by David Skuy
Duane rubbed his knees with his hands. “You should’ve made it,” he said to Rocket quietly. “I asked my dad. He said they thought you were too small. I figured you’d want to know.”
Rocket couldn’t find the words. A week ago, he would’ve laughed in someone’s face if they’d said he couldn’t make the Wilmont Demons.
“To be honest, I don’t want to play for them, either,” Duane said. He actually looked upset. “I had friends on my last team. I don’t know anyone here. And I’m sick of never having time for anything else. I’d quit, but my dad would freak out. He thinks I’m going to the NHL. He even tells people that.”
He looked so sad Rocket had to feel sorry for him.
Duane raised his eyebrows. “I’ll give you my size if you give me your speed.”
Rocket had to laugh. “Deal.”
“So who else have you tried out for?” Duane said.
“No one, yet. I’ll find something. I’m not worried.”
Duane’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. “My dad’s been going crazy because he says all the teams are filled up. You might want to hurry and make a decision.”
“Yeah. My mom’s on top of it. I’ll be okay.”
A sick feeling rolled over him. How would he be okay? Wilmont was one of the worst teams in AAA, and they’d cut him.
Could it really be over?
Was this the end of the line?
CHAPTER 8
Rocket slid the chocolate powder across the table. Maddy tossed a couple of spoonfuls into her mug and stirred, the spoon clinking against the sides. She kept stirring and stirring.
“Bugging you yet?” She grinned.
“In about a minute I’m going to throw myself over the balcony, but otherwise not really,” Rocket said.
“I figured you couldn’t take it. You’re soft, Rockwood.”
He patted his stomach. “I did three hundred sit-ups this morning. Check it out.”
She pointed to his head. “I meant there.”
He pushed the cookies toward her. “Eat up, chubby.” It was an old joke of theirs. Maddy was rail thin.
Maddy pretended to pout. “I brought them to cheer you up, and I’ve eaten them all and you haven’t had one.”
“I’m in training.”
“One cookie is going to make you fat?”
“I … Maybe later.”
She groaned and took another bite of cookie. “Bryan, you have to lighten up.”
“It’s not that. I’m not hungry.”
She took a tiny bite and nodded slowly. “You didn’t tell me about your tryout last night with the Demons. That’s a serious name, by the way. What do their sweaters look like? Do they have a one-eyed monster holding a stick?”
“Sort of. More like a green-faced little guy with mad hair. Anyway, the tryout was a waste. Totally lame team. We barely did any drills, and this idiot stayed on the ice for ten minutes when we scrimmaged and I didn’t get to play. Team has no discipline. No way am I playing for them; I’m not that desperate. I don’t want to lose every game this year, either, thanks very much.”
Maddy put her cookie down. “So when’s the next tryout?”
It had been two days since the Wilmont tryout, and the sting of getting cut was still painful.
“Don’t know.”
“But you told me teams get filled up … like there are basically no spots after a few days.”
“Um … Yeah. I guess.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“But why didn’t you just play for Wilmont so you at least have a team?” she said.
His stomach dropped. For some stupid reason he could never lie to her. Sometimes it was irritating.
“I … I got cut again,” he said.
She stared at him, clearly in shock. “But you told me they weren’t any good? How did that happen? You played on the best team, and now you can’t make one of the worst? Are there any other teams?”
“Not in AAA, and I can’t drop a level. Once you do, it’s impossible to go back up. You get labelled.”
She gave him a sad smile.
“It’s not that bad,” he said. “Seriously. Lots of guys move around between now and September when the season starts. Guys accept offers and then get a better one and leave an opening. I heard of a guy last year who signed in September with the Kings.”
“Are the Kings any good?”
“Good? They played us in the finals. I think the smart thing is to play it cool and wait. Something will open up, for sure.”
Maddy popped the rest of her cookie into her mouth and chewed slowly. “So your strategy is to do nothing until September?” She didn’t sound impressed.
