Hat Trick

by W. C. Mack

  But what I should have prepared for was a hurricane.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time game day rolled around on Saturday, I’d missed one of Big Danny Donlin’s questions.

  When he asked which NHL team the first woman had played for, I figured it was a trick question.

  Come on. Girls in the NHL?

  But it turned out that a woman called Manon Rhéaume had tended goal in a couple of exhibition games for the Tampa Bay Lightning, and won a silver medal for women’s hockey at the Olympics.

  I had to admit, that was pretty cool. Awesome, actually.

  I was learning a lot from my studying, like what city the very first NHL game was played in. My first guess was Toronto, but then I thought it might be Ottawa. It turned out to be Montreal.

  I also read about some stuff I already knew, like who was considered the best defenseman ever.

  Bobby Orr. No doubt about it.

  And if Big Danny Donlin ever asked which team had won the most Stanley Cups?

  I knew it was the Canadiens.

  I could hardly wait until the last day of the contest, when it would be my turn to call in and claim the big prize. My first live Canucks game. My shot from centre ice.

  I was getting closer to the dream every day.

  * * *

  “Ready?” Dad asked, poking his head into my room, where I’d just finished packing my gear for the game.

  “Definitely,” I said, smiling. “I think we’re going to win this one.” My secret plan was going into effect that very morning. That meant Eddie Bosko was going down in flames while I was the star of the game. I couldn’t wait.

  “I hope so,” he said, carrying the bag for me.

  “What if we go undefeated this year?” I asked, following him down the stairs and into the dining room.

  Mum had made French toast, which wasn’t a favourite of mine, but still made the top twenty.

  “Isn’t this your first game?” Wendy asked, rolling her eyes. She was reading some goofy romance book and eating half a grapefruit. Gross, on both counts.

  “So?” I asked.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Nugget.” She stuck her nose back in her book.

  I stared at her for a second, knowing something was wrong, but not quite sure what it was. And then it hit me. She was still in her pyjamas!

  “You aren’t coming to watch?” I asked. Wendy was supposed to show up and throw Eddie’s game off! She was supposed to smile and wink, or whatever it was girls did, so the gorilla would turn into a monkey on the ice. I was counting on it.

  “Come on, Wendy,” Dad called out from the kitchen.

  “Family time,” Mum said, reaching down to squeeze my sister’s shoulders.

  “But I’m reading,” she whined.

  “I’m pretty sure you can read at the rink,” Mum said.

  “Yeah, right.” My laugh sounded panicked, which I was. I needed her to be there! “You won’t be able to keep your eyes off the game.”

  “Give me a break,” Wendy said, laughing.

  “I’m serious,” I told her, trying to build the excitement. “McDonald fakes left, then right! He’s going for it, fans! He’s lining up the puck for a wicked slapshot. Here it comes, here it comes. He shoots, he scores!”

  “We’ll see about that,” she said. “Give me a couple of minutes to get dressed, okay?”

  Yes! Eddie Bosko was toast! I counted my lucky stars that the plan was still a go and as we waited for Wendy out in the van, I remembered the flounder look on Bosko’s face when he met my sister.

  It was going to be so cool to watch him go down the tubes.

  On the drive to the rink, I sat in the back with Wendy, who told me the whole plot of the book she was reading, like I cared. I pretended to be interested, knowing she was my golden ticket to greatness. My plan was perfect.

  Or so I thought.

  * * *

  When I got to the locker room, most of the guys were already dressed and hanging around, talking. I pulled on my gear and sat next to Kenny on one of the benches.

  “I wonder who Coach decided to start,” he said, quietly, tilting his head at Eddie Bosko and raising his eyebrows at me.

  “I don’t know,” I told him, thinking about all the effort I’d put in at our practices. It should be me. Then again, if Eddie started, that just meant his downfall would happen early in the game. And that was okay with me, too.

