Rocket Blues

by David Skuy

  After what felt like forever, they pulled up in front of Rocket’s apartment building. Greg popped the trunk.

  “Hold on a sec, I’m dropping Bryan off.” Greg muted the phone. “Bryan, you should probably take your bag this time. You’ll be going to other tryouts and … you’ll obviously need it,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “Ty, help Rocket with his bag.”

  “I can do it,” Rocket said. “I’m not that small.”

  Greg laughed loudly. “Glad to see you’re keeping your sense of humour about this, Bryan. Like I said, I’ll phone around. There’s bound to be something.”

  Rocket didn’t remember making a joke. He hauled his bag out and reached for his sticks.

  “Speak to you soon,” Greg said.

  “Bye,” Ty said.

  Rocket closed the trunk. He watched the van pull away. It turned at the lights and disappeared from view. He’d been so pumped all day. A few hours ago he was the happiest kid in the world, skating with guys he thought would be his buds forever. Now everything had changed.

  He looked up at his building. Sadly, it was the same. The white bricks still looked dingy, like someone had poured a huge cup of coffee over the entire place. There was garbage everywhere. One of the windows in the lobby door was boarded up and Grady was sleeping in the alley. The scene made the hurt in his heart worse.

  Rocket wheeled his bag into the lobby. He had no idea where he’d store his stuff. He’d always left it at Ty’s. His dad had even built a small room downstairs for the equipment, with dummies to dry stuff out.

  He stopped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was like a bad shift, he told himself. It was over, done with. Flush it, as Coach Neilson used to say. Greg would find him a team, and then he’d show that Barker. He’d show them all — Money, Craig, Jerrett, Joshua — all of them. Barker was an idiot, and there were lots of good teams — the Thunder, the Rangers, the Kings, the Sharks, the Nats. Let’s see what the Huskies would do without him, without their lead scorer.

  And how awesome would it be when his new team kicked their butts. He’d have the last laugh at Bark-Breath — and Rob and Money’s dad — and Greg and Rod — and Ty and Adam, too.

  Too small?

  Not this Rocket!

  CHAPTER 5

  He dropped his equipment in the living room. He’d figure out where to put it later.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Maddy asked.

  “Maddy? What are you doing here?”

  He walked into the kitchen. She closed the laptop.

  “I didn’t feel like hanging with Griffen, so I called your mom and asked if I could stay here.”

  He shrugged, but it was the last thing he wanted. He could use some alone time.

  “She should be home in a sec,” Maddy said cheerfully. “She just called: said she was around the corner. I’m surprised you didn’t see her when you came up.”

  He nodded.

  “I thought you were going to Ty’s to play on his awesome Xbox and do all sorts of awesome stuff at his awesome house?”

  “Nope.”

  Her mouth opened slightly. “Okay,” she said finally. “You want to … Hey, your mom said there was chicken in the fridge for your dinner. Are you hungry?” She sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

  “Nothing.”

  He so wanted her to leave.

  The door opened.

  He crossed his arms and closed his eyes and leaned against the wall.

  “You’re home! Maddy thought you were going over to Ty’s. Do you want dinner?” his mom asked. He shook his head. She put an arm around his shoulders and kissed him on the head. “Okay, and let’s not be shy about a shower,” she said. “You really have a hockey smell on you today.”

  “It’s not me,” he snapped. “I barely worked up a sweat. There were fifty guys on the ice, at least. Played two shifts in a scrimmage and that’s it.”

  She sniffed the air. “Something smells funky.”

  “I smell it, too,” Maddy said.

  He rolled his neck. They were so irritating.

  “I wonder if it’s the garbage?” his mom said.

  “It’s my stupid hockey bag!” he yelled.

  His mom, wide-eyed, was clearly not impressed.

  “When did you decide that kind of behaviour was acceptable?” she said.

  “Well … it’s like … the smell is the most important thing in the world … It’s kind of annoying. Sorry,” he managed.

