by David Skuy
He shook his head. Then he reached for one of the papers.
“I want you to know that I’m only going to help you deliver your stupid papers because you’re too useless to do it yourself,” he said. “Also, you can’t kill me — I’m your only friend. And, just for you, I’ll go to the stupid tryout.” He grinned and looked down at the paper in his hand. “Do people still read these? Why don’t they download them like normal people?”
“You got doors 201, 202, 207, 208, 211 and 214.”
“You can count on me.”
“I know I can.” She said it very seriously.
Rocket began to put the papers in front of the doors.
“I forgot to ask. What did Ty and Adam do when you got cut?” she called out.
He threw a paper in front of apartment 214. “Nothing. What could they do?”
“Speak to the coach. Get you back on the team. Do something? Aren’t they your best friends?”
“Yeah. But it doesn’t work that way.”
Maddy pulled the trolley to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened right away and she pushed it in. They rose to the third floor. “Thanks for helping,” she said, “and you got 301, 302, 303 and 306.” The doors opened. “Now get to work.”
Rocket went to the end of the hall. He’d been struggling over the decision to go to the Bowmont tryout for two days, and she got him to agree to go in two minutes! She was wrong about school, though. It wasn’t going to be easy to ignore what the guys would say — not when he’d been known as the Rocket: the big shot hockey player with the Huskies jacket. When they found out he was playing for the worst team in AA, that whole image was going to backfire on him.
“Hurry up. Papers don’t deliver themselves — and there’s a Crunchie bar in it for you,” Maddy said.
“Can’t do a Crunchie. Got a tryout tonight,” Rocket said.
CHAPTER 10
Rocket shuffled his books and papers into a stack and stuffed them into the bottom of his locker. Grade six had been so much easier — one teacher, one room. Now they had to move from class to class. He kept forgetting things and having to run to his locker after every period. All around him, kids tossed their books into their lockers and grabbed their lunch bags.
The idea of lunch brought a smile to his face. One thing wasn’t going to change this year: the Butt Kickers were going to win intramural floor hockey.
He and Ty had formed the team in grade four and ended up beating a grade five team for the championship. They hadn’t lost a game since, and with Ty, Adam and him on the floor, they’d won the championship again last year. Adam had posted on Facebook that he’d recruited two more AAA players, Brandon Harrison and Nicolas Kingstone. Rocket barely knew them. They’d just come to Forest Mills for grade seven. Adam had started hanging out with them after Christmas. Rocket had written back that he didn’t think they needed more guys, but Ty didn’t seem to care.
Rocket grabbed his lunch. It would be a squat and gobble: the Butt Kickers’ first game was in fifteen minutes. His locker door slammed shut, and he spun around. Adam and Ty were laughing.
“Did we scare you?” Adam said.
“Only now that I see your faces,” Rocket said.
“Let’s scare each other in the caf,” Ty said. “The guys are meeting us there, and I want time to eat.”
Adam elbowed Rocket. “Guys, check this out.” He grinned and nodded across the hall at a boy opening his locker.
“Hey, Big Red,” Adam said, “I can’t remember the capital of Venezuela.”
The boy stuffed his books into his locker. “Look it up — it’s called the internet,” he said, without turning around.
“Oh, c’mon,” Adam said, a huge smile on his face. “I don’t have my phone with me and it’s been bugging me all day. You’re on the Forest Mills trivia team. You must know it. You know everything about stuff that’s not important.”
The boy closed his locker and set off down the hall.
“Big Red, this isn’t you. We’re bros. Dude? It’s me. Ad-man! Call me and we’ll hang!”
Big Red turned the corner, and Adam and Ty burst out laughing. Rocket smiled, but he wished his friend would leave people alone. A few years ago, Adam had come up with the nickname Big Red — because of the kid’s curly red hair. He’d made the guy’s life miserable ever since.
“He kills me,” Adam said. “Is he not the funniest guy ever?”
