Wingman On Ice

by Matt Christopher

  Her eyes met Tod’s, and his face turned red. She looked at the next pupil, but he knew she had been referring to him and several other boys who played ice hockey.

  He studied all he could that day. When school was over he carried his books home and reviewed things they had worked on since Christmas vacation and a few weeks before. He asked Mom and Dad to help him on questions he couldn’t understand, and they did. He didn’t go to the ice pond at all that evening.

  The next day Ms. Hudson gave them the tests and on Wednesday she returned the papers to them.

  When she handed Tod’s to him, he saw that one paper had a mark in the top 80s. The other two were in the 70s.

  “I know you must have studied hard Monday evening for yesterday’s tests, Tod,” she said. “But you can’t expect to review everything in one night and remember it all. Seems to me you’re spending more time than necessary with something less important than your schoolwork. Education, you know, is more important than basketball.”

  “Hockey,” he corrected her. “Not basket-ball.”

  She smiled just a little. “Okay. Hockey.”

  He knew then and there that he would have little chance of becoming a good hockey player if she had her way. Of course, he had to study. But he had to practice, too. How could he expect to play well enough to deserve that brand-new hockey stick that stood in the closet if he didn’t practice?

  Tod laid his face in his hands. A guy could not expect to get anyplace in sports if his teacher was a sports hater. And that’s what Ms. Hudson was.

  A sports hater.

  6

  The locker room was a den of excitement. Boys in White Knights and Vikings uniforms were sitting side by side on the benches, putting on their skates.

  Tod spotted Jack Evans lacing his skate shoes. A strange feeling came over him. Last year he and Jack played on the same team. This year Jack was wearing a Vikings uniform. He was playing against Tod, not with him.

  Tod didn’t know whether he should sit beside Jack or not. Then Jack’s eyes lifted. They met Tod’s, and a warm smile came over Jack’s face.

  “Hi, Tod!” he said. “What line are you playing on?”

  “Line 2,” replied Tod. “What line are you on?”

  “Two, too!” Jack laughed. “That’s something, isn’t it? Us playing against each other this year?”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” said Tod.

  He sat beside Jack and took off his shoes. They talked about their games played last week. The Vikings had tied with the Spartans, 2-2.

  “I made both goals,” said Jack with a smile. “How are you doing, Tod?”

  Tod’s face dropped. “Not good,” he said.

  Coach Fillis entered the room. He came over to Tod.

  “Tod, I’m going to try you at right defense today. Okay?”

  Tod looked up. His face flushed a little. He didn’t want to play a defensive position. Defensemen had to play the zone in front of their goal most of the time. They had to help their goalie protect the net from the attacking forwards of the other team. Of course, it was important. But it wasn’t what Tod liked. Forwards could skate all over the rink at all times, so long as they kept in balance with the other members of their line. That’s what he preferred. But he couldn’t argue with the coach.

  “Okay, Mr. Fillis,” he said.

  “Good,” said Coach Fillis. “Better get out there and loosen up. The game will be starting soon.”

  He and Jack walked out together. They got on the ice and joined the dozens of players who were already on it. They skated round and round, forward and backward, bending their knees, twisting to the left and right.

  Finally the whistle blew. Everyone skated off the ice except Line 1 of both teams.

  The teams lined up. The referee stood ready with the puck in his hand and the whistle in his mouth. Then the whistle shrilled, he dropped the puck, and the game was on.

  Tod’s heart pounded as if he were right there on the ice with Line 1. Both teams were skating strong, fighting for control of the puck. Sticks clashed. Skates swished. The Vikings became overexcited. Two players skated over the White Knights’ blue line before their man passed the puck to them, and a face-off was called for offsides.

  A few moments later Eddie Jones took a pass from Larry Thomas, went over the Vikings’ blue line, and drove hard for the net. Tod watched Eddie jealously. He was pushing that puck along in front of him swiftly and with ease—and Eddie was a year younger than he! Of course there was a reason for Eddie’s being so good. His dad was a good skater, too. He had worked out with Eddie almost since Eddie was old enough to put on skates. Well, maybe not that long—but pretty long.