  Eddie Bosko glanced over and gave me a quick nod, so I nodded back, but didn’t say anything. I felt a tiny bit guilty. He’d actually helped me with Math and I’d returned the favour by plotting his destruction on the ice. But, as he loved to remind me, he was getting paid to help me, and that didn’t make us friends.

  “Okay, guys, are we ready?” Coach O’Neal asked, clapping his hands to get our attention.

  “Yes,” a few of us said.

  Coach’s eyes moved over each of us, slowly. “What is this, a kindergarten class?” He shook his head. “Let’s try that again. Are you ready?”

  “Yes!” we shouted, raising our sticks in the air like we were going into battle, which we were.

  “That’s better. You guys had me scared for a second, there.” He checked his clipboard. “Okay, I want McDaniel, Bechter, Simpson, Chen and McDonald up first.”

  I smiled. I was starting, which meant my hard work had paid off! I glanced at Eddie Bosko, who was concentrating on taping his stick. Or pretending to, anyway.

  That guilty feeling nudged me again. There was a part of me that actually felt sorry for him. After all, he had a new uniform, new teammates and the brand new experience of starting on the bench.

  I shook it off. The other part of me was too excited to worry about anyone else. The season was starting, and it was going to be the best one ever!

  I thumped Kenny on the back as we left the locker room and headed out to the ice.

  “Awesome,” he said, elbowing me back. “Starting right wing. You did it.”

  “So will you,” I told him. “Guaranteed he’ll play you first period.”

  “I hope so,” Kenny said. “My granny’s here.”

  I remembered her from a couple of games last season. She looked like a granny, but she acted like a fan. She even yelled at the ref and made me kind of glad my own granny lived in Burnaby.

  We had a few minutes before the game started, so me and the rest of the guys warmed up on the ice. I skated some laps, checking out the Bayview Turtles at the same time. The opposing team was about as intimidating as their name. Most of the guys were average size, except for a couple of smaller ones.

  Small, but bigger than me, of course.

  “I thought the Tykes played on Sundays,” one of them called out to me as I skated past.

  I ignored him.

  “What is he, a second grader?”

  Very funny.

  “He’s probably somebody’s kid brother,” another guy said.

  “Yeah, like a mascot.”

  I’d heard it all before, year after year.

  Wait until they saw my slapshot, though. That would stop them cold. And when my stupid growth spurt finally happened, I’d never have to listen to the “short” stuff again.

  “Who is that?” one of the Turtles asked.

  “Geez! Hercules, maybe?”

  I didn’t have to turn around to know who they were talking about. I’d thought practically the same thing when I first saw our giant.

  “Oh, man. That’s Eddie Bosko,” one of the guys groaned.

  “I thought we didn’t have to play him for a couple of weeks.”

  “Looks like the Cougars brought in a ringer,” one of the guys sighed.

  I skated away, already tired of hearing it. I was the one they should have been worried about, the one who was going to skate circles around them.

  I took some practice shots and was happy when every single one went in.

  The buzzer sounded and it was game time!

  We got into position and I found
myself face to face with Sean Sanders. He glanced at me, and I growled back.

  I could tell from his expression that he remembered me from last season. I’d shoulder-checked him more than once. He let out a slow breath and I smiled to myself.

  I was small, but he was scared.

  Mum would say that shouldn’t have made me feel good, but it did. Even though he wasn’t looking at me anymore, I stared him down for a few more seconds, until the ref dropped the puck.

  Game on!

  Jeremy took possession and passed to Colin, who took off toward the net. The kid covering me was left at centre ice and he probably didn’t even know I was gone until I was halfway to the net. All I heard was a cheering crowd, the scrape of blades against the ice and my own breathing.

  Come on, Colin!

  I felt more alive than I did anywhere else.

  Colin looked like he was going for the shot, so I lined myself up in case the goalie deflected it. I crouched, ready to spring into action if the puck came anywhere near me.

  And it did!