They went down the stairs and headed to the cafeteria. A few kids were milling around the door. Rocket barrelled right through; when you were on the Butt Kickers, you didn’t wait for people to get out of the way. He spotted the other guys on the team sitting at their usual table by the window. He remembered when he came to Forest Mills and had to eat with the big kids. He’d been terrified. That’s when he’d met Ty and Adam, huddled by the little tables at the front, the worst ones. Sure enough, the grade fours were sitting there.
All the boys at his table were wearing hoodies with their hockey team’s logo. Rocket had thrown his Huskies hoodie under his bed. He felt a little self-conscious being the only kid without one, and tried to look casual and relaxed. This is no big deal, he told himself.
“Yo, Butt Kickers. We stoked for the annual championship run?” Rocket said.
“We got it in the bag with Harry and Kinger,” Adam said.
Adam held out a fist and the two boys punched it. For a second Rocket was confused, but then he got it. Harry was Brandon Harrison and Kinger was Nicolas Kingstone. Harry and Kinger both wore Rangers jackets.
“Can you move over a bit?” Rocket asked Kinger. The table was crowded.
Kinger took a bite from his sandwich and pointed with his elbow to the next table. “Sit there, bro,” he mumbled.
“Um … What did you … What?” Rocket said.
Kinger made a big show of gulping his food. “Sit over there, bro. No room.”
Rocket took a step forward.
“He’s just messing with you,” Ty broke in. He laughed, although it sounded hollow to Rocket. “Move over, Kinger.”
Kinger grimaced and shifted over a bit. Rocket was about to say something, but decided to let it go and get to lunch. They had to play soon. The guy was obviously a jerk. Since when did Adam have the right to add guys on his own, anyway?
“Hey, Ad-man, did I tell you we’re going to Boston and Michigan for tourneys next season?” Kinger said.
“Going to be wicked trips,” Harry said.
“Nice try,” Adam said. “Huskies are off to Europe. That’s called an In Your Face Disgrace, in case you’re keeping score.” He and Ty high-fived.
Kinger shrugged. “I’ll give you that one. We’re focused on the season more than tourneys, anyway. This year is going to be different. You watch. Rangers will totally surprise.”
“You’ll surprise by making the playoffs, bro,” Adam said. “Huskies smoked you last season, and we’ll smoke you worse this year. We’re stacked, bro. You won’t even see it coming.
Ty and the other guys were laughing. Rocket didn’t see what was so funny. Sounded more like bragging.
“Whatever,” Kinger said. “We loaded up, too. We picked up that number nine from the Red Wings. That dude is awesome.”
“I remember him,” Ty said. “He’s a centre, right?”
Kinger and Harry nodded. Rocket remembered, too. He’d gone head-to-head with him in the semi-finals practically every shift — and he’d outscored him.
Kinger tilted his head slightly toward Rocket, and with a half-smile said, “So where are you playing?”
Definitely not the question Rocket wanted to answer in front of this crew. “Not sure. Got a few more tryouts.”
“Ty told me his dad set you up with the Demons,” Adam said.
Rocket shot Ty a look. He’d told him to keep that quiet. Ty looked down at the table.
“Wilmont! C’mon. They’re, like, the saddest team in the world,” Harry said. “You can’t play for them.”
“They�
�re not that bad,” Ty said.
“Remember when we played them and Coach Neilson told us not to score after the first period?” Adam said. “I had three open nets, but I had to shoot wide on purpose.”
“Remember that game against the Blackhawks when you got benched?” Harry said to Kinger.
“It’s 6–0 after one period,” Kinger said, grinning. “Coach tells us to lay off. I say, ‘Hockey is hockey, and you play at one speed — all out.’ I went end-to-end and roofed one, and he sat me for the rest of the game.”
The guys thought that was funny, too. Rocket was taking a serious dislike to these two guys, especially Kinger.
“What are you going to do?” Adam asked Rocket.
He felt as if a giant spotlight was burning down on him. “Like I said, tryouts aren’t over.”
“They are for AAA,” Harry said. Rocket could tell Kinger was trying not to laugh.
