Arctic Thunder

by Robert Feagan

  Slowly, he sat up, then got to his feet and picked up the radio. After he put it back on the nightstand, he squatted in front of the dresser and groped underneath it for the missing knob. He stretched a little farther, closed his hand around the knob, and pulled it out. Returning to the bed, he sat and flipped the radio back and forth until he spotted the stub where the knob had once been. Luckily, it wasn’t broken. The knob had simply popped off the stub that controlled the volume. Fumbling, Mike moved the knob across the stub until the opening caught and it sank back into place. He returned the radio to the nightstand and moved his hand along the cord. Grabbing the plug, he bent over and pushed it into the outlet between the bed and the nightstand. Then, sitting back, he stared at the radio as if it were a fearsome creature that might suddenly leap for his throat.

  A radio! How desperate had his life become? Who listened to radio these days? Shrugging, he leaned forward and flicked on the power button. Static. What did he expect? They were at the top of the world. Picking up the radio, he placed it in his lap and studied the buttons: power, volume, tuning, some kind of “band” thing, and a spot for an antenna wire. The thing likely wouldn’t work without some kind of antenna. Just his luck. Not wanting to give up just yet, Mike took the tuning knob between his thumb and forefinger and twirled it.

  He had barely moved the knob when voices shot through the static. They spoke a different language, but it was amazingly clear. He listened closer. It sounded like Chinese. After a few seconds, he adjusted the knob again and another voice crackled through. This time there was no mistaking the language. It was Russian, a tongue he’d heard before. Holy crap! The voice took on a sinister tone. Some kind of spy broadcast! Sending secret messages across the top of the world?

  Mike rotated the knob again, then stopped abruptly. There was no mistaking the tone of an excited sportscaster in the middle of a play-by-play. He bent down and pulled the radio close to his ear. It was a basketball game coming all the way from Madison Square Garden. The Knicks and the Philadelphia 76ers. Mike loved all sports, and in his own right wasn’t that bad a basketball player. He listened hard as the play-byplay man called the game, picturing the crowd at the fabled arena as the Knicks sank a basket and hustled back on defence.

  If he picked up a Knicks game that easily, what else could he find? He spun the knob. The number of stations was amazing. With every little turn he hit another one. He was obviously picking them up from all over the world because the languages sounded very different. Russian, Chinese, German, French, Spanish — it didn’t stop!

  Then a station made him halt in his tracks. A hockey game! And it was coming from Rexall Place in Edmonton. The Oilers were hosting the Anaheim Ducks, and Edmonton was up two goals. Carefully putting the radio down, Mike settled back against his pillow and listened. He had been to Oiler games and to Edmonton Rush lacrosse matches at Rexall Place and could easily visualize the usual sold-out crowd. He closed his eyes and listened as the announcer’s voice rose and fell with the tempo of the play. The Oilers scored again, and he pumped his fist in the dark, whispering a barely audible “Yes!” Then he tensed as Anaheim began to control the puck and dominate on a power play. An “Awwww!” escaped his lips along with the crowd on the radio as the Ducks scored with three minutes left in the game.

  The teams lined up for the next faceoff, and Mike pictured the championship banners that hung from Rexall Place’s rafters, along with the retired jerseys of guys like Wayne Gretzky who had played for Stanley Cup teams of the past. He suffered with the crowd as the final seconds ticked down. The Ducks pulled their goalie, and there was a mad scramble as the buzzer sounded to end the game.

  Mike waited patently to hear the three stars. He faintly heard the name of the third star, but it was somewhere off in the distance. His mind floated up to the banners high in the rink’s rafters. He saw Donnie’s huge eyes bulging at him and then the beautiful but harsh features of Gwen Thrasher. Her face faded and morphed into the hateful countenance of Joseph Kiktorak. The Monster moved closer, and in slow motion grabbed Mike by the front of his shirt. The hulking kid laughed and brought his smirking face closer and closer to Mike’s until sleep smothered all conscious thought.

