Line Change (15 page)

I still needed to catch my breath, but I got into position with everybody else, anyway.

I skated hard and fast, but this time I couldn’t keep up with Bosko. It was down to the line and back, over and over again, to the point that my legs were burning almost as much as my lungs.

When we finally finished the drill, I watched as Dad explained the next one, waving his arms around to help describe what we were supposed to do.

He looked totally happy.

And so was I.

Chapter Sixteen

On Saturday, we had to travel to Sooke. That would have been cool, but the McDonald family minivan was still in the shop, and Mum needed Dad’s car to visit an old friend in Comox.

“I guess we’re bumming a ride,” I said. “Should I call Kenny?”

Dad frowned. “The Cavanaughs? I don’t know.”

“I’m sure his dad has calmed down by now.” I wasn’t really sure at all, but I knew they’d have room in their van.

Dad thought about it for a second or two. “Okay, let’s ask if we can carpool.”

It turned out that the price for a ride was an earful from Mr. Cavanaugh.

He and Dad sat in the front seats, while Kenny and I listened from the back. It started out okay.

“Look, Gord, I know I didn’t handle things too well at practice. I’d like to apologize.”

“I appreciate that, Glen,” Dad said, and at that moment, it seemed like things would be nice and smooth for the drive.

But Mr. Cavanaugh wasn’t finished.

“I just wish you’d stuck to O’Neal’s game plan.”

“Sure,” Dad said, glancing at me in the mirror.

“Here we go,” Kenny whispered.

“All this jumping up and down, Gord? What’s that really doing for the boys?”

“Well, it’s building up their —”

“I mean, we’re all paying for this ice time, and it’s just going to waste.”

“It’s not going to waste, Glen. We’re doing a balanced series of —”

“We want to get to the playoffs this year.”

Dad cleared his throat. “We get to the playoffs every year, and this one won’t be an exception.”

“I heard Coach is healing up really nicely.”

“So did I.”

“Here’s hoping,” Mr. Cavanaugh said, quietly.

I saw the muscles in Dad’s jaw pulsing and knew he was ticked off. And I was too.

Of course we all wanted Coach O’Neal to come back soon, but Mr. Cavanaugh didn’t have to insult Dad in the meantime.

“Sorry,” Kenny whispered.

I just shook my head. “It’s okay,” I told him, even though it wasn’t.

After a few more minutes, the dads seemed to be finished talking to each other, especially when Mr. Cavanaugh tuned in to PUCK radio and turned it up loud.

The drive was kind of a long one, but it went by pretty fast while we listened to the Blues play the Red Wings.

It probably went by a lot slower for Kenny, who looked like he might cry during the third period, when his beloved
Red Wings were getting seriously smoked.

“You’ve got to start backing the Canucks,” I told him, when the Blues scored yet another goal.

“Nah,” he said. “Detroit will be my team until I’m dead.”

“It’s games like this that’ll kill you,” I laughed.

“Yeah, well they’re eight and two so far this season, so they kind of left your Canucks in the dust.”

“Are you going to come over when Detroit and Vancouver play in a couple of weeks?” I asked him.

“No doubt.”

“We’ll see who’s on top then,” I warned him.

“Yeah, we will.”

“You know you can’t wear any of your team gear for that game, right?” I said, elbowing him.

“Try to stop me,” he said, laughing and elbowing me back.

It was really cool that me and Kenny were back to normal.

When we finally made it to the Sooke rink, my whole body was stiff from being stuck in the van. Me and Kenny both yawned and stretched while Mr. Cavanaugh unlocked the back door then passed us our bags.

I saw some of the other guys in the parking lot. Mrs. Chen had painted “Go Cougars” all over her windows in our team colours, which was awesome. I’d have to talk Mum into doing that for our next away game. Maybe everyone could do it, and we’d come into town like a parade.

A victory parade, before the game had even started.

Nice!

Jeff was shovelling a hot dog down his throat, a sight
that would have totally freaked Mum out. The only hot dogs allowed in our house were made of tofu.

I know. Gross.

Bedhead looked like he’d slept the whole way there, and I just hoped he managed to get all the crusty junk out of his eyes by the time the game started.

Even more gross.

“We’re gonna take these guys down,” Jeff said.

