by David Skuy
Rocket stopped. There were too many times. And he may not have made fun of Nigel, but he’d done nothing to stop it. Nothing. In fact, he’d usually laughed along. He’d never thought about how Nigel felt, because he hadn’t cared.
His face hot with shame, Rocket made himself look Nigel in the eye. He saw a lot of library time in his future.
“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” Rocket said. “I’ve been a jerk, and so have my friends. We thought we were being funny. I know it won’t help, or maybe it won’t make sense, but honestly, we weren’t trying to be mean or bully you. We were just goofing on you, like we do to everyone. It’s like we don’t think about how it might bother other people. We just don’t, as long as our friends laugh. That doesn’t make it okay, I know. Anyway, you’re right that me and those guys, well, we’re not such good friends anymore.” Rocket looked out the window. It had only been a few weeks, but his life had turned completely upside down.
“Why aren’t you friends with those guys?” Bird said.
“It’s kind of complicated.”
They waited for him to continue.
Rocket sighed. “I was cut from a hockey team, the Huskies. I played on it with Ty and Ad-man, I mean Adam, and since I don’t play in that league no more …”
“It’s ‘anymore,’” Nigel said.
“Shh!” Megan and Bird snapped.
Nigel flushed. “Well, it is,” he murmured angrily.
“It’s okay, Nigel,” Rocket said. “I’m leaving.” He turned and reached for the doorknob.
“Quick question, Bryan,” Megan said. “Just so I get this straight, you’re not friends with those guys anymore just because you don’t play hockey with them?”
Rocket turned back, keeping his hand on the doorknob. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“I really don’t get boys,” she said.
“He has to be on the team,” Bird said to Nigel. “He’s a bigger misfit than you.”
Des and Daniel burst out laughing.
“This is a special moment: our first member who can actually play hockey. This is historic,” Bird said.
Megan lowered her head and looked at Nigel. “I think Bryan apologized,” she said.
Nigel slowly uncrossed his arms. He looked down at the floor. “Okay. We could try it.”
“I am sorry,” Rocket said. He really was, and he tried to say it as sincerely as he could. He walked over, his hand extended. Nigel hesitated, then shook it.
“Should we finish up with the African geography?” Des said. “I have a few more questions, or do we want to move into sports since Bryan is here — or is it Rocket?”
“Bryan’s good,” he said.
“You may as well finish up the geography,” Megan said.
Des began to fire out questions, and the others answered as fast as they could.
“The trick to this isn’t to just know the answer,” Megan whispered in Rocket’s ear. “We practise to train our minds to think fast. Speed is the key, not the knowledge.”
Rocket sat and listened, and every so often, a chuckle forced its way out. Bryan Rockwood was on the trivia team and playing hockey for the worst team in AA.
He looked over at Nigel. He couldn’t imagine having to come to school every day scared that some kids were going to embarrass you in front of everyone.
Although, maybe he could imagine it now.
CHAPTER 19
Rocket kicked his skates forward in tiny steps as he waited for the other centre to line up. It was his way of fighting the nerves messing with his stomach.
He’d told himself over and over that this was just an exhibition game. Deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. The boys were counting on him to produce. He’d felt them all looking at him in the dressing room. On the Huskies, he’d had Ty and Adam. Here, he was alone. Coach Sonia had even started him, with Blake on the left and Noah on the right.
They were probably the two best wingers on the team. They didn’t have Ty’s all-around game or Adam’s wicked shot and, of course, the chemistry wasn’t there. Still, they had skills. Noah was bent over, his stick on the ice, ready for the drop. He had the AAA intensity; Rocket would give him that. He worked hard, and his shot was okay, too. Foot speed needed work, maybe — he could lengthen his stride and not be so straight up-and-down. Blake was tougher to figure out. He had serious wheels and could handle the puck, but most of the time he barely put in an effort.
Usually, Rocket hated guys that didn’t work hard. He liked Blake, though — he kept things loose and fun.
André and Reid were on defence. André wore the C, and apparently had for the past three years.