  CHAPTER 8

  The next few days went well at school. Joseph Kiktorak and Gwen Thrasher weren’t in any of Mike’s classes, so he could actually relax somewhat. Thankfully, he didn’t run into Joseph in the halls, either. Donnie told him that the big kid had been missing from school for a couple of days and nobody really knew what was going on. Mike did see Gwen a few times and tried to look in the other direction or duck behind the crowd in the hall. When their eyes did meet on one occasion, Mike swore he saw sparks shoot from those smouldering orbs. The intensity was too much to bear, and he had to glance away immediately. Despite her hostility, the frustrating part was that Mike knew he had a bit of a crush on her. What was he thinking?

  Donnie, on the other hand, was turning into a good friend. Mike realized Donnie was something of an outcast, but he didn’t care. He had always been popular in St. Albert, yet that hadn’t stopped him from hanging out with guys who didn’t fit the star athlete mould. As long as someone was fun to be with, it didn’t matter to Mike if they were a science nerd, book geek, artsy weirdo, or goth. If they had a sense of humour and didn’t hurt anybody, he didn’t care. The guys on the lacrosse team had understood that about Mike and it never weakened their friendship.

  Mike’s mom and dad had told him that one of the best ways to break through barriers and make friends was through sports. With that in mind he had signed up for intramural basketball. He knew from gym class that he matched up pretty well with the other guys skill-wise, so he didn’t figure he had any embarrassment in store for him. Donnie thought it was a pretty good idea, too. He told Mike that sometimes people were a little slow to accept newcomers from the South, but once they showed they were regular guys, everything was usually okay. It was the “usually” part that worried Mike.

  On Friday, Mike checked the bulletin board outside the gym and saw he’d been placed on what looked like a pretty good team. Apparently, they played three games at a time across the gym instead of lengthwise — four players aside, eight players per team. Two twenty-minute games were played during lunchtime. He knew Mitchell Firth, Tommy Aleekuk, and Tyler Snowshoe from gym class, and they were all quite good. Tommy was Inuvialuit and a superb athlete. Despite his short, stocky stature, he was an amazing jumper. Mike had been astounded when Tommy, who wasn’t even a metre and half tall, had touched the rim with his fingers just fooling around in gym class.

  After changing into shorts and a T-shirt, Mike wandered into the gym and spotted his group getting ready on the first court. He recognized some of the guys on the other team and remembered from the standings that were posted outside the gym that they were in second place overall, while Mike’s team was in fifth. They must be good. After awkward nods and “Heys!” from his guys, Mike sat down and watched the first shift.

  It was really fast-paced, and it was clear that Tommy and Bobby Vittrekwa from the other team were the two best players on the floor. Tommy was incredibly quick. Short and muscular, his compact strength, much like Mike’s, made him hard to stop. And what a jumper! He would leave the floor in mid-stride and soar waist-high on his opponents before releasing the ball to the net. Once he was airborne, he seemed to hang in slow motion the way Michael Jordan and LeBron James did in the DVDs Mike had seen.

  Bobby was smooth as glass. Long-limbed and fluid in his stride, he was Gwich’in Dene and originally from Fort McPherson. Once he was running, he seemed to mesmerize anyone he matched up against. His long strides made him deceptive, and though he didn’t seem fast, he’d flow past the guys on Mike’s team as if they were standing still. He also had the uncanny knack of knowing exactly where he was in relation to the net. Without looking over his shoulder he’d blindly spin in the air and seemingly release the ball before he focused on the hoop, making it fall through the net with a swoosh. />
  Mike did well, posting up and dropping the ball through several times on each of his first few shifts. He could sense the guys warming up to him as they became more aware of his ability and skill on the court. On more than one occasion Tommy slapped Mike’s hand as he ran back after sinking a basket, smiling and nodding as they passed. Bobby, too, was a good sport and grinned and shook his head a couple of times when Mike kept him away from the net.

  The game came down to the last possession, and when Mike made a blind pass behind his back to Tommy, who left his feet and finger-rolled the ball in, the guys jumped off the bench and whooped with excitement.

  “You da man!” Donnie yelled from the stands. Mike’s new friend leaped to his feet, arms in the air, eyes on the verge of exploding behind his glasses.