“They won’t even know what hit them,” Patrick agreed.

I sure hoped they were right.

The Cougars needed a big win.

But more than that, Dad needed one.

*   *   *

When we walked inside the rink, Colin and his dad were standing there, waiting for us.

“He skipped practice,” Kenny whispered. “He can’t play, can he?”

I shook my head. “Not by Coach O’Neal’s rules.”

“What’s he wearing his uniform for?” Patrick asked me.

“No idea,” I said, shrugging.

I was hoping Mr. Bechter wasn’t going to make a big scene.

“Colin,” Dad said, nodding at him. “Mr. Bechter.”

Colin’s dad cleared his throat. “My boy’s ready to play.”

I held my breath, waiting to see what Dad would do.

“I’m afraid that won’t be today,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Bechter asked, his whole body already tensing up.

“I’m sorry, but if you skip the practice before the game, you don’t play.” Dad looked at Colin. “You know that, don’t you, son?”

Colin gave him the tiniest nod I’d ever seen. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I had seen it.

“But we need him,” Jeff said.

He was right, and I couldn’t help thinking that if Dad hadn’t been the one coaching at last week’s game, none of this would be happening. Colin would have been at practice, as usual, and everything would be just fine.

When I looked around at the other guys’ faces, I could tell they were thinking the same thing.

“We’ll get by,” Dad told him. “Just like we got by at practice.”

Mr. Bechter crossed his arms. “He was sick.”

Kenny nudged me. “No he wasn’t,” he whispered.

“I know,” I whispered back, shocked that Mr. Bechter would stand there and lie to all of us.

“This is only a game, Mr. Bechter,” Dad said. “But it’s also a tool to teach these kids about teamwork, dedication, and doing the right thing. Colin,” Dad looked right at him. “Were you sick?”

“Of course he was,” Mr. Bechter snapped. “I just told you that.”

“I’m not asking you,” Dad said, then looked at Colin again. “Were you sick?”

“What’s he supposed to do?” Kenny whispered. “His dad will freak if he tells the truth.”

“But the guys will freak if he lies to our faces.”

Colin looked at his dad, then his eyes drifted from Bedhead to Jeff, then Patrick, Chris, Bosko, Kenny and me.

We all knew the truth.

But was he going say it?

“Colin,” Dad said again. “Did you miss practice because you were sick?”

“No,” he said, quietly.

Whew!

I saw that Patrick and Jeff were both nodding, like they knew it had been tough for Colin to go against what his dad was saying.

We all knew it.

Kenny whispered, “Right on.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” Dad said, patting Colin on the back. “I’d like you to stay for the game and cheer your teammates on from the bench, if that’s okay with you.”

Colin looked at his dad, who was frowning. “Can I?”

Mr. Bechter stared at him for a few seconds. “I’m not staying.”

I couldn’t believe it! They’d driven all the way to Sooke and he wasn’t going to let Colin watch the game?

Colin looked at Dad and shrugged like he was sorry.

But what else could he do?

“We can give you a ride home,” Kenny offered.

Mr. Bechter turned to stare at him.

“That’s right,” Mr. Cavanaugh said, firmly. “We’ll take him.”

I wished I’d thought of that, even though it wasn’t our van. It was my turn to whisper, “Right on.”

We were all in it together.

Mr. Bechter left without even saying goodbye, or wishing us luck or anything.

“Thanks, Glen,” Dad said.

Mr. Cavanaugh nodded. “Thanks for sticking to your guns. The ‘no practice, no game’ rule is there for a reason.”

I was hoping that Dad would let Colin play anyway, since it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t make it to practice. But he didn’t.

The rules were the rules.

“You boys better get ready,” Dad said. “The locker room is that way.”

Me and the rest of the guys headed down the hallway while Colin stood next to Dad and Mr. Cavanaugh.

I waved him over. “Come on, Colin,” I said. “You’re not playing, but we still need you.”

“Yeah,” Patrick called over his shoulder, “You’re with us.”

Colin grinned and followed us down the hallway. His smile got even bigger when Bosko gave him a high five.

When we got to the locker room, the Seagulls had left a nice little welcome note, taped to one of the lockers.

