The Swap (29 page)

I look up at her. She's just, like, so nice. Her eyes are so bright. I love Summer. I know that sounds weird because, like, I hardly know her. It's just—

It feels like I do.

“Honey?” she says, still standing, smiling down softly. Waiting for me to speak.

“I'll go,” I answer quietly. I try and smile too. At least Elle told me it's okay with her. It'll be good to sweat. Good to move. I don't even care if I see any of the girls from last night. I don't care what anyone says. I'm just going to keep my mouth shut and try to have fun.

“I'm really glad to hear you're up for soccer.” Summer breaks into a huge smile. “And if you're going to play,” she goes on, walking back to the stove, “you're going to have to eat.”

She returns to the table with a plate full of stacked, steaming pancakes. They look so good. They may or may not be in the shape of a heart! Summer's so awesome. I unfold the napkin on my lap and take a good look around. Elle's kitchen is pretty much the opposite of ours. It smells like butter and sugar, or like—vanilla. Vanilla cake. And everything is bright and warm. There's flowers on the table. Summer brings herself a plate too and sits down across from me.

I wait for her before I eat. That's what we used to do with my—

She looks at me. “Dig in!” Her eyes are really, really pretty. They look exactly like Elle's. Same freckles, same long, deep-red hair hanging down past her shoulders, parted in the middle. And I know this sounds weird, but I just look at her and I practically feel like crying all over again.

“Thank you,” I say, taking my first bite, then quickly shoveling in another.

“I'm glad to see that smile,” Summer says. She winks through the yellow- and-pink flowers. And the two of us eat in silence. But it's not the empty kind of quiet. If that makes any sense at all.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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I FOLLOW THE REST OF
the boys down the long hall, marching single file in our skates and equipment/armor, across a rolled-out black rubber mat, sticks in hand. Everyone's hyped, shouting out random let's-get-fired-up-type cheers in deep he-man sounding voices.

“Make a little noise, boys!”

“Time to get after it! Let's go, boys!”

“Battle it, boys! Can't wait for tomorrow!”

I stop at the gate right before I step onto the ice. It's a tiny step down, and I freeze and brace myself. I feel like a scared baby deer, if you've ever seen one. I have the serious jitters; my legs are shaking, I'm trembling—I'm pretty sure my feet are going to come out from under me as soon as I step onto the ice.

What am I doing? This is insane! is what's going through my head. And right when I am actually considering turning around and making something up, this big man dressed in an all-black Boston Junior Bruins warm-up suit and a shiny black helmet walks up behind me and scares me half to death!

“Let's go, Mallsy! Be ready!” he barks. He's chomping on gum. He has a whistle around his neck. “Get out there and show 'em what ya got. Dominate, Malloy! Let's see what you're made of!”

Um. Yeah. Look, I don't know what the deal is with guys hitting each other. But what comes next is another smack on the back.
Whack!
I almost choke. I'm not expecting it! This springs into motion the next range of events. Let me spell it out so you can (please)
not
laugh.

The slap on the back, the push, the forward lean, the step down onto the clean white ice—

It's so crazy! I don't even have to think! I dig in with my right foot and push off. Only instead of falling on my face like I thought? Jack's body goes into some kind of effortless autopilot! Everything just, like, clicks! I don't have to even think. I can hear the ice crunch under my strides, first my left foot, then my right. I feel the cold air in my throat—I can see my breath—oh, wow! The nervousness just vanishes. If you could see my eyes through the cage on my face mask, you'd see I'm smiling so hard! Jack's good! He's fast!

I can't believe it took us this long to figure it out. Jack has my body, and I have his:
I can do anything he can do!

Everything on the ice is easy. It flows. I dig into the ice, push off the edge, and just glide. Push and glide. I start to go faster and faster. It feels so smooth. I follow the rest of the boys. I take big, powerful strides around the surface. Guys are stretching, playing with the pucks, getting warmed up—I can't stress how easy it is! And not just skating: stick-handling the puck! It's like I have a string attached to the puck. It never falls off. I pull it side to side, from the left to the right. One side to the other. It's one fluid movement. I flow through the first part of practice.

And when the big guy in the black helmet blows the whistle and calls us to the center, I'm the first one in. I take a knee just like the other guys do.

The coach chomps on his gum and spits on the ice before he talks. He waits until the boys settle down. While he's waiting, I look up in the stands. I see The Captain looking back, watching me. My heart begins to pound, and I'm not gonna lie. I'm more nervous right now than I've ever been. It's like I'm suddenly not worried about anything but right here, right now. I don't want to mess up. And kneeling here, with all the guys, I feel confident, almost proud. I can see why Jack loves this. He's really good. He's playing with the best.

The coach looks right at me as he talks. “Boys, we've got our first game tomorrow, and we have to practice today like we're going to play tomorrow. I want to see intensity. Win our battles. Execute. If we do that today, we'll win our game tomorrow.” He pauses and looks for a moment around the team. Again his eyes stop and zero in on me. “All right, men! Let's go!”

For the next fifty minutes I am focusing with everything I've got. Warm-up drills, skating drills, passing, warming up the goalies with shots.

I line up the puck and I shoot, following through. Somehow my body knows what to do.