“I’m not saying that. I’ll definitely keep looking. But tryouts are basically done for AAA. No point panicking.”
“I thought it was ‘bring it?’”
“I’ll ‘bring it’ when I play against the Huskies and get a hat trick.”
“Mr. Rockwood, you really are the most serious boy I’ve ever met. You may know hockey, but I know something you don’t.”
“That’s very unlikely,” he said, “but go ahead.”
“This situation calls for a cheer-me-up chocolate bar. Fortunately, someone you admire very much — someone you worship, to be more precise — got paid yesterday for delivering newspapers.” She pulled out a ten-dollar bill.
He patted his stomach again. “Thanks. This is a chocolate-free zone.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be so boring. Are we going to sit here all night and talk about AAA and hockey and Wilmont and Huskies? Let’s go before it gets too late.”
“I can’t slack off now,” Rocket said. He wanted her to understand how important this was. He couldn’t blow his hockey career by stuffing his face with junk food. “It took me time to figure it out, but I think I get why the Huskies cut me. I’d lost my intensity. I was always joking around in the locker room and on the ice. I was overconfident and I thought I could just walk on and make the team. I can’t do that at my size. I’ve learned my lesson, big time. I have to earn it, every practice, every shift, every game.”
“You’re thirteen, Bryan.”
“You don’t understand what it takes to make it,” he said.
She was just like everyone else.
“Make it? How many guys make it to the NHL — one in a thousand, in ten thousand, in a hundred thousand?” she said.
“You mean how many guys my size make it?” he thundered.
Maddy’s eyes softened. “That’s not what I meant. Okay, Mr. Serious, I got another idea. Why don’t I buy two chocolate bars and I’ll eat mine and you can watch me eat yours.”
Rocket relaxed his shoulders and rested his hands on the table. “I’ll have one bite to make you feel better.”
She pouted. “Do you have to?”
The front door opened.
“Hi, Risa,” Maddy called out. “How’s it going?”
His mom came into the kitchen. “I’m doing well. How are you both?”
“Awesome,” Maddy said. “How was work?”
“Exhausting, as usual.” His mom paused. “Hi, Bryan.”
“Hi,” he murmured.
His mom smiled. “I have some interesting news to cheer up Mr. Grumpy-Pants,” she said.
“I like that even better than Mr. Serious,” said Maddy. “Suits him.”
Rocket closed his eyes for a moment to let his irritation pass.
“I won’t keep you in suspense,” his mom said. “It’s obviously too much for you. Greg texted me. He found a team.”
Rocket sat up.
“Look at that. All interested in your mommy now, aren’t you?”
“I’m just tired, Mom. And you made me grumpy by calling me grumpy.”
“Gee. Sorry, Bryan.”
“I accept your apology.”
She looked at her phone. “The team is called the Bowmont Blues and they’re having a tryout in a couple of days — Friday,
I think. Greg spoke to the coach, and she said she’d love for you to come out.” His mom looked at him and wrinkled her brow. “What’s wrong now?” she asked.
“Does it have to do with the fact the coach is a she?” Maddy said.
“Please,” his mom said. “You haven’t even met her.”
As usual, they didn’t get it. He could care less if the coach was a she, a he or an it. “Bowmont’s not in AAA,” he said.
“Is that really so important?” his mom said. “I’m sure it’s a good team, or Greg wouldn’t have recommended it.” She looked back at her phone. “It’s a AA team.”
Rocket reached for the laptop and typed in the name. The Bowmont Blues, AA: tenth place. He felt like his blood was draining from his body. He searched for the standings from last season.
“Bryan? What’s up?” Maddy said.
He felt like throwing up.
“Bryan?” his mom said softly.
He spun the laptop around for them to see. “Last place,” he said. “Last place — zero wins.” He waited for it to sink in
“Bryan, it’s going to be okay,” his mom said. “If this works out, and from the sound of it the coach is very interested, then you have a team. That’s the point, isn’t it?”
