Wingman On Ice

by Matt Christopher

  Copyright

  Copyright © 1964, 1993 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

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  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  www.twitter.com/littlebrown

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09612-6

  Contents

  Copyright

  Bantam Hockey League Roster of the White Knights

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  The #1 Sports Series for Kids: Matt Christopher®

  Matt Christopher®

  To

  Brenda, Bruce, Barbara,

  Beverly, and Bradley

  Bantam Hockey League Roster of the White Knights

  Buck Fillis Coach

  Line 1

  1 Jim Smith goalie

  2 Ed Jones right forward

  3 Larry Thomas left forward

  4 Joe Farmer center

  5 Al Burns right defense

  6 Duck Franks left defense

  7 Andy Marr substitute

  Line 2

  8 Tim Collins goalie

  9 Tod Baker right forward

  10 Jim Wright left forward

  11 Skip Haddock center

  12 Biff Jones right defense

  13 Snowball Harry Carr left defense

  14 Bud Wooley substitute

  Line 3

  15 Joe Easter goalie

  16 Tom Cash right forward

  17 Bert Stevens left forward

  18 Adam Wink center

  19 Mickey Share right defense

  20 Tony Nadali left defense

  21 Mark Malone substitute

  1

  A stick slapped the puck hard, and the flat, rubber disk shot across the ice like a black dot. It struck the boards, bounced off, and Tod Baker stopped it with the blade of his hockey stick.

  He hardly looked up as he dug his right skate into the ice and pushed himself forward. With both hands on the stick he started to dribble the puck down the ice. He shifted the stick blade from one side of the puck to the other, easing it gently each time.

  A player rushed at him from his left side. Quickly, Tod picked up speed.

  Then it happened. He struck the puck harder than he should have, and it shot too far to his right. Desperately, he sped after it. But another skater hooked it with his stick and dribbled it away.

  “Why didn’t you pass it?” a voice snapped near his elbow.

  Tod looked around and saw Skip Haddock glaring at him. Skip was center for the White Knights. He was tall and willowy and handled a hockey stick as if he had been born with one in his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” murmured Tod.

  Another voice cut in sharply. “Quit talking there and let’s get after that puck!”

  It was Buck Fillis, the coach. He was on skates, a tall man wearing a hat and a heavy blue and white sweater. A whistle dangled on a cord around his neck.

  This was a scrimmage game among themselves. Next Saturday morning the White Knights were going to scrimmage the Trojans. The regular Bantam League games started the Saturday after that.

  Coach Fillis had picked two squads, A and B, to play against each other this Saturday morning. The A squad wore white jerseys over their sweaters to distinguish them from the B’s. Tod was on the A squad, playing right forward.

  In the Bantam Hockey League, the teams were composed of three lines each. Each line had its own forwards, defensemen, and goalie.

  But today Coach Fillis did not group his team into lines. Some kids were a little older than others, so he had selected two squads to let the younger boys play on the same squads as the older ones. In this way the squads were evenly matched, and every player could practice and learn to play better hockey.

  Tod was glad that Coach Fillis had his White Knights team work out that way. A younger player could learn a lot by playing along with an older player.

  The B squad got the puck past the red line that crossed the middle of the ice. “Snowball” Harry Carr stole it and snapped it back. Another B player shot up behind him and stopped it with his skate. He kicked it forward, then slapped it with his stick.

  Tod and Skip came charging up the ice together. For a moment the puck was free. Then a B squad player went after it. Skip gave him a body check, and the player lost his balance and fell. Skip always did this when he had a chance. Tod thought that Skip just enjoyed bodychecking, even if he didn’t always do it legally.

  Skip stopped dead, ice chips spraying from his skates. Another opponent was approaching fast. Skip passed the puck to Tod. Tod stopped it and looked around. An A player was down near the boards. Tod smacked the puck to him. The player caught it with the blade of his stick and started with it across the other team’s blue line.

  Tod sped down center ice. It was clear sailing ahead. If he got the puck, he might be able to smack it past the goalie.

  “Here! Pass it here!” he shouted.

  The puck skittered across the ice toward him. It was a good pass. He tried to stop it with the heel of his stick. But the puck struck the stick and glanced off. Disgustedly, Tod turned and went after it, his skates cutting short, curved grooves in the ice.

  Skip Haddock reached the puck first. He dribbled it at an angle in front of the goal. Tod could see the goalie crouched in front of the net, trying to keep himself between it and Skip.

  Then, just as Skip glided past the net, he snapped the puck. Like a bullet it shot between the goalie and the side of the net.

  Score!

  Buck Fillis blew the whistle. “Nice shot, Skip!” he said as he came skating down the ice. “But, you, Tod—you should have stopped that puck and gone for the goal yourself. You’re not holding that blade flat on the ice. Bend it in a little toward the puck when trying to stop it, and then ease it away from the puck when they meet. That small rubber beast can get away from you in a hurry if you don’t treat it just right.”

  Tod nodded.