It said: COUGARS 4, EAGLES 5. SEE YOU ON THE ICE, LOSERS. HA HA.

“Yeah, really funny,” Jeff muttered, tearing it down and dumping it in the garbage.

“They’re gonna be talking trash,” Bedhead said. “And after our last game, you can’t blame them.”

“I’m really sorry I’m not playing,” Colin said, quietly. “This could be a tough game and I’m letting you down.”

“It’s not your fault,” I told him and the others nodded.

“I don’t want to hear a bunch of garbage from these guys,” Jeff said.

“Well, the whole league probably knows the Eagles crushed us,” Kenny said.

“What they don’t know is that we weren’t playing our usual positions,” Jeff said.

“Is Coach keeping everyone in their new spots?” Colin asked me.

Uh-oh.

“I think so,” I nodded.

“Except you,” Kenny said, and I shot him a dirty look.

Nuts! Why bother bringing that up when we were starting to feel like a real team again?

“And me,” Patrick said. “I’m still defense.”

Thank you!

As much as I loved playing right wing, part of me was still hoping Dad would put me somewhere else instead of giving me the special treatment.

“So, let’s think of the Eagles game as a practice run,” Colin said. “Now everybody knows what they’re doing. Everyone’s got the new positions figured out, right?”

I liked the fact that he was ready to boost us up, even though he couldn’t play.

“I made my brother take shots on me all week,” Bedhead said. “My sister, too.”

I smiled.

“I’ve been working on my shooting,” Kenny said.

“Cool,” I nodded.

“I think I’ve got a handle on centre now,” Bosko added, as we headed out to the rink.

And did he ever!

The Seagulls had come prepared, with a lot of attitude and what felt like some extra elbows, but that was okay.

We were prepared, too.

After last week’s humiliation and all the drama over practice, we were just plain ready to play.

And to win, of course.

From the second the puck was dropped, Bosko played the game of his life. In fact, we all did.

Our passing was awesome, and no one hesitated to share the puck. We only took shots when the time was right, and whenever a Seagull started talking trash, it ended with a
quick slam against the boards.

It was really cool to see everyone play their new positions like they’d been playing them all along. And I guess that’s what Dad was aiming for. If we all mastered more than one position, we’d be a stronger team than ever.

We’d be full-on dangerous.

I had a breakaway just a couple of minutes into the second period, with two goons right on my tail. There was nothing but a goalie to stop me, and I could hear the home crowd getting desperate for the Seagulls to steal the puck.

But they couldn’t.

“Go for it!” Kenny shouted, from way behind me.

I didn’t need instructions. It was the kind of moment I was built for.

“Shoot!” Patrick shouted, as I got nice and close to the net.

“You stink!” one of the Seagulls called out.

But the voice I heard the clearest was Dad’s, yelling, “Let it rip, Nugget!”

I lined up the puck, with the goons panting behind me. Before they had a chance to catch up, I whaled on it.

I felt the stick make contact, then watched it go airborne, heading right toward the sweet spot.

And then?

The stupid goalie deflected it!

Right at Bosko, who was ready, like he always was.

He took a crack at the puck and it sailed right into the lower corner of the net while the goalie was still adjusting his mask.

“Yes!” I shouted, happy he scored but wishing the goal was mine.

“Nugget’s still up by three,” Patrick called out from the bench.

“We’ll see about that,” Bosko called back with a laugh.

All the guys skated up to Bosko and slapped his back or helmet, depending on their height.

I ended up punching his elbow.

That was as far as I could reach.

“Nice play!” Dad shouted.

The Seagulls came back pretty hard after that, and I had to admit, they made it tough to keep up.

But Bosko was shooting like Gretzky.

Exactly what I’d been afraid of.

“We’re tied, Nugget,” he said with a smile at the end of the second period. “You know I’m gonna win.” He smiled. “Playing centre might just put me over the top.”

I thought about how tricky it had been to convince him that the position switch was a good idea. And how much it stunk when the team split up into sides.

The Cougars were about winning games. It was as simple as that.

Did it really matter who scored the most goals?

Well, of course it did.

And Bosko was probably right about coming out on top.

But there had to be another way I could beat him.

“I’ll probably have the most assists,” I told him.

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, with a laugh.