“You don’t know everything, bro,” Rocket said.
“You should look around more. AA’s okay and the best teams would give most AAA teams a run for it,” the kid next to Ty said. He was their goalie, Ben MacDonald. He played for the Young Nationals, or the Nats, as everyone called them, and was possibly the best goalie in AAA.
“My dad told me he’d set up another tryout for you,” Ty said. “Who was it with again?”
The spotlight was getting brighter. “I … um … not sure …” Rocket said.
All eyes were on Ty as he looked up to the ceiling, his face fixed in concentration.
“Bowmont,” he shouted, and the boys laughed. Ty looked around proudly. “It just popped into my head. Bowmont’s the team. You going out for them?”
“Never heard of them,” Adam said. “Have you?” he asked Harry.
He shook his head.
“Me, neither,” Kinger said. “Are they new?”
“I’ve heard of them,” a kid next to Ty piped up. His name was Thomas Jakobsson. He was Swedish and his dad had actually played on Sweden’s national team way back when. Thomas played for the Aeros, a AA team. He’d been on the Butt Kickers since grade four, too. He was a good defenceman.
Rocket put his sandwich down. It tasked like chalk.
“They’re AA,” Thomas said.
Kinger snickered and covered his face with his hand. Adam looked out the window. The other boys looked uncomfortable.
“We should get going,” Ty said. “Game is going to start. Let’s go kick some butt.”
The boys let out a whoop and together they headed to the gym. Rocket trailed behind. At least it was out there and he wouldn’t have to deal with it again. And if something came up in the next month or so, he’d have the last laugh. Ty opened the gym door to the sound of clashing sticks and pucks ricocheting off the walls. Maybe a little butt-kicking would cheer him up — and, boy, could he use that!
CHAPTER 11
Rocket took a plastic stick from the bin and immediately began to bend the blade to increase the curve. His friends were doing the same. Ty and Adam were talking to Kinger and Harry. After that lunch, he had no desire to join the conversation.
He spotted an orange puck under a bench. He hooked it out with his blade and began to stickhandle rapidly. Ben wasn’t ready yet, so when Rocket got close to the net, he wristed the puck up high — too high as it turned out. The puck nicked the crossbar and flipped into the air. Rocket took a few steps closer and swung at it baseball-style. He connected, and the puck flew into the right corner of the net.
Rocket spun, a big grin in place, expecting a cheer from Ty and Adam. They were still talking to Kinger and Harry. He fished the puck out. It was still a chill move, he told himself. Ben grabbed his goalie stick and stepped between the pipes.
“I’ll warm you up,” Rocket said. He lobbed the puck at Ben’s pads. “You guys doing many tournaments?”
“We aren’t going to Europe,” Ben said.
Rocket laughed and shot again.
“The Huskies are kind of over-the-top that way,” Rocket said. “I’m not going to miss that team too much, other than playing with Ty and Adam.” He held onto the puck. “Coach is a total jerk, too.”
“So you quit?” Ben said, as if surprised.
“Let’s say the decision was mutual,” Rocket said.
Ben didn’t react. Rocket shot a puck to his glove.
“Why aren’t you playing for another AAA team?” Ben asked.
Rocket curled the blade of his stick and shot another puck, this time to Ben’s blocker. “I think I blew it by waiting too long and I got caught in the numbers game. All the teams have signed guys, but they tell me there will be spots by September. So … I guess I wait and see.”
Ben slid two pucks back. “Tough, bro. Bit of a risk waiting until September. You could be in house league.” He laughed to show he wasn’t serious.
“You may be right,” Rocket said. “At least I’d get lots of ice time.” He fired a low shot.
Ben dropped into a butterfly and kicked it away.
“Ready for a warm-up?” Kinger called out. He shot one from about ten metres out.
Rocket turned around. “What do you think I’ve been doing?” he snapped.
Kinger ignored him and shot again, a slapper. Ben kicked it out with his left pad. Adam rushed in, banged in the rebound and raised his stick above his head.