The whistle blew and the ref raised his arm to each goalie. The Toros goalie nodded. Dominic smacked his pads with his paddle. Rocket put his stick down and the ref held the puck out. Rocket shifted his left foot back ever so slightly to give himself more leverage to pull the puck back.
It dropped.
A roar sounded from behind the Blues bench. Rocket grunted in satisfaction as the puck spun to André on the right. The captain took a couple of steps to his right, and Rocket broke off in that direction. André rewarded him with a perfect snap pass. Rocket crossed the red line. The quick move had caught the forwards napping. Blake was still on the line and Noah hadn’t moved either.
His first shift in his first game, Rocket didn’t want to look like a hog, so instead of attacking he rolled into the middle of the neutral zone and slipped the puck off the boards in Blake’s direction. The Toros right-winger out-hustled him for the puck, however, and was able to backhand it away. Reid was closest to the puck, so Rocket settled into an open spot two metres inside the red line and called for it.
Reid stayed rooted on the blue line.
“Reid!” Rocket shouted.
Too late. The Toros centre gathered the puck up. He took it hard at Reid and, a metre from the line, dumped it into the corner, shifting inside to get past him. André had anticipated the play and got to it first. Rocket figured he’d shovel it up the wall and he took off for the hash marks. Blake was still hanging outside the blue line.
“Use me, short-side,” Rocket called.
André, showing skill Rocket hadn’t known he had, pulled the puck toward his feet with the tip of his blade and, using the benefit of the angle, passed it to Rocket without bouncing it off the wall. Rocket whirled with the puck on his backhand into the high slot. Again, he had some clear ice ahead, but Noah had set up on the right side. When their eyes met, Rocket felt obliged and passed to him.
Then he cut across for the give-and-go. Noah snapped it over. Rocket took it in stride.
That was a Huskies-level breakout.
He took a few strides and sent it rink wide to Blake.
Rocket groaned. Okay, the guy was funny, but he was standing still. The pass missed him. The Toros right defenceman collected the puck inside his own end and swung it cross ice to his partner. He took off on a rush right up the middle. Blake lurked by the boards. He’ll cut him off, Rocket thought, so he moved to his right figuring that was where the puck would end up.
Good plan, except Blake did little more than hold his stick out. The defenceman blew by him and bore down on the Blues defence. He faked an outside move, fooling Reid, and continued up the middle. André wasn’t able to get over in time. Rocket couldn’t believe his eyes. One against five, he’d beaten them all and now bore down on Dominic.
Dominic whacked his pads with his paddle and shuffled his feet, a weird habit Rocket had noticed before. It came at a bad time. The defenceman snapped a low drive to the stick side at that precise moment. The puck zipped into the corner. The Toros parents cheered and the players banged their sticks against the boards. The defenceman leapt into the air, a huge grin plastered across his face. He curled toward his teammates who had their gloves out.
Rocket wanted to smash his stick on the ice, but he couldn’t risk breaking it. He was steaming mad: at Reid for getting beat, at Blake for being lazy and at Domin
ic for his little dance on the breakaway. He’d never been much for calling guys out, though, and he was the new guy. He kept his mouth shut and followed Blake and Noah off for a change.
“More aggressive on the puck,” Coach Sonia said. “We can’t let a guy stroll in on Dominic.”
Rocket expected her to lose it, like she had at practice. The corners of her mouth were tight and pressed into a frown. She didn’t say anything else, though.
“So did I tell you I got the new Halo?” Blake said to Noah. “I’ve been obsessed with it, and my mom caught me playing at three in the morning. She went nuclear and took my TV out of my room.” He started laughing and so did Noah. “Like, I mean she took it right then and there, in the middle of the night. It’s a monster, a fifty-incher, so she hauled my poor dad out of bed to help her. He was still half-asleep. They left my room and I heard a bang. The TV had decided to take a tumble down the stairs and smash into the wall. It made a big hole, too. Mom was so mad — she yelled at me for not lending a hand. I asked her why I should help them take away my TV.”