  Colin’s shot bounced off the post and raced toward me. I clipped it with my stick, so it would drop back to the ice, then skated toward the goal. I first faked a shot, then zipped around the back of the net. I knew the goalie would have a hard time seeing me behind him, so I took my time, playing with the puck while the crowd shouted for me to shoot. One of the Turtles made some choppy moves toward me with his stick, but I made a tight turn around the left side of the net.

  The goalie was still looking right!

  Perfect!

  In one quick move, I whipped the puck into the corner of the net.

  Yes!

  The first goal of the season was mine!

  All of the Cougars skated up to me, cheering and punching me in the arm.

  “Nice one, Nugget!”

  “Way to go, man!”

  I was super excited and proud of myself, but I didn’t let on that it was a big deal. I just skated back toward the centre line, prepared to either protect our goal or steal the puck.

  Or both.

  Four minutes into the game, Colin scored with a beautiful shot that went right through the goalie’s legs. Just after the six minute mark, the Turtles managed to get one in, and then I scored again!

  At seven minutes, Coach O’Neal called a time out.

  And that’s when it all fell apart.

  Chapter Twelve

  When the ref blew the whistle, we skated over to the team box and leaned against the railing. I was a little out of breath, but I could tell how much my summer conditioning had paid off. After all, Colin and Patrick were both panting.

  “Good playing out there, guys.” Coach said. “Good hustle, nice teamwork. I like what I’m seeing.”

  It was exactly what I wanted to hear, what we all wanted to hear. The five of us made an awesome starting lineup, and I was relieved Coach could see that right off the bat. And if I continued to prove myself (which was exactly what I planned to do), there would be no stopping me. Short or not, I’d finally be able to convince Coach to let me play against the Shoreline Sharks. Those monsters wouldn’t know what hit them, and even better than was the fact that it was going to be my best season ever.

  And Eddie Bosko was stuck on the bench.

  If he’d looked my way, I would have smiled or something, but his eyes were glued to Coach. For a second I wondered if Eddie’s family was up in the stands, wondering why he wasn’t on the ice. I pushed the thought away, because I had other things to think about.

  Like playing.

  The most I’d ever scored in a single game was three goals, but what if I scored four? Five? Or more? I was about to become a statistic worthy of Shoot! Third Edition, as soon as —

  “I’m going to mix things up a bit,” Coach said.

  Mix things up?

  “McCafferty, you take over for Chen.”

  Too bad, since Patrick had been making some sweet passes. But David “Bedhead” McCafferty was a pretty good replacement. He could feed me the puck and when he did —

  Coach interrupted my thought. “Bosko, I want you in for McDonald.”

  “What?” I practically croaked. He was taking me out? I just scored! Twice!

  It didn’t make sense.

  Eddie Bosko stood up and grabbed his stick. He walked toward the ice and there was only one thing I could do. It might not have been fair, but I needed to get back on the ice as soon as possible, and that meant one thing. It was time for the kryptonite.

  As I passed Eddie Bosko on my way back into the box, I looked up into the stands and shook my head. “Oh man,” I groaned, “I hate it when my sister comes to the games.”

  Eddie spun around to see where I was looking. “She’s here?”

  “Yup,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just great.”

  When he looked for her, I watched his face for signs of the flounder.

  I saw nothing, so I gave it another shot. “Wendy McDonald, our number one fan,” I sighed.

  “Cool.” Eddie Bosko smiled and stepped onto the ice.

  What? Cool? He was supposed to get all weird and nervous, like he did during our study session. He was supposed to flop around on the ice like he’d never worn skates before. He was supposed to screw up, not smile.

  I frowned and sunk down on the bench, disappointed. Usually I saved my miscalculations for Math class.

  Kryptonite?

  Yeah, right.

  Eddie Bosko was happy my stupid sister was watching him play.

