“Really appreciate the support back there, Ralph,” Luke grumbles sarcastically.
“Listen, Lukey…you need energy to play, and the better you play, the better the game goes. I’m just thinking of the team, here.”
Luke slaps my stick so that it falls out of my hand to the ground, laughs, and sprints ahead. I pick up my stick, jog a little to catch up with him, and start loading my equipment into his parents’ car.
“You see? Look at all the energy that glass of goodness has given you!”
Luke mumbles some kind of sarcastic comeback as he gets into the backseat, but by the time we get to the rink he seems to have forgotten all about it. We quickly get changed, and in a few minutes Luke and I are skating around our half of the ice while a few of our teammates take some shots on goal to warm up. As I stride forward I can hear the sound of hockey sticks making contact with pucks.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Now THAT’S a rhythm I can appreciate. It does almost sound musical, although I’m pretty sure that’s just my overactive brain, not quite shut off from my tutoring session. I shake off all thoughts of music and concentrate on the task at hand. It’s time to focus.
It’s hockey time.
I can’t remember when I first became interested in the game. It’s as if it was always just part of me. You know—arms, legs, hockey. I have often thought how awesome it would be if, instead of arms, I had two hockey sticks. I could probably even be some kind of superhero. You know, a hockey team is down by five points and it seems as though all is lost. But all of a sudden, “It’s Captain Hockey!” I whizz around their opponents because my skates have been outfitted with rockets—obviously—and I score a whole bunch of goals in the last three minutes to win the game. Then again, making a peanut butter sandwich would be a little bit of an issue.
Wait. Where was I again? Right. Hockey. It’s not that I don’t like other sports. Baseball is all right. I like soccer. And I’m actually pretty good at golf. But being on the ice just feels so natural, like my body instinctively knows what to do, almost as if my skates are somehow in control of me…
BAM.
All right, maybe I don’t have as much control as I thought.
—
GAME TIP #9: When skating, it is in your best interest to concentrate on what you’re doing and not start thinking about other stuff. Because you are on ICE. With a pair of thin BLADES strapped to your feet. So, yeah. FOCUS.
I feel myself falling and I hit the ice with a thud. For a moment I am confused. How did I end up on my back?
And then I hear Mick Bartlet.
“Hey, Jay! Drop something?”
Mick is skating away, laughing with a couple of his friends, and I can see Luke skating back toward me. I’ve had just about enough of Mick and his annoying antics, and as I get myself up from the ice, I think about skating over and giving him a piece of my mind. But I know that guys like Mick thrive on getting guys like me riled up and I won’t give him the satisfaction. Luke is beside me now, and before he can open his mouth the referee blows his whistle, signaling that the game is about to begin. As I skate toward the center circle for the opening face-off I can still hear Mick chuckling, but it doesn’t matter. The game is about to begin, and I’m in the starting lineup.
The puck is dropped.
Game on.
This is not the first time we’ve played the Wolves this season. They’re a pretty good team, but we can hold our own, and the first period is mostly uneventful. A lot of shots from both teams but nothing sticks. I am able to head up ice a few times and get some shots on target, but their defense is pretty tight, and more times than not the puck is gone before I even get a good chance.
The second period is a little more exciting, and halfway through we score a goal with twenty seconds left on a power play. But the other team keeps pace, scoring two minutes later to tie it up.
It’s not until the third period that things really start to get intense.
We stay tied for most of the period, but around eighteen minutes in, our goaltender makes a sweet glove save. He drops the puck to his stick and quickly shovels it toward our right-winger, Kyle. Kyle starts to skate and attempts a pass to Ryan, on the left, but no luck. It’s intercepted, and as soon as I see that the other team has possession I get ready for their attack. They drive toward our net and take a shot, which I’m able to get down and block at the last minute. I go after the puck and for a moment it’s mine, but someone makes a stellar move that lifts my stick and suddenly they have it again. Another shot. I hear the puck smack off the goal post and then see Mick and an opponent heading toward the puck along the side boards. Mick reaches in to grab the puck and BAM! He’s down.