  Eddie swung up beside the Vikings’ net and shot the puck. It struck the goalie’s shin guard and bounced back. Then Larry came up, picked up the puck on rebound, and poked it in.

  Goal!

  A rousing cheer sprang from the White Knights’ bench. Tod couldn’t help but beat his old hockey stick against the boards, too, as the others were doing.

  Then it was Line 2’s turn. Tod skated to the defense position, working with Snow-ball. Snowball yelled at him, and his pie-shaped face spread into a big grin.

  “Just let them try to get past us! Huh, Toddy, boy?”

  “Yeah,” said Tod, rather meekly.

  Face-off. Again the puck became a jumping, skittering, flying black dot. Skip soon took it into the clear, passing it to Bud Wooley, who was playing right forward today. Bud took it, passed it back. Someone swept in like a blue streak, intercepted the puck, and passed it to another player in blue.

  Seconds later Tod saw Jack Evans coming down center ice. There was some passing, but Jack ended up with the puck and swung around behind the White Knights’ goal with it.

  Tod watched the play closely but nervously. It was hard to believe that a good friend of his like Jack was playing against him. Now there was Jack coming at him with the puck. Tod made a jab at it with his stick but missed. Jack turned his body, struck Tod with his hip, and swung around Tod with the puck still in his possession.

  One split second later Jack flicked his stick and the puck flashed straight over goalie Tim Collins’s wide stick into the net.

  Tod’s jaw dropped. A shoulder brushed roughly against him. He looked around and met Skip’s angry eyes.

  “You on our side or theirs?” snarled Skip. “Get your body into it. Check him.”

  The remark stung. Tod was glad when the whistle blew and they got off the ice.

  Snowball patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. “That’s okay, Toddy. We’ll stop ’em the next time.”

  The seconds ticked away rapidly on the electric scoreboard. The Vikings scored another goal, and for a while they skated with lots of pride and confidence.

  When Line 2 went back in, Jack Evans had the puck most of the time. Tod didn’t know just what to do when Jack dribbled the puck toward him, almost daring Tod to try to steal the puck from him.

  Tod jabbed half-heartedly at the puck. He could have gone after it hard, fought for it. But he didn’t.

  Jack took off like a flash and dribbled past Tod. A few seconds later he scored another goal.

  “Come on, Tod! Get in there!” came a shout from the sideline. “Take that puck from him. You’re playing defense. Use your body as well as your stick.”

  It was Coach Fillis’s voice.

  He heard other remarks. From Skip and Biff. Yes, even from Biff, who was his neighbor.

  But they’re right, he thought. I am too easy with Jack. And I shouldn’t be. Just as he isn’t easy with me.

  He made up his mind to play differently. The next time Jack came toward him with the puck, Tod forgot about how friendly they were. He dug his skates hard into the ice and went after the puck as if his life depended on it.

  Ice chips flew up against him as Jack tried to spin away from him. Tod’s stick hooked Jack’s, and for a couple of seconds their sticks were locked together. Tod looked up, met Jack’s eyes, saw
the surprise in them.

  Sorry, Jack! But I’m here to play as hard as I can, too! he thought.

  Then his stick broke loose from Jack’s, and he knocked the puck away.

  Later, he did it again. He and Jack were real opponents now.

  Jack didn’t score another goal.

  The White Knights won the close game, 5-4. As they skated off the ice, Jack smiled at Tod. “Nice game, Tod!” he said.

  “Thanks!” said Tod. “You, too, Jack!”

  7

  In the locker room, Skip picked up the old hockey stick that was leaning on the bench beside Tod.

  “What happened to the new stick you had, Tod?”

  Tod blushed. His shoes were laced. He was ready to leave for home.

  “It’s at home,” he said, rising from the bench.

  “Home?” Skip echoed. “What’s it doing there?”

  Tod shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “That’s right,” said Biff. “You had a new one at the ice pond, didn’t you? What’re you saving it for?”

  “This one has a lot of wear in it yet,” said Tod.

  He was anxious to go. He didn’t want to talk about his new hockey stick. No one had a right to know why he didn’t want to play with it.

  “This stick is really beat-up,” said Skip. He turned it over and pointed at the worn tape and the marred blade. “Look at that. Cracked and everything. And you say it has a lot of wear in it yet? You’re nuts, Tod.”