Both boys were close to hysterics. Rocket thought it was funny, too, especially the way Blake told it. At the same time, it bugged him. They’d just given up a bad goal. It really wasn’t the time for funny stories. He tortured himself over whether to say something.
“Hey, Bryan, what’s up out there?”
André had come over.
“Tough way to start the game. We’ll get it back,” Rocket said.
“I had a total brain fart. Can’t believe I let a stiff like that beat me,” André said. “And I reminded Dominic not to do that stupid stick-pad thing before a breakaway. Coach was on him all last season about it. Anyway, what’s with all the passing when you had a total chance to attack their D? When you have space, go for it.”
Rocket didn’t want to trash his linemates. “It’s our first game together. The passing will come.” It was an awkward conversation with Blake and Noah next to him.
André didn’t care. “Feed Bryan the puck,” he said to Rocket’s two linemates. “They don’t have a guy with his wheels. You boys get to the net for a rebound.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Blake said. “So, bro, did I tell you about my mom freaking out on my TV?”
“No. Later, okay? Focus on the game.” André went back to the defence end of the bench.
A stick tapped Rocket’s shin pads.
“Apparently, you have to win the game single-handedly. Do I need to do anything?” Blake said.
Rocket couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking.
“Bryan, you’re up,” Coach Sonia snapped. “Wake up, boys!”
He felt like an idiot. The forwards were shifting. Shamefaced, he followed Noah and Blake to the faceoff circle on Dominic’s left. Rocket adopted a reverse grip and glided slowly to the dot. He could do what André said and try to dominate, but Blake’s comment stuck in his head.
The ref dropped the puck. The Toros centre swept the puck back to his right defenceman against the boards.
“I wasn’t ready!” Rocket screamed. He jumped around the centre and pushed hard to get to the point.
“Stop daydreaming, number eighteen,” the ref said.
The defenceman whistled a sharp pass across the line to his wide-open partner. Rocket’s heart sank. Two shifts — two goals against? He couldn’t let that happen.
The Toros left defenceman reared back. Rocket slid to the right. Fortunately, the shooter hesitated a moment, and that let Rocket get in front of him. He blasted the puck toward the net just as Rocket threw himself to the ice. The Toros parents groaned — a blocked shot. Rocket clutched his chest where the puck had deflected off him. The chest protection on his shoulder pads was thin, basically nothing more than a bit of material, and the shot really stung. But it hurt a lot less than a goal against. He scrambled to his feet. The puck was still in their zone. The Blues left defenceman, a kid named Matthew, was battling the Toros right-winger for possession in the left corner. The centre hovered in the high slot looking for a pass. Rocket skated to him and crossed his stick over the centre’s to establish position.
“Get lost, little boy,” the centre said, and he crosschecked him in the back.
“Idiot,” Rocket shot back. He wasn’t backing down to this jerk. “Ref, call it already.”
The ref wasn’t watching and the second ref wasn’t even in the zone. Matthew won the puck and bashed it up the left wall to Blake at the hash marks. Their right defenceman pinched, his stick extended forward. Rocket elbowed the centre in the ribs and broke away.
“Use me, Blake,” he called.
“See ya soon, squirt,” the centre said.
Blake had other ideas. He kicked the puck to his stick and tried to curl around the defenceman with the puck on his backhand. The defenceman wasn’t fooled, and he poke-checked the puck off Blake’s stick. The right-winger lunged for the puck. Rocket was a hair quicker, and he reached out and snared it. Next, he turned to his left, thinking he’d be best off ringing the puck around the wall to Noah. The right-winger was a hustler, however, and he’d turned back and dashed in Noah’s direction to cut him off. Just as quickly, Rocket changed direction, cutting hard on the inside edge of his left skate, and headed up ice. The right-winger swung his stick — too late.
“Heads up, little guy. I’m coming.” The Toros centre was two metres away to his right.
Instinct took over. Rocket dipped his right shoulder, slid the puck between the centre’s feet and spun counter-clockwise. The centre’s elbow grazed his back, but that’s all he got. Rocket collected the puck in the slot and powered forward. He took it all in: Blake, left, tied up with the right defenceman; Noah, covered by the left-winger; Toros left defenceman standing at the blue line; Toros centre and right-winger behind the play. It was a foot race.