If Maddy hadn’t been there, he might have lost it. Bowmont was the worst team in AA — which meant they weren’t really a AA team, not with zero wins. Was he that desperate? What if Ty or Adam heard? He’d be the joke of the school. The put-downs would be brutal.
Maddy caught his eye. “Didn’t you say spots open up all the time?”
“I might’ve exaggerated about that a bit,” he said, too miserable to pretend otherwise.
“Then you’ll play for Bowmont and prove them all wrong,” Maddy said.
“I … I don’t know. Scouts don’t watch AA games. I have to think about it. Maybe I’m done … Maybe.” He stood up. “Sorry. I’m tired. I’ll take a pass on the chocolate bars, Maddy. Thanks. I think I’ll go to bed. Tell Ty’s dad I’m not sure. Tell him thanks, too. I just have to …”
He left the kitchen before they could see his face.
CHAPTER 9
He ran through the puddle. The water splashed his ankles and made his saggy track pants a little heavier. Rocket wiped his eyes with his sleeve, jumped down off the curb and crossed the road to the park.
Other than the occasional delivery truck and the odd early riser, the streets were deserted. Although at six in the morning he didn’t expect much action. The path around the park was muddy from the rain, so he shifted over and ran through the trees. The sloshing sound as his feet slogged through the soft turf was comforting; it was almost like having a running buddy. Three laps and he’d be done. He found it a struggle to breathe in the damp, cool air. He needed to push through it, though.
Had his fitness been the difference at the Huskies tryout? When you were his size, you needed to be the fittest guy on the ice.
Rocket slipped between two evergreen trees. Water from the branches fell onto him. This was no fun. He saw his apartment building and longed to go back and slide into bed for another hour before he had to get up for school. Instead, he put his head down and rounded the corner. He’d promised himself he’d run to the library and back, then do three laps in the park, so that’s what he was going to do. He trudged along and finished his second lap. That cheered his spirits and he picked up the pace, pretending it was late in the third period and it was up to him to win it for the Huskies.
He checked himself. The Huskies weren’t his team anymore.
“Hey, Marathon Man. You’re wet. Trust me.”
He waved at Maddy and held up his finger to show her he had one more lap. Then he began sprinting full out.
At the end, he blasted between the evergreens, slid on two feet and stopped in front of Maddy, throwing in some jazz hands.
“If hockey doesn’t work out you can always fall back on your mud-boy dancing act,” she said.
“It’s more a hobby than a passion,” he said, his hands falling to his sides. He was tired.
“You in the NHL yet?”
“Soon,” he said.
They walked back to the building. He liked running early, before all the cars and people showed up and things got noisy. Somehow the streets and buildings weren’t so ugly and grey in the morning.
“I forgot to tell you,” he said. “I got some major news—”
“I heard already,” Maddy interrupted. “You memorized your phone number. You’re such a clever boy, aren’t you?”
“I forgive you for being sarcastic, because I know you’re only covering up your insecurities.” He grinned and gave her a little shove.
She held her arms out. “And the news is?”
“Guess.”
“Bryan, you’re so lame.”
“C’mon. Guess. I’ll give you a clue. It’s about Grady.” Maddy looked surprised.
He waited.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Okay, fine. I’ll tell you,” he said. “I did a search on Grady’s name. He told me he’d played for Springfield, which used to be a famous hockey team in the American Hockey League. And he did! There was a Grady Graham who played for Springfield about twenty-three years ago. He didn’t play for Eddie Shore, but he really did play professional hockey.”
“Get out of here!” Maddy shrieked. “No way it’s him — and who’s Eddie Shore?”
“Tsk, tsk. How can you not know Hall-of-Famer Eddie Shore? The Bruins retired his number. He played from the 1920s to the 1940s, and then he bought the Springfield Indians and coached for years. He was dead before Grady played.”
“How do you know it was our Grady?”