“Mallsy, nice rocket!” I hear.

With ten minutes to go, I'm basically in love with hockey. I've never had so much fun. Jack's so good and so strong and quick. It's almost like he can dance on his skates, the way his body moves with so much grace. The last drill is a shootout with a chaser. The coach dumps the puck in the corner. Two guys chase after it; the guy who gets to the puck first tries to score. I wait my turn. I can hardly hold it in. I'm so happy, I glance up at The Captain. I swear I almost want to wave!

I step up to the line. It's me against a guy who's a lot bigger than Jack.

“You boys ready?” asks the coach. But before I nod yes, he fires the puck deep in the corner. “Get after it, Mallsy!”

The other kid has a jump on me, but I chase it. We both head into the corner at full speed, and I beat him to the puck. I get there first. The battle is on. I'm not even thinking; my body just moves. I'm reaching for the puck when the kid cross-checks me hard across the chest. It's not just a shove. It's a blast. It sets me back. The kid starts chirping me right there in the corner as we fight for the puck. “You want to go, rookie?” He gives me another shot, slashing me on the arm, checking me into the boards, cracking my shoulder. My first instinct is to just shove him back. But I know that would be dumb, to let this kid draw me in to that. Instead I battle for the puck, dig it out, and head straight for the net. Fake the goalie by shifting the puck to the wide left, and when he bites—cut back and slide the puck past him into the open net.

“Yes!” I whisper to myself. I try not to celebrate. “Be humble,” Jett said. I try and act like I score all the time. But man, did that feel good, to take control.

The kid skates up behind me as we fall back into the line.

“What are you doing, rookie?” He gets right up in my face, stares at me and shakes his head. “Why'd you come at me like that? We have a game tomorrow, man! You want to go, man, you want to throw bones?” He gives me a little shove again.

What? He came at me! Kid's got a chip on his shoulder
, is what first runs through my mind. But something happens in this moment, and I take a step back. I give him a nod—I shrug it off. It's like Jett and Gunner and Stryker are all here with me now—
Scared dogs bark the loudest. Don't have time for haters. Stay focused. Keep your head up. Keep going
.

And for the rest of the practice, I feel a jump in my step. I feel stronger, faster. I play with an edge. And when the coach blows the whistle at the end, I'm actually wishing it wasn't over. I'm so pumped! I feel like I can do anything. I feel so strong. Time flew by! It was like—

I fell into a trance.

It was like magic.

We take a knee at center ice. I'm breathing pretty hard. I feel the sweat dripping down the side of my face. The coach chomps on his gum and just looks at us for the longest time. All you hear is quiet, and the buzz of the lights overhead.

“Boys,” he finally says, pausing to spit. “I normally don't like to single one guy out, but today I saw something and—” The coach stops again, his eyes narrow. It gets real quiet. My heart starts pounding.

Maybe I did something wrong?

When he starts back up he's looking at me. “If we can play with the heart and intensity Mallsy showed today, we'll be all right. Tough, tough kid. There's no quit in him.” The coach stops and gives me a nod and a smile, and I feel all the guys look at me. They begin clapping their sticks against the ice.

“Mallsy!” “Stud!” “Atta boy!” “Rookie's a dangler, man!”

Coach waits for the guys to settle down. “Malloy.” He looks directly at me again. “You went into the corner real aggressive, but you didn't bite when Boomer cross-checked you like I've seen you do before. Good discipline. Boomer's a pretty imposing guy. Being able to have guys on your back and take those hits in traffic and still take the puck and put it in the net—well done.” He looks around at all the guys. He speaks slowly, carefully choosing each word. “I want that intensity tomorrow, boys. The retaliator always gets the penalty. Play with passion, but use your head. Tomorrow's going to be a battle. We are going to outwork and outplay. We are going to bring tenacious effort.” He stops again, a smile finally taking over his face. “We're going to take a note from Mallsy and fore-check like crazy.”

“Mallsy!” The guys all clap their sticks again.

“First on puck and drive to the net. Get some rest tonight, boys. Eat well. Recover, stretch. Come ready to work hard and execute for sixty minutes tomorrow night!”

I'm skating off, soaked in sweat. I'm smiling so big right now! I worked harder than I have in my entire life. I played tough. No matter how hard it got, I never quit. I glance up at The Captain, watching from the highest seats in the arena. Man, he's going to be proud! The guys are all whacking me on the butt with their sticks. In a good way.

“Great practice, kid! Wouldn't expect anything less from you, Mallsy.”

“Let's get it, boys!”

“Let's get this thing started tomorrow, boys! Crushin' it, Malls!”

The kid who cross-checked me, the one who took the cheap shot? He comes up behind me as we file off the ice. “Sorry, Mallsy,” he says, cracking a smile. “I lost my head, man. No hard feelings?”

“Sure, man. Forget about it,” I tell him. It's so easy. It just falls out of my mouth. “No worries, bro,” I say, and mix in a smile. And I mean it.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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SUMMER TURNS INTO THE SPORTSPLEX
, but instead of going into the drop-off circle, she takes a right and pulls into an open space in the parking lot.

“I thought for a change I'd come with you!” she tells me.