  His mom opened the fridge. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to eat?” she said. “Are you hungry, Maddy?”

  “Maybe a little,” she said.

  “Didn’t you eat dinner?”

  Maddy shrugged. “I wasn’t that hungry.”

  His mom took two Tupperware containers from the fridge. “You know you can help yourself anytime, Maddy. Now I feel bad thinking you’ve been sitting here hungry all this time.”

  “I really wasn’t hungry,” Maddy said.

  “Nonsense,” his mom said. “Can you get two plates, Bryan? And some glasses — and heck, why not some cutlery?”

  She laughed.

  Rocket growled and kicked at the floor.

  His mom’s smile faded. “You’re not making this the most pleasant moment in my life,” she said to him.

  “Aren’t you even going to ask about the tryout, or why the hockey bag’s here?”

  He couldn’t believe how little they cared.

  His mom sighed. “Bryan, I’ve just finished a twelve-hour shift at the group home. One kid with autism ran away and for two hours we couldn’t find him. Another kid told me he’s depressed and doesn’t want to get out of bed. So excuse me if I didn’t walk in the door and immediately ask about your tryout. I’m not asking for a lot of slack, but a tiny bit would be nice.”

  “That’s what you always say: ‘Cut me some slack, cut me some slack.’ Cut me some slack, why don’t you?”

  His mother folded her hands across her chest. Her eyes were red, and they had big bags under them. The laugh lines on her cheeks seemed deeper than normal.

  “Okay, Bryan,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. What’s wrong with the Huskies?”

  He suddenly remembered he was still wearing his Huskies jacket. He let it slip off and fall to the floor.

  “Can you at least hang that up?” his mom said wearily.

  “I’m going to throw it out,” he said.

  She didn’t respond.

  “I got cut,” he blurted.

  She put a hand to her mouth. “But … how? You were … You’re on the team, I thought. This seems totally last second.”

  Rocket’s stomach felt hard and tight, like he’d eaten a rock. “This was the tryout for next season. I wasn’t actually on the team — just assumed I was.”

  “Bryan …” She looked at him in wonder. “You did so well last year. What happened? Did you get nervous? I could talk to the coach.”

  “I didn’t get nervous,” he groaned. “There’s a new coach, this idiot named Barker. He played in the East Coast League, and in Italy or something, and he acts like such a big deal. Yells at guys all the time and says they suck and stuff, and all he cares about is size. If you’re big, you’re in.” He had to stop for a second to calm down. He had a big lump in his throat. “He cut me in front of everyone, in the dressing room, in front of Ty and Adam and — everyone. They read the names out, one at a time, and they didn’t call me. I had to walk out with everyone laughing at me and … and …” He couldn’t finish.

  “Are you sure that’s the reason?” his mom said quietly.

  “Barker told me I was too small, Mom. I asked him. He said he wants big guys. He even kept this useless defenceman because he’s big. I totally smoked the guy in the scrimmage, and set up Adam for a goal, but I got cut and he made it.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. “That’s so unfair,” she said. She sounded upset. “You’ve been on the team for three years. I’m going to speak to the co
ach, this Barker fellow, and give him a piece of my mind. It’s ridiculous to pick a team based solely on size.”

  “Don’t call! Please? He won’t listen. Trust me. He’s like a wall and he won’t care what you think.”

  “Is there a chance some guys will drop out and you can get back on?” Maddy said.

  He threw his hands up. “It doesn’t work that way! Guys don’t just drop out. This is the Huskies — best team in the league. Drop out and play for who?” He glared at her.

  Maddy looked over at his mom.

  “We can talk about this later,” his mom said. “I can imagine this is a shock and it’s very upsetting. I know this was very important to you. And … I’m a bit in a shock, too. You played for the Huskies for three years … and all the money I gave them … ridiculous. Every year it gets more expensive, too. Anyway, let’s eat and forget about the Huskies.”

