Hat Trick

by W. C. Mack

  “He gave you a ride home?” Eddie almost choked.

  “Duh,” she said, walking toward the kitchen.

  “From school?”

  Wendy stopped again. “No, from McGinty’s, if you must know.”

  “McGinty’s restaurant?” Eddie’s face was turning red and the whole situation was getting more awkward by the second.

  I decided to steer us back to the reason he was there. “Why don’t we get back to work here and —”

  “McGinty’s restaurant?” Eddie asked her again.

  Oh, brother.

  “What’s your deal?” Wendy asked.

  “Was it, like … a date?” Eddie barely got the words out.

  Wendy rolled her eyes. “It was like a piece of lemon meringue pie and a hot chocolate.”

  I felt Eddie relax next to me. That is, until Wendy said, “The date’s on Friday.”

  He stiffened up again and when Wendy walked into the kitchen, he just sat there.

  “Ready?” I asked, anxious to move on to the real issue of mastering math and getting back on the ice.

  “They’re dating,” he said, softly.

  “I guess,” I said, shrugging.

  Eddie stared at his hands. “Shane and Wendy.”

  I didn’t need a refresher. “Yeah. Your brother and my sister. Weird, eh?”

  My tutor started slowly closing his books and loading them into his backpack.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “What? Go where?” I asked. The test was only a few days away!

  “I’ve just … I need to get out of here,” he said, reaching for his pens and pencils.

  “But we just started and —”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, Eddie Bosko walked out the front door.

  What was I supposed to do? I stared at the textbook.

  I only had four stinkin’ days!

  “Your pet gorilla left?” Wendy asked, coming out of the kitchen with a glass of milk.

  “Yeah, thanks to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” I knew it wasn’t her fault, but I had to blame someone.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Wendy snapped.

  “You went out with his brother.”

  “So?”

  “So, he’s in love with you!”

  “That kid? Your tutor?” She laughed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Nugget, he’s eleven.”

  “Almost twelve.”

  “And Shane is seventeen. He can drive, for crying out loud.”

  “I know, but —”

  She shook her head. “Why would that kid be in love with me?”

  “I don’t know, Wendy. You’re asking the wrong guy. Geez, you’re my sister, and even if you weren’t, I don’t want anything to do with girls.”

  “In love with me, eh? Interesting,” she said, starting to climb the stairs.

  “Just be nice to him when he comes over, okay?” That is, if he ever walked through the door again. “I can’t pass Math without him.”

  I doubted she was even listening.

  The next day, Eddie suggested we study in the library for a change, and that was totally cool with me. The less he was around my sister, the better my chances of passing.

  * * *

  That night, Dad made popcorn to snack on while we watched the Canucks smoke Anaheim, but I told him I had to study for my Math test instead.

  “Good decision,” Dad said, filling a small bowl I could take to my room. “I’m going to miss watching with you, but you’re making the right choice.”

  The right choice? When I heard him cheering at the television, I found that hard to believe. When I struggled through four pages of Math questions, I doubted it even more. And when I took the test that Friday?

  Well, that was the worst moment of the week.

  I struggled all the way through, and second-guessed almost every answer. I went through half of an eraser in the first two pages! When I started freaking out, I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes for a few seconds, remembering the two hours I’d spent in the library with Eddie Bosko, just twenty-four hours earlier.

  I’d left that study session feeling like I had a handle on Geometry, but guessed I was wrong.

  I was totally lost.

  With my eyes still closed, I pictured Eddie’s face across from me at the table, encouraging me.

  I opened my eyes to keep going and after what seemed like only three minutes, Mr. Holloway told me, “Time is up, Mr. McDonald.”

  “I just have one question left.”

  “Time is up.” He collected my paper and I stayed at my desk to wait again.

  This time, I was prepared. I’d brought a book to read, called Watching Carter. It was written by the same author as Over the Moon, and it was really good, but not quite good enough to keep me from worrying about my test score. I read a whole chapter while I waited, and when I was done, I had no idea what I’d read.

  So I started to read it again.

  About halfway through, Mr. Holloway called me up to his desk. It was worse than the last time and I actually felt sick to my stomach.

  “Unfortunate news,” Mr. Holloway said, holding the paper up for me to see.

  I only got a seventy-one.

  Nuts!

  “That brings your average down to seventy-three and a half percent.”

  Would he round up to seventy-four? I doubted it. “That means I have to get —”

  “Seventy-eight on the final test.”

  Double, triple and quadruple nuts!

  “Seventy-eight,” I repeated, because I didn’t know what else to say.

  I was going to have to study even harder, as if that were possible.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next day, I sat in the stands with my family to watch the game against Comox. They’d always been a pretty good team and I knew it would be a close game. I wished, for the millionth time, that Math hadn’t gotten me into this mess. Why hadn’t I just done the stupid homework assignments all along?

  Because I never thought I’d be stuck on the stands if I didn’t.

  I watched my teammates warm up by skating laps and passing the puck back and forth. I wished my own warm-up wasn’t a hot chocolate, since whipped cream was a pretty lame substitute for scoring goals.