  “You’re not stickhandling right, either,” the coach went on. “You’re not supposed to hit the puck—just push it. Treat it as if it were a raw egg.”

  Snowball laughed. “Good thing it isn’t, Coach,” he said. “This rink would be a mess!”

  The boys laughed. Even Tod had to grin.

  Buck had substitutes come in for both squads. Skip, Tod, and Snowball were among those he sent out for a rest. They breathed hard as they sat on the players’ bench behind the boards.

  Tod didn’t really feel tired, though. He wished he could stay in there. The ice on Manna Rink was smooth as glass. There weren’t cracks or bumps on it like there were on the ice pond in the field near home.

  The rink was just beautiful. That red line through the middle, those blue lines about twenty feet away on either side of it, the wide circle in the center and those four bi
g circles in the end zones for face-offs—you really felt like playing hockey here.

  Wish I had a new stick, thought Tod as he looked sadly at the one in his gloved hands. It was probably older than he was. Coach Fillis had given it to him. The coach had probably used it himself years ago, although he had not said so. Anyway, it sure looked bruised and battered.

  Christmas is only three days away. Maybe Mom and Dad will get a hockey stick for me. That’s what I want most of all. A new hockey stick.

  Tod and the other boys sitting on the bench watched Buck Fillis drop the puck for the face-off as the scrimmage continued. In less than a minute, the B squad scored a goal, and a few moments later the A squad evened it up. After three minutes, Coach Fillis changed players again making sure that every member of his White Knights team had equal time on the ice.

  At last he called the scrimmage off, because another team was waiting to play.

  In the locker room Coach Fillis urged the boys to skate as much as possible wherever they could find ice to skate on. “Skate back-wards all you can,” he said. “Make quick turns. Quick stops and starts. Get a puck if you don’t have one and practice passing. And dribbling.” He looked at Tod, his eyes twinkling. “Remember, Tod, treat that puck as if it were a raw egg.”

  The locker room echoed with laughter from all twenty-one boys.

  Buck Fillis was a great coach. A real friendly guy.

  The boys took off their skates and put on their shoes. Some of them covered the blades of their skates with rubber protectors and walked out with their skates on. Tod had no protector for his skates.

  He rode home with Biff Jones and Biff’s father in their car.

  Three days till Christmas, he thought anxiously. Just three days.

  2

  Right after breakfast Sunday morning Tod changed into his skating clothes. He put on a windbreaker over a heavy sweatshirt, his winter hat, mittens, and boots and walked to the ice pond in Mr. Terriwell’s field.

  He ploughed through the path that had already been made through the foot-deep snow that covered the ground. A strong wind whipped up powdery snow against his face. The sun was a golden disk in the almost cloudless sky. It made the snow sparkle. And it made him squint.

  He had wanted his sister Jane to go along with him. She didn’t want to. She preferred to look at the funnies in today’s paper. Well, he enjoyed the funnies too. But he’d look at them later.

  He soon reached the top of the knoll and could see the ice pond. He had hoped no one would be there and no one was. He wanted the whole ice pond for himself so that he could practice dribbling and stick-handling and not worry about someone laughing at him.

  He reached the pond, sat on the bench that Mr. Terriwell himself had put there, and changed his boots for his skates. They were regular hockey skates, with arch supports in the shoes and hard toe caps. This was the second winter that he had used them.

  Laces tied tightly, he rose from the bench and stepped onto the ice. The snow on it looked as if it had been sprinkled on with a giant saltshaker.

  He skated all around the pond for a while, then did the figure eight frontwards and backwards. After about five minutes he dropped the puck on the ice and concentrated on dribbling.

  Move the puck with smooth, side-to-side sweeps with the blade of the stick, Coach Fillis had told the boys. And that’s what Tod did. But when he skated faster, he either went by the puck or hit it too hard.

  Tod clamped his teeth on his lower lip as he tried and tried to become master of that puck. At last he became so angry he struck the puck hard and sent it sailing over the ice. It pierced the bank of snow and lay buried so deep inside of it that Tod couldn’t find it for a long while. When he did, he was angry at himself for losing his temper. He quit and started for home. Jane would be coming after him for lunch soon, anyway.

  After lunch, Jane and Tod both went to the ice pond. Tod took his puck and hockey stick with him again.

  Jane was in the third grade. She had long black hair full of curls, but that was because Mom fixed them that way. Otherwise, they would be straight as strings, and Jane didn’t want her hair straight as strings.

  Marylou Farmer, who was in Jane’s grade, and her brother Joe were already at the pond. So was Jack Evans, a tall, dark-haired boy who had been on the same team with Tod last year. Tod liked him a lot. He was sorry that Jack was on another team. But it wasn’t Jack’s choice. At the start of each season the coaches picked their teams. No two years were the teams the same.

  They greeted Tod and Jane.

  “Been hoping you’d bring your puck,” said Jack. “I brought my stick along, too. So did Joe.”

  Tod let the boys play with the puck while he put on his skates. Then he, Joe, and Jack passed the puck among themselves. Joe was good. The coach had said he’d have Joe play center on Line 1, which meant that he wouldn’t be playing with Tod. Tod was on Line 2, and Line 2’s center was Skip Haddock.