Rocket exploded, pushing the puck forward with one hand. The left defenceman finally clued in and he turned and skated all out to get back. In three strides, they were even; by the red line, Rocket was a metre in front; by the blue line, he had a two-metre lead. The goalie was still deep in his crease. Rocket loved to deke when he was going this fast, especially on his forehand where he could slip it in the five-hole or roof it stick side. This situation screamed for a shot, however.
“Bring it,” he said under his breath. He took another stride to the slot and snapped a wrister off his front foot, high to the stick side.
He slapped his stick on the ice and hopped up three times, his signature move when he scored. Sure, it was an exhibition game, but it felt good to see that hunk of rubber go in, and it made up for the first goal. His teammates came over and met him at the Toros’ blue line. Noah had a confused look on his face, like he wasn’t sure what to say. He tapped his shin pads.
“You’re going to make André happy with that,” Blake said, coming in behind Noah. “Those were some smoking wheels.”
Rocket punched gloves with his other teammates and headed toward centre.
“That’s the stuff, Rocket!” André yelled from the bench. He bashed the boards with his stick. A few parents clapped politely.
Rocket? How did André know about his nickname? It probably wasn’t a good thing. The team would think he was showing off.
The same centre lined up. Rocket put his stick down. The centre slapped it away. Rocket ignored him. He did it again.
“Enough stick work,” the ref said to the centre. “Once more and you’re in the box.”
The centre lowered his stick to the ice. “Crunch-body time, pygmy,” he said to Rocket. “I wouldn’t touch the puck again.”
Rocket had been forced to deal with chirping about his size for years. He’d do more than touch the puck; he’d stuff it in the net. The ref dropped it. Rocket tapped it between the centre’s legs and swerved around his left shoulder to sweep it up. Again, Noah and Blake were slow off the mark. No matter, he figured. He’d see what this defence pair was about.
The right defence was the guy who’d pinched against Blake. He’
d been aggressive all game, too. Rocket went to him, dangling the puck forward with one hand. The right defenceman reached for it, but that made him lose his balance slightly; that was all the opportunity Rocket needed. Quick as a flash, he pulled the puck back to his forehand, and with two hard strides, he was outside the defenceman’s right shoulder. The left defenceman couldn’t get back in time. He had another clear-cut breakaway.
Again, the goalie hung back in his crease. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it, Coach Neilson always said. So Rocket faked a shot a couple of metres in from the top of the circle, then fired a high one to the short side. The puck glanced off the post and ricocheted in. After his three hops, he added a fist in the air. Two goals, back-to-back, on breakaways, he was totally pumped. He skated past the Toros centre, who was cruising back, his stick across his knees.
“I’ll keep doing that until you say sorry,” Rocket said to him.
The centre grimaced. “Big talk. You won’t make it through the game.”
Rocket laughed and held out his glove to Noah.
CHAPTER 20
Rocket leaned back against the dressing room wall. André was being nice, of course, and it was cool when a teammate appreciated one of his goals, but the captain needed to chill. He’d been talking about Rocket for the past two minutes.
“I loved the third goal the most,” André said, for the second time. “You got by them like they weren’t even there. The D was so cocky before that, too. No wonder they call you Rocket.” He paused. “I googled you. They had a write-up on the Huskies website from last year. You were top scorer in the league.”
“My last name is Rockwood, so that’s where Rocket comes from …” he offered.
“And the shot. Bing! Off the crossbar! Awesome,” André said.
“Feels good to win,” Rocket said.
Coach Sonia entered. “I’ll be fast, and then you guys can get dressed. We did well keeping the puck out of the slot in front of Dominic, and the D did a great job letting him see the pucks from the point. On offence, obviously it was nice to have four goals from Bryan, but we can’t count on that every game. We could do a lot better at controlling the puck in their end. You guys need to start using your size to cycle down low. We’ll work on it at Wednesday’s practice.”