  The ref blew his whistle and once the guys were lined up, the game got started.

  Patrick took possession and started hustling toward the visitors’ net. He had one guy right on his tail and he passed the puck at the perfect moment, which was right before he tripped over his skates and wiped out.

  At least the pass had been clean. My parents and I jumped up to cheer as Eddie Bosko slipped the puck between a defenseman’s skates and picked it up again on the other side.

  “That kid is great,” Dad said.

  Great? “Well, good, anyway …” I said, but he wasn’t listening.

  Just then, Bosko got checked and lost the puck. We all groaned, but within seconds he’d snatched it back and we were cheering again. I wasn’t quite as loud as everyone else, especially when he scored what could have been my goal.

  Man, it was hard to watch someone else do my job.

  Or our job.

  “So, Math and hockey are covered,” Dad said. “What else can this kid do?”

  I hated to think.

  As I watched the game, I thought about all the things I could have done differently, and how much better they could have turned out. I made some mistakes in Math class, but even worse was the way I’d hoped for Bosko’s failure and didn’t even root for Kenny when he finally got his chance to be a star.

  Pretty lame, really.

  At least I’d have a chance to make up for it, though. If I got my seventy-eight on the final Math test, I’d be back on the ice in time to play Victoria. Eddie Bosko and I would tear the ice up … together.

  And there was always the possibility that Coach would give i
n and let me play against Shoreline before then.

  A guy could hope, anyway.

  I got more excited about the game as I watched Jason make a killer save, then Patrick score a goal. I was proud to be part of such a good team, and even more proud when we won.

  I even cheered when Eddie scored the winning goal, and only felt the tiniest bit jealous.

  * * *

  During the week before the Shoreline game and Math-geek Nationals, Eddie and I worked on word problems in the library every single afternoon.

  “How do you feel about the test?” he asked.

  “Nervous.”

  “Don’t be. You’re better than you think you are.”

  “Really?” I asked, seriously doubting it.

  “Dude, we’ve been practisng pretty hard. You’ve spent more time on Math in the past month than I bet you did in your whole life.”

  “That’s true.”

  “You can totally do it, Nugget.”

  “I hope so,” I said, starting to read over the next problem.

  Eddie cleared his throat. “So, did Wendy say anything about her date with my brother?”

  “Not really. We don’t talk about that kind of stuff.”

  “Sure,” he said, nodding. “No big deal. I was just wondering if they were, you know … going out again.”

  As hard as it was to believe, it seemed like it was my turn to help Bosko. “You know, she’s a lot older than you.”

  “Not that much.”

  “She’s sixteen, Bosko.” I tried to think of the best way to say what I knew was true. “I don’t think she’ll ever want to hang out with someone her little brother’s age. You can’t take it personally.”

  “That’s cool,” he said, even though I could tell he didn’t feel that way. He turned to his book.

  That was when I remembered something I’d noticed in Math class. “Besides, I don’t know why you’d care about Wendy when Carrie Tanaka is always looking at you.”

  Eddie stared at me. “She is?”

  “Yeah. I think she likes you.”

  I would have been grossed out if anyone had said that to me, about any of the girls at school, but Eddie Bosko started to smile.

  “Carrie Tanaka? Are you serious?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Check it out next time we’re in Mr. Holloway’s class.”

  “Cool,” he said, his face turning a bit red. “Thanks, Nugget.” He cleared his throat again. “I guess we should get rolling on these problems.”

  I nodded, relieved that we could talk about something else.

  Girl problems were a serious pain in the butt.

  * * *

  That final Friday test turned out to be totally brutal. I knew my hockey season was in danger as soon as I read the first question, and doomed by the time I reached the third one.

  But I did my best.

  When I finally finished with the test and was sure my head was about to explode from the effort, I had to sit and wait for the stupid results again. I had a book with me, but I didn’t feel like reading. In fact, I didn’t feel like doing anything but stare out the window.

  The marking took longer than usual, and when Mr. Holloway told me he was finished, I figured I was too.

  I walked up to his desk, my hands balled into fists as I waited for the bad news.

  “Mr. McDonald, how do you think it went?”

  “I dunno,” I mumbled. Seventy-eight percent was way too much to hope for.

  I’d blown it for sure.

  “I beg your pardon?” Mr. Holloway asked. “And please make eye contact when you speak, Mr. McDonald.”

  I looked right at him. “I’m not sure how it went, Mr. Holloway.”

  “Did you read through all of the questions first?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you take your time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Review your work?”

  “Yes.”

  “So there you have it.”

  Huh?

  He must have seen how confused I was. “Now you know how to tackle a test.” He paused for a second, then smiled. “And even better? Now you know how to pass it.”

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “Eighty-one percent.”

  “No way!”

  “Excellent job, Mr. McDonald. Truly excellent.”

  Excellent! I couldn’t believe it. I’d never come close to a mark that awesome in Math!