“The garbage man is in the house,” he said. He curled his blade. “Who we playing, anyway?”
“Don’t matter,” Kinger growled. He hooked the puck from Rocket’s stick. “I wouldn’t try to stop this one. It’s going to hurt too much,” he said. Ben grunted and got into his stance.
Rocket went over to Ty.
“Why do we need those two guys?” he said quietly. “I mean, for real, do we have to play with Kinger?”
Ty shrugged. “Adam was hyped about it, and he figured if we didn’t get them, they’d play for someone else.” He paused then added, “And they’re AAA.”
“Meaning?”
Ty looked away. “Nothing. They’re okay guys. Give them a chance.”
“What’s the okay part of Kinger?”
Ty didn’t answer.
“It’s our team, yours and mine,” Rocket said. “Adam shouldn’t decide things like this — at least not by himself.”
“It’s no big deal, just intramurals.”
He obviously wasn’t interested. Rocket changed the topic. “You want to do something this Saturday? Take shots on the wall?”
He and Ty often spent hours firing tennis balls at targets on the school wall.
“I got practice, then I think Money’s dad is having lunch for us at his golf club. Maybe after.”
Rocket nodded glumly.
A whistle blew. A kid wearing a referee’s jersey stood in the middle of the gym and waved his hand. “Sorry I’m late. Let’s get going.”
Ty bounced his blade on the floor a few times. “So … let’s get some more hardware for the Butt Kickers.”
That was more like Ty. “Sounds good,” Rocket said. “We need to graduate next year with a perfect record.”
“Bring it,” Ty said.
“Bring it,” Rocket repeated.
Adam, Kinger and Harry came over.
“We got too many men,” Rocket said. “Only four at a time.”
“Solve the problem,” Kinger said.
Harry snickered.
Rocket and Kinger locked eyes. “I started this team in grade four,” Rocket said. “Me and Ty. Maybe the newest guys on the team should solve the problem.”
“C’mon, Butt Kickers,” the ref said. “I’m dropping the puck.”
“AAA players start,” Kinger said. “That’s only fair. We’ll get a lead and then you can come on. We have to make sure we win first.”
“You kidding me?” Rocket thundered. “How many goals did you score last season? One?”
“You don’t even come up to my knees on the ice. Give me a break.”
His mocking tone was even more irritating than his trash talk.
Rocket waited for Ty and Adam to say something. They didn’t, and their silence was worse than anything Kinger said. He looked each of the four boys squarely in the face.
“You guys are obviously too awesome for me. Good luck with the season and, sorry, but I’m too busy to come to the Butt Kickers’ team banquet.” To Ty and Adam he added, “And no way I’m good enough for three-on-three, so let’s forget that, too.”
He dropped his stick and walked away.
“C’mon, Rocket,” Ty said. “It’s a stupid floor hockey game. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
Rocket kept going. It took all his cool not to lose it. This topped it off. After all the stuff that had happened to him, after getting cut from the Huskies, his best friends do this to him. His life was heading downhill faster than he could have imagined. He pushed the gym doors open and turned down the hall, rage flooding over him in waves. It hurt his chest, even. He was twice the player Kinger was — no, ten times — better than Ty or Adam, too.
He didn’t need to play three-on-three. Waste of time.
He didn’t want to go to Europe.
He was going way farther than that.
CHAPTER 12
“Hey, Rocket. Hold up.”
Ty ran over. He was still holding his floor hockey stick.
“What’s that all about, bro? Seriously. It’s just floor hockey. You can go on for me. I don’t care,” Ty said.
A flood of bitterness swept over Rocket. “It’s not about that. It’s about how stupid it is that Kinger and Harry were invited to the team without asking me … or you. Then they decide to start and I’m supposed to sit on the bench like a loser until the great AAA players are finished? It’s a joke.”
“No one thinks you’re a loser. It’s just … that’s always been the rule,” Ty said. “AAA players start. I mean, Thomas never complains.”
“I am AAA. So what the stupid Huskies cut me because …” It hurt too much to say it.