  It was the game winner, and everybody high-fived before they shook hands with the other team.

  Bobby didn’t take Mike’s hand as they came together. Instead, he nodded and patted Mike on the shoulder. “You got game, buddy. The rest of the year’s going to be a whole lot different with you and Tommy playing together. It was bad enough playing against one tank. Now I have to face two at a time.”

  “You better believe it,” Tommy said as he looped his arm around Mike’s neck. “But now the fun begins.” He stared at something over Mike’s shoulder. “They’re in first place, and she’s aaaaall yours!”

  Mike had a sinking feeling as he slowly turned to face the other direction. “Oh … my … God.”

  The other team was warming up, and right in the middle of the group stood Gwen Thrasher, who looked even more intimidating in her gym gear. She wore a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut back, revealing her arms from shoulders to fingertips. The sinews in her arms stood out with every move and twist. Her triceps were exceptionally defined and rippled every time she caught or shot the ball. She wore baggy red knee-length shorts that on many guys would have made their calves appear small. Not in her case. As she ran and jumped, the muscles at the backs of her legs balled up and seemed to explode.

  After running in for a layup, she curled under the net, spied Mike, slowed down, and stopped. Her dark, seething eyes locked on his, and for a second Mike thought he was going to collapse on the cold gym floor. He wasn’t sure if it was from fear or from the overwhelming feeling that his heart was going to detonate in his chest. Her stare seemed to last forever, then with a flip of her shoulder-length hair she turned and sprinted to the back of the line.

  “Jeez, I’m glad I’m not you,” Tommy whispered.

  “Man, I wish I didn’t have to play another game,” Bobby said. “How will I concentrate knowing Gwen will be chewing you up one court over.” With that he clapped Mike on the back and jogged to join his team at the other end of the gym.

  Mike took a deep breath and ambled over to the court with Tommy, Mitchell, Tyler, and the other guys.

  Gwen’s team looked good. They had at least three guys Mike thought were better than most of the boys on their team, including him. And then there was Gwen. She sank everything she tossed during the warm-up and carried herself in a confident and athletic manner. This was going to be a difficult game.

  When the whistle blew, Gwen stayed on the floor.

  “Okay, Mike, I’m going to save your butt,” Tommy said with a smirk. “Wait for the second shift. Let’s see how this goes.”

  Tommy strode confidently onto the floor. He won the jump ball to start the game, but they didn’t win much after that. Gwen wasn’t as strong as the boys were, and she wasn’t the best player on the floor, but what she lacked in those departments she more than made up with her hustle and determination. There wasn’t a loose ball or a hard battle that she lost. If it meant diving, she dived. If it meant standing her ground and getting hit, she stood firm. And if it meant clearing a crowd while she had possession of the ball, her elbows were up and she cleared the house. Gwen was the grittiest player Mike had ever seen.

  Tommy came to the bench, gulping for air; the team was already down eight points. “Man, is she on it today. Something tells me it’s got something to do with you being on our team. She’s going to kill me if she keeps this up.”

  Mike nodded but didn’t speak as he headed onto the floor. The other team was tough and played a very physical style under the net. Playing with Mitchell and Tyler this game, Mike and his teammates worked the ball around the perimeter. Mitchell and Tyler had terrific mid-distance shots, and Mike was a great playmaker. They moved the ball around the outside until they had clear shots, then hustled back and shut the other team down on defence. By the time their shift ended, the game was tied. Tommy nodded his approval and slapped Mike’s hand as he headed back onto the floor.

  The game continued to be a hard-fought contest. Tommy made some incredible acrobatic manoeuvres, but Gwen and the other team gave him fits with their physical style and rough play. Mike, Mitchell, and Tyler hit the floor and methodically drove the ball up the court, then Mike broke through the perimeter and passed the ball off to one of the other guys who had a clear shot. They kept chewing into the other team’s lead, keeping within two points each time out.

  It was late in the game when Tommy came gasping to the bench. “I can’t keep this up. They’re keying on me every time, and that Nasogaloak kid keeps sticking his elbows in my ribs under the net. I’m so sore I can hardly breathe.”