  “Three tests and three solid grades. I can’t say that I’m an expert when it comes to the vernacular for our nation’s sport, but —”

  “Vernacu-what?”

  “Terminology,” Mr. Holloway explained, but that didn’t actually explain anything.

  “I don’t know what that —”

  “What I am attempting to get across, Mr. McDonald, is that while I haven’t mastered the language of hockey, I am quite certain that you have just achieved the mathematics equivalent of a hat trick.”

  It took me a second or two to get it.

  A hat trick? In Math? It was incredible! And if that wasn’t amazing enough, something happened a second later that I really couldn’t believe.

  Mr. Holloway gave me a high five.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When I shared my Math score, Mum and Dad hugged me and told me how proud they were. It felt awesome, especially because I’d never imagined how cool good grades could be.

  At the dinner table that night, I told Dad how important the Shoreline game was to me, especially since I’d been missing out on playing already. He and Mum both listened to what I had to say about Bosko being away that weekend and even Wendy managed to stay quiet while I explained why I needed to help the Cougars beat Shoreline.

  When I was finished, Mum agreed that Dad could talk to Coach O’Neal and give their permission for me to play.

  Considering I’d convinced my parents that it was a good idea, I was totally shocked when Dad told me the next day that Coach had disagreed.

  It was totally unfair and I didn’t know what to do, so I stopped by Coach’s office to talk to him myself.

  He sat at a desk covered with pictures of Cougars teams through the years. There were framed news clippings from when the team won big games up on the walls, and he had a trophy shelf with awards and a couple of photos from back in the days when he played. Coach O’Neal made it to the minors, but not the NHL.

  “I don’t have to ask why you’re here,” he said.

  “The Shoreline game,” I said, nodding. “Bosko is going to be out of town and —”

  “Nugget, we’ve been through this before,” he said.

  “I know I’m small, Coach, but I’m tough and —”

  “They’re huge.”

  “I know, but —”

  “Your Dad and I discussed this already and he understands my concern.”

  I felt my hands ball into fists. It wasn’t fair. “I can’t do anything about my size, Coach.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I wouldn’t feel good about letting you go out there. If you hurt yourself —”

  “I’ve been hurt before,” I reminded him. “Lots of times.”

  “I just don’t feel right about it.”

  “But —”

  He stopped me by holding up one hand. “I’m the coach, and my decision is final.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just stared at him.

  “I’m sorry, Nugget. Maybe next year.”

  “Maybe,” I sighed, and started to leave.

  “Listen, I’m going to need you in every other game this season. I hope I can count on you.”

  “You can,” I told him.

  On the way home, I tried to understand how it was possible that after all of my hard work on the ice, off the ice, in Math class, at the dining room table and everywhere else, I still didn’t get to play.

  It totally stunk.

  * * *

  What didn’t stink was that we ended up beating Shoreline.

  Kenny broke the ti
e in the last seconds of the game and the crowd went totally crazy. He looked so shocked and happy when the guys swarmed him, patting his back and helmet, I couldn’t stop smiling. But even though I was super proud of him, I had to admit that I wished it was me. I hoped with everything I had that next year I’d be out there playing Shoreline.

  In the meantime, I knew I’d be a part of the next game and every game after that. After all, the season had barely started, and Coach said needed me. We’d be taking on Victoria the very next Saturday, and we’d play a team from Nanaimo the week after that.

  Sure, I regretted missing out on Shoreline, but I had plenty to look forward to.

  Starting with the Canucks game and that perfect shot from centre ice.

  * * *

  For the next week, I practised shooting in the driveway every night after I did my homework. I had to be ready for my big moment. I spent every spare second imagining myself at centre ice, calm, cool and totally ready to amaze the crowd with one big, bad blast of the puck.

  Everyone at school knew I was going to be taking the shot, and every day more kids wished me luck. When I went grocery shopping with Mum, the cashier wished me luck. Mr. Howard, our next door neighbour, told me he’d be rooting for me and wished me luck.

  Luck, luck, luck.

  The truth was, I didn’t need any. It was all about practise, and I’d done so much of that, I knew had nothing to worry about. Shooting was as natural to me as breathing and it felt like my whole life had been building toward that moment in Rogers Arena.

  I couldn’t wait.

  * * *

  When Dad and I got up on the morning of the Canucks game, I was shocked that I’d actually slept. I’d laid out my clothes the night before, so I was totally ready to go. Once I was out of the shower, I put on my favourite jeans, a pair of Vans, a blue hoodie and my Jean Ducette jersey on top of it.

  I looked like a super fan.

  No, I looked like the ultimate fan.

  No, it was more —

  “Like a bride on her wedding day,” Wendy said, when she saw me standing in front of the mirror.

  “Very funny,” I told her.

  “Nugget?” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  Before I had a chance to defend myself, my sister was hugging me. “Good luck,” she whispered.

  I started to say I didn’t need any, but knew that wasn’t the point. After all, Wendy didn’t even hug me on Christmas. “Thanks,” I told her, and meant it.