  More people showed up at the pond—boys, girls, and grown-ups, too. Among them were Skip Haddock and Tim Collins. Tim was goalie on Line 2. He was a husky, dark-haired boy who never talked much. You wouldn’t think he’d be the kind of guy Skip would pal around with, but Skip did.

  The boys took over one end of the ice pond in a game of shinny. Skip, Tim, and Joe passed the puck among themselves as if the puck and their hockey sticks were natural cousins. Tod felt as if he didn’t belong with them. He could skate fast frontwards and backwards and turn quickly—almost better than any one of them—but he was far from being a good stickhandler. The puck and his stick were just plain enemies.

  It’s the hockey stick, that’s what it is, Tod told himself. The toe and heel are worn so badly that the blade doesn’t meet the puck as it should. Boy, I hope I get a new stick for Christmas!

  Tim passed the puck to Tod again. It struck his blade and glanced off as it usually did. This time Tod raced after it hard. He dug his skates into the ice and pumped his legs as fast as if he were competing in a one-hundred-yard sprint. The puck slid out of their skating area and skimmed over the ice among the other skaters.

  Just as Tod reached the puck and was about to stop it with his stick, a small boy got in front of him. Tod struck him solidly, and the boy went sprawling on the ice.

  Fright gripped Tod as he skated swiftly over to him.

  “Jimmie!” he cried as he recognized five-year-old Jimmie Lamarr. “I’m sorry! Are you all right?”

  Jimmie’s face was screwed up in pain. “I—I’m all right,” he said.

  A couple of men skated toward them quickly. One of them was Mr. Farmer, Joe’s dad. He helped Jimmie to his feet.

  “You okay, Jimmie?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes,” replied Jimmie. But when he skated away he was moving very carefully.

  Mr. Farmer turned to Tod. He looked provoked. “Better be more careful next time, Tod, or you’d better put your hockey stick and puck away. That goes for the rest of you boys, too.”

  Tod’s face reddened. He skated to the puck and picked it up. He carried it back to the small area where Skip and the others were waiting for him. Skip looked really angry.

  “You nut,” he said. “Why didn’t you watch where you were going?”

  Tod said nothing. He felt like going home then and there. Instead, he dropped the puck, and this time they were all more careful about their passes.

  It didn’t turn out to be as much fun as before, so Skip and Tim laid their hockey sticks aside and just skated. Tod didn’t mind. Now he, Joe, and Jack had the puck to themselves.

  “Tod,” Joe said, “I never see your dad here. Doesn’t he skate?”

  The question made Tod flush a little. “No,” he said. “He used to ski, but he hasn’t for a long time.”

  Tod took a deep breath, spun halfway around, skated backwards a little ways, and came to a quick stop. “I’m tired,” he said. “Think I’ll go home.”

  “There’s no school tomorrow,” reminded Joe. “Bring your puck, and we’ll p
ractice passing and dribbling. Okay?”

  “Okay,” agreed Tod.

  He called to Jane, and she was willing to go home with him. They put on their boots and trudged back through the snow.

  They reached the country road and stamped the snow off their boots. A snow-plow had cleared the road and left high banks of the white powdery stuff on both sides.

  Tod and Jane walked past Biff Jones’s house and saw the Jones’s Christmas tree through the large picture window. Wonder what Biff will get for Christmas? Tod thought.

  Just a short distance farther on was their own home. It was a good one hundred feet from the road. A white house with blue shutters, with the English-style letter “B” cut in them. Dad had made them himself.

  The front door looked very pretty with the big white cane on it and a red bow tied on the cane. The Christmas tree in the picture window looked very pretty, too. Even from outdoors you could see how broad it was. The big round bulbs and the hanging tinsels glinted like stars where the sun hit them.

  Tod’s heart warmed, and he smiled.

  “What would you like best of all for Christmas, Jane?” he asked quietly.

  “A bicycle,” she said. “A small two-wheeler. What would you like?”

  “I won’t say,” he answered. “I’ll just wait and see if I get it.”

  3

  It was Christmas morning.

  Tod and Jane came out of their bedrooms in their pajamas. Jane ran, screaming happily, for there beside the tree was exactly what she had been wishing for—a sparkling red and white bicycle.

  Tod didn’t run. He used to run when he was Jane’s age. But he was older now. Anyway, his long steps got him there fast enough.

  There were big boxes and small boxes piled under the tree, all in fancy wrapping paper and fancy bows. There were also presents that were not wrapped—games, puzzles, and books for him and Jane. These were the gifts Santa Claus had brought. Tod knew the truth about that little fat man in the bright red suit and white whiskers. But Jane didn’t. Not everything, anyway.

  And then he saw the really long gift wrapped beautifully in white and green paper with a wide red ribbon tied around it. His heart thumped, and he let out a yell as he ran toward it. Just to make sure that the present was his, though, he looked at the small tag tied to it.