  “Okay, I’m nuts,” said Tod. He took the stick away from Skip. “See you out by the car, Biff. So long, Jack.”

  He walked out, feeling their eyes on his back. He was sweating, and it wasn’t warm at all in the locker room.

  The next Saturday morning, at eleven o’clock, the White Knights played the Spartans.

  The Spartans were colorful in their red suits with white trim. Their scoring ace was Cliff Towne. But today he did not seem to be the master of the puck he usually was. Cliff was center on the Spartans’ Line 2, and he and Skip were playing about even.

  Tod, waiting for Line 2’s turn on the ice for the second time, spotted a familiar face in a seat on the other side. It was a man dressed in a black sweater with two stripes around the chest. He was blond-haired, and he looked very much like Mr. Porter, the physical education teacher at the school.

  “Isn’t that Mr. Porter?” Tod asked Biff.

  Biff looked. “You’re right! It is! Wonder who that woman is with him?”

  “I don’t know,” said Tod.

  The woman with Mr. Porter had a white hat on, a milk-white sweater and black jeans. It was hard to see her from here.

  Then Tod forgot about Mr. Porter and the woman and concentrated on the game.

  Both teams played recklessly. There was a lot of passing, but the receivers were seldom in the right position to receive the puck. Skaters collided and fell sprawling over each other on the ice.

  When Line 2 replaced Line 1, they did not perform any better. Snowball fell so often that he seemed to be sitting on the ice more times than he was skating on it. This was just a bad day for the White Knights—and for the Spartans, too. Tod could hear the few spectators laughing loudly in the seats as if they were watching a three-ring circus.

  Just before Line 2 was to return to the ice for the last time, Tod looked across the rink. The seats where he had seen Mr. Porter and the woman sitting were empty.

  Tod thought of the brand-new hockey stick resting in the corner of his closet. Maybe he was wrong in making such a strong promise. Maybe he should break it. No one knew why he wasn’t using that new stick. He could take it and play with it in the next game. At least he’d get some fun out of it before the season was over with.

  Anyway, how could he know when he was playing good enough hockey to feel that he deserved the new hockey stick?

  He’d get it and play with it, that’s what he’d do.

  But the next instant he changed his mind again. No. He had made a promise to himself. He would stick to it.

  Through practicing and hard work he’d make himself be a better hockey player. He just had to.

  When Line 2 got on the ice, Tod tried as hard as he could to play better hockey. At face-off, Skip grabbed the puck from Cliff Towne and passed it to Jim Wright. Jim dribbled across the neutral zone toward the Spartans’ blue line and shot the puck across the ice toward Bud Wooley. Bud missed it.

  Two Spartans dashed after it. Tod saw that one of them was certain to intercept the puck. Quickly, he dug his skates into the ice and sprang forward, his head down and his stick clutched in both hands.

  A Spartan appeared like a streak beside him. His skate caught Tod’s for an instant. Tod almost lost his balance. He shoved the player aside with a swing of his hip and lowered his stick to stop the puck. As he did so, he was bumped hard by the other Spartan. Crash!

  Every bone in his body was jarred by the impact. He wobbled and struggled hard to keep from falling. Dazedly, he looked around for the puck. He saw it, skidding across the Spartans’ blue line only a couple of feet away.

  The Spartan shoved him aside in trying to get at the puck. If he got it, he could shoot it back out of his zone. But the puck was in a good spot for the White Knights to score.

  Maybe I can break the 0-0 tie myself! thought Tod.

  Like a fighting rooster Tod shook away from the Spartan and bolted after the puck. Just then he saw Jim and another Spartan player charge after it together. The Spartan’s stick reached out, hooked the puck.

  For a fraction of a second Tod’s hopes drained. Then he lashed out his stick. Instead of striking the puck, the blade caught inside the Spartan’s left skate. Down went the Spartan!

  Shree-e-ek!

  “Tripping!” shouted the referee.

  Tod stared at him. His mouth fell open, but he said nothing. He took a deep breath and skated off the ice toward the penalty box.