  “First we need to call the Thunder and the Rangers — and the Kings, and the Sharks, and the Nats,” Rocket said. “They’re probably making offers tonight. They need to know I’m available. All the spots will be gone. Ty’s dad said he’d call some people, but who knows if he will.”

  “Hang up your coat and you can eat something. We can deal with this tomorrow,” his mother said. “I’m exhausted.”

  “You have to call now, seriously, or I won’t have a team this season. Spots go unbelievably fast.”

  “One night won’t matter, Bryan. It’s almost nine o’clock.”

  His head was going to explode. “Tomorrow is too late. I need you to do this. I can’t call. I’m a kid. They won’t talk to me. You have to. That’s what real parents do. They get their kids onto good teams. Jerrett’s and Mitchell’s dads are coaches, Money’s dad is a sponsor and Greg and Rod come to all the games — but you barely even see me play. You don’t get it!”

  “Enough!” Her eyes flashed. “I have to work shifts at the group home, but I’ve seen you play plenty — I’ve frozen in more rinks that I can remember. Your dad can be an assistant coach if he wants. I’m not the hockey fan in the family.”

  “So now it’s dad’s fault? He lives too far away.”

  She slammed her hand on the counter and Maddy jumped. “As usual, it’s the awful mom’s fault — the one who has a job and pays the bills. Who do you think pays for your hockey? Not your wonderful father who can’t seem to keep a job or pay his child support.”

  “You haven’t mentioned that today — a new record. Good job, Mom.”

  “And I could do without the sarcasm.”

  “I don’t care!” Rocket shouted.

  He stormed off. He gave his equipment a kick on the way to his bedroom, then slammed the door so loud the trophies on his shelf shook. The Huskies championship trophy sat on his desk. He squeezed past his bed and picked it up. The golden hockey player stared into space, posed gripping a stick. Rocket reared back to throw it at the wall.

  Then he put it back on his desk. He’d earned it: Barker couldn’t take that away. He sat down on his bed. His walls were covered in hockey posters. He’d strung a bunch of medals below the trophies on his shelf. His entire life was there, everything he’d ever done, everything important in his life. What did they mean now? Maybe he should throw them all out.

  He looked at his trophies and medals for a while.

  Guys get cut from teams all the time — or traded. Barker has his opinions. So what?

  Rocket continued to stare.

  But he was small. He was smaller than anyone else on the team.

  What if Barker was right?

  The front door closed. Maddy must have left. He’d acted like a jerk to his mom — he knew his dad wasn’t really the best dad ever. Not even close. He maybe saw him once a month.

  Still sitting, Rocket bounced on the bed a couple of times, the mattress squeaking each time. When he was a little kid, he used to bounce up and down for hours, even though his mom and dad begged him to stop. They had to buy him a new mattress when he was six because he’d trashed his old one. That seemed like a million years ago. He thought about what had happened since then: his parents fighting all the time and finally divorcing, moving out of their townhouse into this crappy apartment, saying goodbye to all his friends.

  A wave of fear swept down his spine.

  What if Barker was right?

  What if Bryan Rockwood was too small to play competitive hockey?

  There was a knock at the door, and then his mom came in. Rocket bounced softly on the bed and looked down at the floor.

  “Sorry, Mom. I was mad about getting cut. I lost it. I’ll say sorry to Maddy, too. I didn’t mean it. Forget what I said.”

  He instantly felt better.

  His mom sat next to him and began to rub his back. “It’s okay, honey. I had a tough day at work and wasn’t giving you the attention you deserved. That’s not fair to you. I’m sorry, too.” She paused, and with a twinkle in her eye, added, “My bad.”

  He tried not to laugh. “Kids don’t really say that anymore.”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “Great. Just when I get cool you change the lingo on me.”

  Rocket pushed back against the wall. “The guy they kept, that defenceman, he’s huge; I swear he’s as big as Barker.”

  “I’m not sure I want you playing against someone that size,” she said.

