could catch the ferry to the mainland, and when we got there the lineup was massive.

“You’ve got to love weekend traffic,” Dad sighed. When he paid, he asked which sailing we’d be on.

“Maybe the ten,” the lady said. “For sure the eleven.”

We pulled into row twelve and sat in the car. Dad had a newspaper to read, and he let me have the comics. None of them were very funny, but at least reading them killed some time.

My very first NHL game. The day had finally come!

We missed the ten o’clock sailing by about fifteen cars, so Dad sent me to the concession to get a coffee for him and a juice for myself. I must have checked my watch a thousand times while we waited for the next ferry.

When we finally boarded, Dad and I went straight to the cafeteria for eggs and stuff, but they were already serving lunch. That meant I got to have a Legendary Burger, fries with gravy and a Coke for breakfast.

Awesome!

When we pulled out of the terminal to start the trip, the captain honked the horn a couple of times, and the kids on the deck outside covered their ears and cried like babies. Dad and I found seats at the front, and he gave me a few quarters to play video games. I couldn’t concentrate, so I wandered around the decks for a little while, then went to the gift shop to check out their hockey books for inspiration. (Not that I needed any.)

I was ready to score.

* * *

After an hour and a half on the water, we pulled into Horseshoe Bay. The lineup waiting to go back to the island was even bigger than the one we’d been in that morning.

Geez. Why didn’t they just build a bridge?

We drove up onto the highway and I sat back in my seat, daydreaming about the game.

“Excited?” Dad asked.

“Totally.”

“A little nervous, too?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“I’m ready for this.”

“If you say so,” he said, smiling.

“It’s not like I’ll be trying to solve a Math problem in front of thousands of people.”

“Which you could do now, thanks to hard work and Eddie Bosko.”

“That’s not really the point, Dad.”

“True,” he said. “But I know I’d be nervous about this shot.”

“I’m not,” I told him, but the nerves kicked in when we parked at the stadium and I saw just how huge it was. There would be a lot of people watching.

Dad and I walked to the main gate, along with hundreds of fans. Everywhere I looked, I saw Canucks shirts, jackets and hats. I even saw a guy with the team logo painted on his face!

When we got inside, I couldn’t believe how loud it was. They had stalls set up for selling Canucks gear, and stands for beer and food. I had a little bit of money with me, so I bought a program.

Jean Ducette was on the cover, and I was about to see him, live!

It was way too awesome.

“I’m gonna frame this,” I told Dad.

“A nice addition to your room,” he said, patting my back.

All of a sudden I heard a bunch of noise behind us, and it seemed like the whole crowd was booing at once. When I turned to look, there was a guy wearing a Flames jersey, waving at everybody. The crowd booed even louder.

“We’re gonna cream you,” he shouted over the racket.

Without even thinking, I started booing too. He deserved it!

Dad and I found our entry and when we walked through the doorway, my mouth dropped open like a flounder.

The place was gigantic! The biggest TV screen I’d ever seen was hanging above the rink, flashing highlights from the past few games. The ceiling looked like it was too high for oxygen, but there were people sitting all the way in the top row. The rink probably looked like a cake from way up there, with players for sprinkles!

Dad checked the tickets and we started down the stairs toward the ice. We were already close, but we kept getting closer. When we reached our seats, we were right at the centre line, only six rows from the ice.

“Nice job on the tickets,” Dad said, pointing at the seats.

Holy smokes. We were practically
on
the ice.

And even better? I actually would be!

* * *

The game was everything I dreamed it would be (except when some lady sang “O Canada” like it was opera or something and I had to cover my ears).

The crowd went crazy when each of the players was introduced.

I couldn’t believe I was that close to Jean Ducette!

There was so much to see, I couldn’t keep track of it all.

I stared at the players when they warmed up.

I bit my lip when they got into position.

Even the refs looked cool!

I shouted with everyone else when the puck was dropped and I didn’t stop shouting for the whole first period. The seat was pointless, because I was on my feet the whole time, too.

Jean Ducette was incredible, and soon we were winning, 2–0.

Totally awesome.

Halfway through the second period, a woman tapped me on the shoulder.

“Jonathan McDonald?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“I’m Katie, with the Canucks promotional team. Are you ready to come with me?”

I nodded again and when I stood up, Dad gave me a big hug and ruffled my hair, like I wasn’t about to be on the big screen!

I followed Katie up the stairs, patting my hair back down and starting to feel even more nervous.

The crowd was gigantic, and so loud! I pretended they were cheering for me. We waited for the period to end and I couldn’t hear anything the announcer said, until my name blasted over the speakers.

“Go ahead, Jonathan,” Katie said.

I stepped onto the green carpet path they’d rolled out to centre ice. A grey-haired man in a suit shook my hand and let me say hi into the microphone.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

All I could do was nod.

He handed me a stick and I carried it with me to the very edge of the carpet.

It was my moment!

I lined myself up with the goal.

I’d been practising that
exact
shot for a month solid.

I was shaking a little, but I knew it was going to be easy peasy.

The crowd cheered for me, and for a second, I almost felt like a real pro.

I lifted the stick.

I was all set up for a perfect shot.

I took a deep breath.

And swung.

I hit that puck harder than ever before.

I watched it zoom toward the net.

Then veer to the left.

Uh-oh.

My whole body tensed.

Just a little more to the right.

To the right.

No, the
right
!

I almost screamed like a girl when it slid right past my wide open target.

I missed!

I missed?

The crowd groaned and I felt my face burning.

What just happened?

“Sorry, Jonathan,” the grey-haired man said.

And just like that, the biggest moment of my life was over.

I missed
.

He told the crowd to give me a hand, but I was in shock.

How could I have missed?

He passed me an envelope and I walked back down the green carpet, unable to look at anyone. It was hard to put one foot in front of the other to get back to the stands and all I wanted to do was disappear. How was I supposed to face my teammates or the rest of the kids at school?

I’d totally blown it!

I shuffled along the carpet and when I got to the end and was ready to step off the ice, a huge Canucks uniform appeared directly in front of me, blocking the way.

When I looked up, it was Jean Ducette.

My hero
.

Nuts!

He’d seen my rotten shot!

Could the day get any worse?

“You surprised me,” he said, in a deep voice.

“Me too,” I told him, glumly.

“For a small one, you have a lot of power, no?”

“What?” I asked, thinking I’d heard him wrong.

“Your speed with the puck,” he said, patting me on the back. “It is serious.”

“It is?”

“Impressive,” he told me.

What? Jean Ducette was impressed by me? I couldn’t even speak.

“Want me to sign your jersey?”

“Are you kidding?” I asked.

“No,” he laughed, as the grey-haired man handed him a pen. “Your name?”

“Nugget,” I said, without thinking.

Jean Ducette looked confused. He turned to the man and asked. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

The man put his fingers close together to show something small. “Pepite.”

Jean Ducette laughed and ruffled my hair, just like Dad had done. “Pepite. I like it.”