  He had tried hard—and had committed a foul. Of course it was his fault. He knew that. He just wasn’t thinking when he had swung that stick.

  It just proved, more than ever, that he didn’t deserve that new hockey stick.

  Seconds before Line 2’s time was up, Jim shot the puck to Skip near the Spartans’ goal crease. Skip caught it with the flat of his stick, turned around quickly, and gave the puck a snap.

  Past the goalie’s leg guards it sailed for a goal!

  Line 3 could do nothing. The game ended, 1-0 in favor of the White Knights.

  The boys had mixed feelings as they left Manna Rink. Some were very happy about the win. They had forgotten about how poorly they had played. Others, especially Tod, were not as happy. They had played a terrible game. They said that the score should be 8-0, not 1-0.

  Around three o’clock, Tod and Jane went to the ice pond. Several skaters were already there. Matter of fact, two of them were the same two Tod had seen at Manna Rink—Mr. Porter and the woman.

  “Hi, Mr. Porter!” he yelled.

  “Well, hi, Tod! Hi, Jane!”

  And then the woman with Mr. Porter looked at them too.

  “Hello!” she yelled to them. She was skating so well, Tod thought, that she must be some professional whom Mr. Porter knew.

  And then he recognized her, and his mouth popped open. He could scarcely believe his eyes.

  “Why, it’s Ms. Hudson!”

  It really was! Ms. Hudson, his fifth-grade teacher, whom he had figured as a sports hater! She looked so different without glasses and in that sweater and jeans!

  She laughed. “Yes, it’s me! Surprised?”

  Tod gulped. “Surprised? Yes! Yes, I am! I never dreamed I’d see you here!”

  8

  Mr. Porter and Ms. Hudson skated to the bench where Tod and Jane stopped to put on their skates. Ms. Hudson’s cheeks were apple-red from the cold. Her brown eyes flashed.

  “Why not?” she asked Tod.

  Tod stared at her. “I thought you hated skating,” he said. “I thought you hated all kinds of sports.”

  �
��Me?” Ms. Hudson’s eyes opened wide. “Whatever gave you that idea?” And then her expression changed, as if she remembered something. “Oh, yes! I know now. Some time ago I warned a certain boy that his studies were more important than basketball.”

  Tod grinned. “Hockey,” he said.

  She smiled. So did Mr. Porter. “Yes. Hockey,” she said, and laughed.

  “Don’t let her kid you, Tod,” said Mr. Porter. “She knows the difference all right. We saw you play this morning, you know.”

  “Yes. I saw you,” said Tod. “A lousy game, wasn’t it?”

  “Well—it’s pretty early in the season,” said Mr. Porter. “You boys will improve plenty as the season grows older. Hurry. Get your skates on. We’ll see you on the ice!”

  Jane and Tod put on their skates and stepped out onto the ice.

  “Wow!” exclaimed Jane. “Look at Ms. Hudson skate, Tod! She’s great!”

  Tod stopped and looked at Ms. Hudson as if he were seeing things. There she was, skating backward as if she had eyes behind her head. She was moving with terrific speed, her body leaning forward, her legs bent and driving strongly. Suddenly she balanced on her right foot alone and stretched her left leg gracefully straight out behind her.

  “How do you like that?” cried Tod. “And I thought she hated sports!”

  Jane chuckled. “She fooled you, didn’t she?” she said, and took off like a blown leaf across the ice.

  They remained on the pond for almost two hours. Ms. Hudson and Jane skated together most of the time, holding each other’s hands while they skated frontward and backward. Tod saw that Jane was having a lot of fun. Several other skaters stopped and watched them. Indeed, Ms. Hudson was one of the best skaters who had ever appeared on their ice pond.

  It was practically a show she and Jane put on for them. When they were finished, the people applauded.

  Tod couldn’t get over it. Ms. Hudson! His fifth-grade teacher—a skater like that!

  Tod practiced dribbling and passing on the ice pond with Snowball, Skip, and some of his other teammates during the week. He managed to do better with his studies, too. In school he just couldn’t get over the sight of Ms. Hudson with her glasses on, looking so much—well, so much like a teacher. You wouldn’t think she’d wear jeans and be able to figure skate so well.