  The ref blew the whistle, Eddie Bosko raced toward the puck like his life depended on it, and I was the one left with the flounder face. He shoulder-checked the Turtles centre and stole the puck in less than two seconds, then maneuvered around two other players to take a shot on goal. He scored.

  Nuts!

  The crowd leapt to their feet, cheering, and my stomach sunk toward my skates.

  Eddie Bosko glanced up in the stands to where my family was sitting, smiled, then re-focused on the game.

  What had I done? Wendy was supposed to ruin his game, not improve it!

  For the next six minutes, I watched Eddie Bosko steal, pass and shoot until the score was Cutter Bay Cougars, 8, Turtles, 2.

  The worst part was that I didn’t even care that we were winning. After all, Eddie Bosko was playing me right out of the starting lineup. My whole stinking plan had backfired, big time.

  Coach didn’t put me in again until second period, and when he did, I played harder than ever before. I had to undo the damage! I fought for the puck and managed to score another goal.

  Take that!

  I assisted David for another point, but I knew it wasn’t enough and I started to panic. Suddenly, I couldn’t get my head or anything else into the game.

  That’s when the ref called me for high-sticking.

  High-sticking!

  I had to spend two precious minutes in the penalty box.

  Come on!

  With only four of us on the ice, the Turtles were taking advantage of a power play while I was practically drooling to get back in the game.

  When they finally scored on us and my penalty ended, I shot out of the box like a tornado. Right away, I skated behind a Turtle and tried to swerve around him to steal the puck, but I accidentally tripped him with my stick instead.

  Back in the box for another two minutes!

  I couldn’t believe it! I never got penalties. Dad had always taught me to play by the rules, and somehow I was blowing it!

  The Turtles didn’t score, so I had to spend the whole stinking penalty sitting in the box with a red face, knowing I was going to get an earful from Dad on the way home. And I was pretty sure Coach would have some choice words for me too.

  Eddie came out for a breather, but sat at the other end of the team bench, focused on the game.

  Kenny was sitting closest to me, but whenever he tried to talk over the wall of the penalty box, I stopped him. I didn’t need someone to make me feel better. I needed to get bac
k onto the ice.

  When my second penalty was just about over, I was on my feet, ready to get out there and rock the rink.

  “Sit down,” Coach O’Neal said.

  “What?” I asked, totally confused.

  “I’m putting Bosko back in.”

  “But —”

  “You need to get some control over your stick, Nugget.”

  I couldn’t believe it!

  “I was just —”

  “We can’t keep handing them power plays.”

  I didn’t even look into the stands, because I knew that all I’d see were the disappointed expressions on Mum and Dad’s faces. I didn’t think I could feel any worse, but when third period rolled around and Coach left Eddie Bosko in, I knew I was done for the day. Aside from the Shoreline games, I’d never spent two full periods on the bench!

  “Man, you’ve got to watch the penalties, Nugget,” Kenny said.

  I was so ticked off, I didn’t even think before asking him, “What do you know about it? You’re a benchwarmer, Kenny.”

  My best friend on the team stared at me for a second, and I felt my stomach drop even lower.

  “You’ve spent more time on the bench than me today,” he said quietly.

  I felt like a total jerk.

  He turned away from me to watch Eddie Bosko score yet another goal.

  “He’s awesome,” Jeremy said.

  “Best right winger we’ve got,” Kenny added, nodding slowly.

  Ouch!

  Eddie Bosko skated backward to centre ice, like a big showboat. Was he waiting for people to throw him flowers or something?

  It was hockey, for Pete’s sake, not figure skating.

  * * *

  We won the game, 14 to 6.

  It was our highest score ever and the guys were thrilled. Everyone but me, anyway. I was the last to head for the locker room. I didn’t want to listen to everyone congratulate Bosko on his awesome game, so I walked really slowly.

  How had my master plan turned into such a disaster?

  “Have we got a problem, McDonald?” Coach asked, from behind me.

  Oh, brother. “No.”