  “I can take care of myself,” he said. “I’m used to it. Why am I so small, though?” He squeezed his hands between his thighs. “It’s so brutal seeing guys getting bigger and bigger, and I stay the same. I know you’re not the tallest, but Dad’s pretty big, and don’t sons take after their fathers?”

  “The doctor said there’s nothing wrong with you. Your dad was small until he turned eighteen, and then he shot up six inches in one year.”

  “That’ll be too late,” he said sadly. “They draft when you’re eighteen.”

  “Who does, dear?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said.

  He’d sound stupid if he told her the NHL.

  She folded her hands on her lap. “So who did you want me to call, and how do we get the numbers?”

  “You should call Greg,” he said eagerly. “He knows all the teams. This’ll be better, anyway. Barker was a jerk. Kept bragging about playing in the East Coast League — it’s way lower than the AHL.”

  She smiled. “I’ll take your word on that.”

  “And they want to do some stupid fancy Europe tour because Money’s dad is such a big shot. They’ll be fundraising all the time, and you hate that as much as me. I’ll find another team, with a better coach.” His eyes opened wide. “We should call Coach Neilson. I’m so stupid. He’s totally connected. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Okay. How about that shower?” she said.

  “Sure. And you’ll call Ty’s dad and Coach Neilson?”

  She tussled his hair. “Yes, Bryan.”

  “As in … now?”

  She laughed and stood up. “I promise to call Greg and Coach Neilson immediately and get one Bryan ‘The Rocket’ Rockwood on the best team in the whole world.”

  “Awesome, Mom.”

  She opened the door.

  “Hey, Mom … Thanks.”

  She closed her eyes briefly and then shook her head. “You don’t have to thank me, honey. Happy to do it.” She closed the door behind her.

  His heart began to race. He needed to get pumped. He pictured Barker behind the bench, watching as he scored the winning goal to knock the Huskies out of the playoffs. Rocket let himself enjoy the image for a while. Then he hopped off the bed and began to do sit-ups. No more slacking off. He had to stick to his routine. The next few days were going to be totally intense: new team, new coaches, new players. He’d need to bring it, every play, every drill, every time he touched the puck, from the second his skates hit the ice.

  This Rocket wasn’t out of fuel — not even close.

  CHAPTER 6

  His mom slowed the car and turned left.

  “There’s a spo
t over there,” Rocket said, “or you can just drop me off in front.”

  They cruised past a row of cars.

  “Just park somewhere,” he said, pressing against his seat in frustration. “We’ve gone around ten times. I’ll miss the stupid tryout.”

  “Bryan, please relax. You’ve got plenty of time. There’s a spot right there.”

  She pulled into it.

  “For the record, this rink took us an hour to get to, and there was no traffic. Griffen can’t lend us his car every time you play. If this is their home rink, I don’t see how it’ll work,” she said.

  “Griffen said it was no problem.”

  “We can’t impose on him that much.”

  “I haven’t even gotten out of the car and you’re telling me I can’t play?”

  “I didn’t say that, but I’m going to have to speak to the coach and find out if we can get into a carpool.”

  Rocket groaned. “This is my only option. The Rangers, the Thunder and the Nats have no spots, the Kings said no, and the Sharks didn’t even return our call. I don’t want to play for the Wilmont Demons — we used to call them the Doorknobs — but they’re my last chance.”

  His mother opened her door. “I’m only saying I have to speak to the coach. I didn’t say you couldn’t play. Let’s not worry about the driving yet. We’ll work it out. We always do.” She blinked a few times. “Might be a good time for you to get your stuff and go.”

  “Good idea.” He paused. “I’m kind of losing it, aren’t I?”

  “Sort of, but I know this is hard. We’ll get through it.” She squeezed his arm. “You better ‘bring it’ this tryout!”

  “I got ya,” he laughed.

  He grabbed his equipment from the trunk, and they set off for the rink. The lobby was packed: hockey bags strewn about, groups of parents milling around the snack bar, kids running around. And, near the doors to the rink, there was a long white table with a man and a woman sitting behind it. Rocket felt a rush of nerves.