And then it happens.
Before getting run over, Mick manages to tap the puck up to Luke, who starts to head toward the other end of the ice. I glance up at the clock: eighteen seconds left in the game.
Lots of time.
I start to follow Luke up ice, and when he gets sealed off at the center line, I suddenly find a loose puck coming right to me. I keep my feet moving, pull a little move around one of their players, and break into an opening. I can hear my teammates start to count down the remaining seconds from the bench.
Ten…nine…
We always do that to let everyone on the ice know exactly how much time is left in a period. Only now, it’s how much time is left in the game. I cross their blue line and look for a shot, but the angle isn’t very good, and there’s a big defenseman between me and the net.
Eight…seven…
I decide to gamble, go around their player, hold the puck and head toward the back of the net. I want to try the wraparound, but their goalie is onto me and slides across the crease, leaving me nothing to shoot at as I circle around the other side.
Six…five…four…three…
Out of time. I might as well try to put something in the net. I’m ready to shoot, pulling my stick back, when out of the corner of my eye I see him. Mick Bartlet has managed to join the attack and is standing unattended on the other side of the net. His stick is on the ice, a big target. I send him a quick, sharp pass, he redirects it, and just like that, the puck is in the net.
It’s like in the movies. The buzzer sounds just after the puck crosses the goal line. We’ve won the game. Everyone crowds around Mick, the victor, the hero. Final score: 2–1.
It’s a bit annoying, watching everyone gush over Mick’s winning goal, especially when I set it up for him and I know there was a chance that I could have scored if I’d taken the shot myself. (I’ll get my point for the assist, but let’s be honest, people who actually put the puck in the net get most of the attention.) But as my coach always says, part of being a good player is knowing when to shoot the puck and when to pass it. Mick had a better shot, it was as simple as that. And at the end of the game, whatever the player stats—I only care about the two numbers on the scoreboard. And let’s be honest—I prefer my team to have the higher one.
I’ll even take a goal from Mick Bartlet to get it.
CHAPTER 7
By December, the Shamrocks are 9 and 3, which means we have won 9 games and lost 3. Not bad, right? The last few weeks of school have been going okay, with the exception of the saxophone, which has definitely not been going okay, even though I have been attending my tutoring classes every week and kind of practicing. But that’s not really on my mind right now. There is only one thing a kid thinks about in the month of December: Christmas Break.
The first week of December is always the worst because Christmas Break is just close enough that you can almost taste the freedom and yet far enough away that it makes every day seem to drag on forever. During this time, teachers lose their minds and start piling on assignments and research projects at an alarming rate. So you’re going about your business, just trying to keep it together for a few more weeks, and then, out of nowhere…complete and utter schoolwork chaos.
Example: As if I don’t have enough stress in my life, my
science teacher thought he would make things just a LITTLE more terrible by giving us a GROUP ASSIGNMENT.
Group. Assignments. Are. The. Worst.
It doesn’t make sense, but for some reason, no matter how many kids are in the class, there never seems to be the right number for the groups to split up evenly. So when you finally find a few people you like well enough to do a project with, and feel somewhat confident that by the end you will not want to duct tape them to a wall, you end up getting an extra person added to the mix that totally throws off the balance.
For instance, take this science group assignment. Luke, Max, and I are the perfect mix of intelligence and fun. Sure, part of our “research” will include playing video games and eating chips, but when it comes down to it, the three of us will make sure it gets done. Add one person, just ONE more person, and the whole thing falls apart. Which is exactly what is about to happen.
“Kaylee? You haven’t found a group yet? Let’s see…why don’t I add you to Jay’s photosynthesis group?” my science teacher says, and he directs her over to my table.