  “This is likely the last shift, Tommy,” Mike said.

  “We’ll take care of it. C’mon, Ty! Let’s go, Mitchell!”

  Mike jogged out to the floor and stopped. Gwen was bent over with her hands on her knees at centre court. She was skipping a rest with her line to face him for the last shift of the game. He slowed as he approached her and stopped. “Hey, Gwen.”

  Surprise registered on her face. Then, regaining her composure, she squinted and crouched into position for the jump ball, the muscles in her arms standing out on her dark skin under a sheen of sweat.

  Nervously, Mike glanced at the crowd, which had grown as the games had progressed. The gym was packed now, and everyone’s attention was riveted on Mike’s game. He spotted Donnie at the top of the bleachers. The big kid’s eyes were so big they seemed to spill out past the sides of his glasses onto the folds of his chubby cheeks. Donnie was nervously chewing his nails and waved weakly when Mike glanced in his direction. Turning back to Gwen, Mike crouched low and focused on the ball in the outstretched hand of the referee.

  The ball was up! Mike sprang and swatted it over to Tyler. Gwen gave him an unnecessary shove on the chest, then rushed back into her own zone to defend against their attack. The shift was fast, furious, and brutally physical. Every time Mike had the ball, Gwen was in his face. He could see her watching his eyes or keying on his chest to anticipate his moves, which she did without fail. Even if he got a slight jump on her, she deftly hooked an arm or managed to subtly stick an elbow into his midsection.

  In Mike’s mind the other players disappeared. It was just Gwen and him. When she had the ball, he was with her every step. And every time he moved too close she roughly held him off. When she had the ball, she gave him short rib shots with her elbows at every opportunity. When the referee yelled that there was one minute left, Mike’s side was down by two points.

  Mike, Mitchell, and Tyler slowly moved the ball down the court, systematically moving it back and forth. They had steadily gained a rhythm throughout the game and now played comfortably with one another. Although Gwen was watching him closely, Mike sensed the other team respected his playmaking skills and expected him to dish the ball once he gained position near their net. They wouldn’t anticipate a shot.

  The boys continued to pass, moving the ball closer and closer to the net. Mike feigned moving the ball to Mitchell, then drove inside to the net. Gwen was with him all the way. He stopped suddenly and pretended to pass across to Tyler. Everyone went for the fake except Gwen. As Mike left his feet for the shot, he felt a sharp impact and pain as Gwen rammed her elbow deep into his ribs. When the ball left his h
ands, his right arm involuntarily dropped with the pain. The ball arced toward the net, bounced off the right side of the rim, and harmlessly skidded out of bounds as the whistle blew.

  Mike doubled over, holding his ribs. It had been a blatant foul. Gwen and her team were exchanging high fives at the side of the net as Mike’s team wandered listlessly over to their bench. Mike struggled upright and made his way to join his fellow players.

  “Jeez, that was rough,” Tommy said. “You made the right move, man. There’s no way the ref should’ve let that go, but he missed it. G.T.’s got an attitude, that’s for sure. But I think she likes you.” He laughed when he saw the amazed expression on Mike’s face. “Hey, if she really hated you, that elbow would’ve been aimed a little lower or a little higher. I think it’s love!” He grabbed Mike around the neck.

  Despite his embarrassment, Mike enjoyed the camaraderie and chuckled sheepishly.

  The two teams lined up facing each other in single file and moved forward to shake hands. When Mike passed Gwen, she glanced away and slapped his hand a little too hard to be friendly. Mike caught Tommy’s eye, and his teammate blew him a kiss. Mock-scowling, Mike shook his head.

  “Man, that was something else!” Donnie burbled as he rushed up to Mike on the way to the change room. “I think Gwen likes you,” he added, taking off his glasses to wipe them on his T-shirt.

  “Jeez, Donnie, that’s what Tommy just said. You guys are nuts. Didn’t you see what she did to me? She absolutely hates me. Whenever she looks at me, I expect her to spit or throw up or worse.”