“I saw the team picture. I can’t believe how much he’s changed, but you can still tell. They called him the G-Man, I guess because of his initials. He was pretty good, too. Got lots of penalty minutes, but in his last year he scored twenty-seven goals, which isn’t bad for a tough guy.”
“What happened to him?”
“I read an article from back then that said he got hurt. I guess old Grady was telling the truth when he said he’d wrecked his knee.” Rocket kicked a pop can to her.
She dribbled it a couple of steps and kicked it back. “Weird story.”
“It is,” Rocket agreed. He kicked the can ahead. “So, you coming over tonight?”
She eyed him closely, then sighed. “You’ve forgotten already.”
“Huh?”
“The tryout? Griffen’s all freaked out because your mom’s borrowing his precious car.”
Rocket crunched the can. “I haven’t decided to go.”
“Because?”
He shrugged.
Grady was sitting by the doors, slumped against the wall, his head bobbing up and down.
“Yo, Grady, I read about your hockey career at Springfield. Major props,” Rocket said.
Grady groaned and buried his head into his chest.
“Grady?” Rocket said.
Maddy pulled on his arm and pressed her finger to her lips. They walked past him and into the lobby.
“That’s about the worst I’ve seen him,” Rocket said.
“It’s that new bar that’s opened around the corner, The Grove. Guys go out back to the laneway to smoke, and Grady gets drinks from them. That place is bad news,” she said.
“This neighbourhood is bad news,” he said.
“Yeah, well … at least it’s ours.” She pushed the elevator button. “Thanks for helping me deliver my papers, by the way.”
“Seriously? I have to stretch, do my push-ups and sit-ups, and then get ready for school.”
She rolled her eyes. “Really?”
“The Huskies did me a favour; it was a wake-up call. I’m going to get stronger, go harder on the puck, fill the net with pucks and show them they made a mistake. I’ll make them take me back.”
“Why play for them after what they did?”
The elevator opened. They stepped in, and she hit the button
for the second floor.
“The Huskies are the best.” Rocket shrugged. “Scouts look at the players on the best teams. It’s as simple as that.”
“But … since you can’t play for the Huskies, who are you going to play for?”
“I … That’s the part of the plan I haven’t figured out.”
“Then?”
“I don’t know!” he yelled, and kicked the elevator door with the side of his foot. “Everyone keeps asking me who I’m going to play for. What am I supposed to say? That all the AAA teams stiffed me and that I’m trying out for some lame AA club called Bowmont? The rest of this year, and next, is going to be a nightmare.”
“Hockey players are hard to take sometimes,” Maddy said. The doors opened and they walked out. A pile of newspapers was stacked on a trolley.
“What does that mean?”
“There are some AAA guys at my school; they’re all puffed up and they wear their jackets all the time. They act like they’re in the NHL already,” she said.
“So I’m puffed up?” Rocket felt himself getting mad. Of course guys wore their hockey jackets to school. He did.
“You put other guys down all the time if they’re not playing AAA or if they’re not on the Huskies — like how good people are at hockey is the only thing that matters. How do you know what Bowmont’s going to be like? Maybe they’re going to be better this year. You haven’t even seen them play — and you haven’t made the team, by the way.”
“Is this you cheering me up?”
“This is me telling you to stop whining about the stupid Huskies and get on a team and play already or I’m going to kill you.” She was red in the face and her fists were clenched. For a second he thought she was actually going to hit him.
They stood looking at each other. Rocket wanted so badly to yell something back, to tell her that she didn’t get it. Except she did get it; she always did. He had been a stuck-up AAA player, but he couldn’t be anymore. Not if he wanted to play hockey.
Maddy’s fists slowly unclenched. “I know you’re mad and embarrassed and seriously pissed. But aren’t you the guy who told me the game is won by the team that wants it the most? This is your third period. If you really want to make it, so what if a bunch of puffed up AAAers at your school start making fun of you? Forget them. Does the Rocket quit that easily?”