Kaylee Gifford. Perfect. Kaylee is one of those “I know everything” types who enjoy making everyone else feel like they know nothing. (If you don’t believe me, please refer to the saxophone-reed-monkey-on-my-shoulder incident of Chapter Three.) She will completely take over every aspect of this project, including, but not limited to: the thickness of the report cover, the type of font for the report, the pictures on the display board, the lettering on the display board, the color of the display board, and she will even dictate when we will…
“So, we can meet at my place today at 4:30. Here’s my address for you to copy into your agendas. Don’t ring the doorbell because my mother has sensitive ears,” Kaylee says, shoving a piece of paper into the middle of the table.
…meet. Well, that’s fantastic. Not only do I hate group projects to begin with, but now this project has been completely hijacked. This day could not get any worse, I think as I start copying down Kaylee’s perfectly printed address into my notebook. Just then, the bell rings for lunch hour and I almost have to laugh.
Can’t get any worse? Right. Except for the fact that now I have to go play the saxophone.
I walk into the music room to find Ben sitting in a chair, playing a few notes on his instrument and tapping his toes as he plays. When he sees me he stops momentarily, gives me a slight wave, and then continues where he left off. By now, I know the drill of putting my instrument together, which, if nothing else, I can do pretty easily. Ben is still playing, but when he notices I have my saxophone together he finishes the tune and turns to face me.
“Okay, so now make sure you’re holding your instrument properly.” Even though we’ve been doing this for a couple of weeks, and I should definitely have it down by now, I still fumble my hands around for a few seconds, and it never seems to look quite right.
“It looks way better than when you first started,” Ben says, repositioning my hands just a bit. “Okay, let’s take a look at your embouchure. You’re still practicing it at home, right?”
I nod.
I have not once, at any time, practiced my embouchure.
I stick out my lips and make a kind of fish face, hoping that all weird-looking lip poses kind of fit into the embouchure category.
“No…the top lip kind of goes over the bottom lip, and the lips are relaxed, not tight, remember?” Ben is showing me with his own mouth and I am only half-trying to imitate him, partly because I think there is no way this will actually help me play the saxophone and partly because I’m nervous that Mick will show up again. At any rate, one might say my heart isn’t really in it.
“C’mon, Jay. You’ve got to learn to do this. I know it feels funny, but like I said before, you’ll get used to it.”
I am now feeling a tiny bit annoyed and I stop doing the lip thing completely. “Even if I do learn this omba-shurm thing…”
“Embouchure,” Ben corrects.
“Whatever it is! Look, I haven’t been able to play even a few notes together without making a giant squeak, and to say I have no sense of rhythm is the understatement of the century. If I can’t do even this tiny thing, maybe I shouldn’t waste my time trying to learn to play the saxophone. Why bother, when I know I am not going to be able to do it?”
“Well, with that attitude, of course you’re never going to learn it. And I can tell that you haven’t been practicing at all. It takes hard work and dedication to—”
“Seriously, are you, like, a teacher in disguise or something? What kid talks like that?”
Ben frowns and slumps down slightly in his chair, and I can tell I have hurt his feelings. I know I should apologize, that I should tell him that I’m just mad about being terrible at the saxophone, but instead I mumble some excuse about not feeling well and leave my tutoring session early.
That could have gone better.
My afternoon classes seem slower than usual, and whenever I picture Ben’s expression it makes a knot in my stomach. Ben’s an okay guy. He was just trying to help me, and I was totally rude. I try to find him in the hallway after school, but I don’t see him anywhere so I resolve to apologize the next day.
Luke comes to my house after school so that we can hang for an hour until it’s time to go to Kaylee’s. His eyes light up when he enters the kitchen and spots a huge mound of cookies that my dad brought home yesterday from the bakery next door to his shop. Luke stuffs one in his mouth, grabbing another two directly after.
“I seriously love coming to your house,” Luke says, still chewing his cookie and showing me the entire contents of his mouth.
