by W. C. Mack
I let out a sigh of relief. “Whew!”
Everything was going to be okay.
At least I thought it was.
* * *
Christmas morning was pretty awesome. My sister and I didn’t wake up at six o’clock the way we used to when we were little, but we were ready for action by eight.
As usual, it was almost impossible to sit through a French toast breakfast, watching Mum and Dad sip coffee as slowly as they could, before we hit the living room to open presents.
But it was worth the wait, because I got practically everything on my list. Wendy gave me the book I’d been dying to add to my hockey library, and my new gear bag (with the old-school Canucks logo on it) was the coolest one I’d ever seen. And the framed Jean Ducette rookie card from Grandpa Charlie? Seriously awesome.
My family seemed pretty happy with the presents I got for them, too. Mum and Dad both started using their new coffee mugs practically as soon as they opened them and Wendy actually hugged me when she saw the iTunes card I’d given her.
Not that I liked it or anything, but it was better than the noogie or eye roll she gave me every other day of the year.
Once we were finished opening presents and folding wrapping paper so Mum could use it again next year, the rain started. Of course, I wouldn’t have been allowed to play hockey with the guys on Christmas Day anyway, but it would have been nice to try out the new stick from Mum and Dad in the driveway or something. But it seriously poured for hours, so the McDonald family read, watched a movie on TV and ate a gravy-drenched turkey dinner. Then it was time for board games.
I checked my watch and saw that it was seven o’clock.
Just a few more hours until hockey camp.
“Just one more night,” I whispered.
“Until you roll the stupid dice?” Wendy snapped.
Huh?
“Jonathan?” Mum said. “Are you still with us?”
I shook myself out of my daydream and realized it was my turn in our annual Christmas Monopoly marathon.
“He’s on another planet,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes. “Planet of the geeks.”
I guess she’d already forgotten about that iTunes card. “Better than planet of the freaks,” I told her, reaching for the dice.
“It’s Christmas,” Mum reminded us with a sigh. “Can we please take a little holiday from bickering?”
I rolled a seven and landed on Park Place.
Great.
“Ha!” Wendy shrieked. “You owe me …” she checked the card and counted the buildings on her property. She’d maxed it out with a hotel. “Fifteen hundred dollars.” She smirked. “Pay up.”
I glanced at my bank, which had way more ten and one dollar bills than anything else.
“Uh … can I owe you?”
She shook her head. “You already owe me two hundred dollars.”
“But —”
“You’re going to have to go bankrupt, Nugget.” She snickered. “It’s game over for you.”
“It’s Christmas,” I reminded her.
“So?”
“So, why are you being such a creep?”
“Excuse me?”
“Okay,” Dad said. “Let’s try to end the day on a high note.”
“Yes, this has been a lovely Christmas,” Mum said, looking from me to my sister. “Thanks, you two.”
I didn’t think I could go after Wendy while Mum had happy tears in her eyes. I also didn’t have a chance to find out, because the doorbell rang.
“Who on earth could that be?” Mum asked, looking annoyed.
I had a pretty good idea who it was, and I turned out to be right. When I opened the front door, Kenny Cavanaugh was standing there, his usual Red Wings tuque on his head.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
I knew how Mum felt about Christmas being family time, so I tried to make the visit quick. I told him about all the cool presents I got and promised to show him the Ducette card later.
“A rookie card?” he said. “That has to be the coolest thing in your collection.”
I stared at him. “Sure, Kenny. Except for the signed Ducette jersey on my wall. You know, the one he signed while I was wearing it.”
It was only the greatest moment of my life.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “I always forget about that.”
I never did. Meeting my favourite Canuck was the most awesome thing that had ever happened to me. And I was going to meet another one the very next day!
Danny Holbrook, here I come!
“Hey, what about you?” I asked.
“What about me?”
“Christmas, Kenny. What did you get?”
He frowned, like he was thinking really hard. “A couple of sweaters, a fish puzzle with like two thousand pieces that looks impossible, a new coat and some socks and underwear.”
Ugh.
“Socks and underwear?” I asked. That was the Christmas kiss of death. Worse than school supplies, even.
He shrugged. “I needed some, I guess. My grandma knit the socks.”
He pulled up the cuffs of his jeans so I could see the brown wool. “They look … warm,” I said. And lumpy. And itchy.
“Yeah, my feet are already sweating.”
I could imagine, and I didn’t want to. “Did you get any fun stuff?” I asked.
He nodded. “Some video games. And my uncle from Toronto gave me a toboggan.”
We both looked down at the wet pavement, then up at the drizzling sky. As usual, snow seemed like a long shot.
“Cool,” I told him.
“Nugget,” Dad called from the dining room, “Scrabble starts in two minutes.” He paused for a second. “Merry Christmas, Kenny.”
“Merry Christmas, Mr. McDonald,” Kenny called back, then spoke more quietly. “Okay, I found out why you didn’t get a Holbrook jersey.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“You guys are on a different team.”
“What do you mean, you guys?” I asked, then realized there was a more important question. “Wait a second. What other team?”
He shrugged. “They had a lot of kids sign up for hockey camp. Like, kids from Port Alberni and here.”
“So?” I asked, not sure what that had to do with me.
“So, they brought in another coach.”
“Another Canuck?” I asked. What if it was someone more famous than Holbrook, like Stan Smyl or Courtnall? I’d have a heart attack, for sure.
Kenny shook his head. “I’ve never heard of the guy. It’s Gunnar.”
“Gunnar?” I repeated, totally confused.
“K. Gunnar,” he said.
“Who the heck is K. Gunnar?” I asked.
“Didn’t I just say I’d never heard of the guy?” Kenny asked.
I pulled him into the house and shut the door behind him.
“Follow me,” I said, heading for the den.
“Whoa,” Mum said from the doorway. “Where’s the fire?”
I told her about Gunnar, the total unknown.
She shrugged, then patted my shoulder. “Nugget, it’s the same rink and the same camp. The only thing that’s different is the coach.”
“But that’s the most important part of it!” I practically choked. “Danny Holbrook was a Canuck, for crying out loud. I’ve never even heard of K. Gunnar.”
Who was K. Gunnar?
“Relax,” she said, giving the shoulder a squeeze that was supposed to make me feel better. “You’re getting too wound up about this. It’s going to be fine.”
“Maybe it’s Gunnar Grimmel,” Kenny said, hopefully. “From the Blackhawks.”
Not what I wanted to hear. At all.
“I hate the Blackhawks,” I groaned. “And Gunnar is the last name, not the first. We’ve got to check online.”
I logged on, typed the name and the words “hockey player,” then leaned back in Dad’s chair to wait.
It didn’t take long for an answer, and when it popped up, I couldn�
�t believe what I read.
Judging by the gasp from Kenny, he was as shocked as I was.
My hockey camp coach wasn’t an NHL player.
She was a girl.
About the Author
W.C. Mack was born in Vancouver., B.C. and now lives in Portland, Oregon. Always a Canucks fan, W.C. Mack has also been known to cheer for the Portland Winterhawks.