“Gross, dude. Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”
Luke puts another cookie in his mouth, chews for a moment, and then opens it even wider. “What do you mean, Jay? Are you saying I don’t have good manners?” Luke laughs, and I give him a sort of shove and grab a cookie for myself.
We play a video game until it’s time to go (after all, it will no longer be a part of our “research”) and then my mom drops us off at Kaylee’s house.
“You two have fun, now!”
Yeah, Mom. This is going to be a real blast.
I pretty much nailed how this group project is going to go. Kaylee already has everything picked out and drones on about how presenting our work clearly and neatly is just as important as having good content. As she takes out a bunch of duotangs in different colors, Luke closes his eyes and makes a snoring noise, which catches Kaylee’s attention.
“Luke!” Kaylee yells, giving him a stern look. Luke suddenly snaps to attention as if Kaylee’s voice has woken him from a deep sleep.
“What? Huh? What day is this? Where am I?” Luke asks groggily.
“Oh, that is just so mature, Luke,” Kaylee responds, with an eye-roll that could compete with Jodie’s. Luke grins and looks for a high-five from me or Max, but Kaylee shoots us both a don’t-you-dare look.
“Okay, so I’ve already found a bunch of research material. Luke, can I trust you to go downstairs to get it from the printer, or is that job too hard for your tiny, half-functional brain?”
“I’m not sure I can handle it, but maybe with the help of a friend…”
“I’ll do it!” Max shouts, obviously trying to get out of whatever job Kaylee might assign him. Before she can respond, the two of them jump up and dash out of the room, leaving Kaylee and me alone. Thanks, guys.
“Great, it’s already 5:30 and we’ve barely done anything. We should plan to meet at lunch tomorrow and Thursday.”
“Okay, but I can’t on Thursday. I’ve got…something to do,” I say, a little embarrassed to explain.
“You and Luke reading stupid comics does not count as doing something,” Kaylee replies, sorting through the stack of duotangs.
“It’s not that…I have to…I have a saxophone tutor during lunch, okay?” I respond, feeling defensive for some reason.
“Oh. Well, hopefully you’ve
figured out where to put the reed by now,” Kaylee teases. Kaylee doesn’t tease very well. The only way anyone would know she was teasing instead of just being mean is because her eyebrows go up, ever so slightly.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much the only thing I’ve figured out at this point. I haven’t even played a single note on the thing yet. I’m still trying to figure out the, you know, the lip thing.” I have butchered the word too many times so I decide to not even try.
“Embouchure? Oh, that’s, like, totally easy.”
“Well, maybe for someone like you, but for someone like me, it’s just another reason I’m going to fail my Music test.”
“Fail it? Dramatic much? Here, I’ll show you. You just make your lips look like grandpa lips.” I laugh, but Kaylee’s glaring at me. “I’m serious. Pretend to talk like a grandpa, it works every time.”
“I…I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on. Jash pu ya mow wike wis,” Kaylee commands, making what I can only assume are her “grandpa lips.” I don’t see any sign of the other guys coming back so I give it a shot.
“Wike wis?” I ask, trying to model my mouth after Kaylee’s.
“Goo…wewax ya mowf…”
“Ahwite…betta?”
“Mush betta!”
Suddenly in walk Luke and Max with stacks of paper in hand.
I instinctively jump away from Kaylee and try to make it look as though I’m just casually licking my lips or something, which is ridiculous. They both burst out laughing, and when they finally gain control of themselves, Luke shakes his head and says, “I am not even going to ask.”
“Yeah, well you wouldn’t understand it if you did, so it’s probably better that way,” Kaylee responds. Her stern look has returned and I can tell that our little “moment” is over.
The rest of our time is spent figuring out which information we’re going to use and who will be responsible for what. As demanding as Kaylee is, I have to admit that she does a pretty good job organizing a project.
Jay Versus the Saxophone of Doom Page 6