Rebel Power Play

by David Skuy

  “I hear you mention my Matt,” a man said appearing from behind a counter. “You must be the Charlie my Matt tells me so much about.”

  Even without being told, Charlie would have known instantly that he was Matt’s father. Matt was just a smaller version. Both were stocky and broad-shouldered.

  They shook hands, and Mr. Danko’s enormous hand practically swallowed Charlie’s. Now he knew where Matt got his strength.

  “Hi, Mr. Danko. I forgot you were doing some work here. I like the new shelves. They look awesome.”

  “I use three different woods for shelf and panel and mix stain myself. Not too dark is key.”

  “Stanislaw has been wonderful,” his mom said. “And he’s already got five more jobs, but I’m not letting him go just yet.”

  “I stay until I finish,” he said. He turned to Charlie. “Matt says you got him job at restaurant. Thank you.”

  “It was mostly another friend of ours — Pudge.”

  “I thank him too, then. Back to work now.”

  He ducked down behind the counter. Soon Charlie heard a light sanding noise.

  “You were about to say something about your coach?” his mom said.

  “Right. So I asked him if Matt could try out. I went to his store after school … to his office. All I did was ask about Matt and he totally lost it. Kicked me off the team. All I said was Matt would be a great addition. He accused me of trying to be the coach. The guy just hates me — and I’ve never done anything to him.”

  Before his mom replied he heard a familiar voice.

  “Charlie, nice to see you again. Sorry about yesterday.” Coach Shaw shook hands with Charlie and his mom. He seemed so genuinely glad to see him that Charlie had to greet him cheerfully.

  “Nice to see you too. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, you tried to warn me.”

  Shaw shook his head and whistled softly. “I don’t understand that man. He has so much, and yet … Anyway, I got off work early today because of the game. I’ll have the usual, Donna.”

  Charlie looked over at his mom. She winked at him and went off to the kitchen.

  “I guess you’ve been here before,” he said.

  His former coach smiled. “I come here most nights for dinner — here or Bruno’s Bistro. Like I said, I usually finish work later, except for hockey nights. I passed by yesterday after I picked up the equipment. Told your mother what happened. I can’t tell you how bad I feel.”

  So his mom had known all along. “Excuse me for a second, Coach Shaw.”

  “Certainly, Charlie,” he said, “and that’s enough of the Coach Shaw. I prefer Edward.”

  Charlie laughed. “Okay, Edward. I just have to speak to my mom.”

  She was pouring a bowl of soup when he came into the kitchen.

  “Sorry about not telling you last night,” he said. “I guess I was in a state of shock. I hadn’t even told the other guys on the team.”

  “Don’t worry, honey. You had a lot on your mind. Edward was so upset. I almost felt worse for him than you. He’s such a nice man, lives all alone since his wife died three years ago, and that … Sportsmart guy … treats him so badly. Edward comes in almost every night for a soup and sandwich.” She cut two thick slices of bread. “Have you given any thought to playing for another team?”

  “Not yet. I have to look around. Team rosters are kinda set. I’ll probably have to play in a lower division, if at all …”

  “We can talk about it later. If it makes you feel any better, Edward speaks very highly of you and your friends.”

  Charlie heard some loud voices. They were back! His nerves kicked in — he almost didn’t want to know. He left the kitchen.

  “Officer, arrest that man,” Scott said, pointing at him.

  He was laughing and all smiles. Charlie noticed that Pudge, Nick and Zachary were more serious. “What’s the word?” he said.

  “Go directly to jail, do not collect $200, and under no circumstances even think of playing for the Hawks again,” Scott said.

  Charlie’s heart sank. “I figured he wouldn’t back down. That settles it. I’ll stay off the team — Dunn wins. You guys have to play. I’ll feel ten times better if you do.”

  Pudge shook his head. “You don’t understand. He kicked us off the team too. Took one look at the petition, crumpled it up, tossed it in the garbage, and told us to get out of his sight.”

  “Don’t forget we have until four o’clock tomorrow to return his equipment or he’ll call the cops,” Zachary said.

  “How many years in prison for being in possession of used shin pads?” Scott said.

  “Minimum ten years,” Nick said.

  “I’ll be like fifty years old when I finish high school,” Scott said.

  “You’re being optimistic,” Nick said.

  “I’ll have lots of time to study in my cell, though,” Scott said.

  Normally Charlie liked their kidding. Now it seemed forced.

  “Can this get any worse?” he said to Pudge.

  “Maybe that’s the only good thing,” he said. “Things can only get better.”

  Charlie pointed out Edward, and they all said hello. He seemed very embarrassed by the situation.

  “You boys sit down,” Charlie’s mom said. “I’ll fix you a snack. You look like you could use some nourishment.”

  “I could eat,” Scott said.

  “I know that,” she laughed.

  They tried to keep the conversation light-hearted and fun. Scott and Nick teased each other as mercilessly as ever. Charlie knew better. They were upset. No team — no hockey. He hoped Pudge was right. Things had to get better. He would give anything to make it up to his friends. But how?

  12

  A DOOR OPENS

  Charlie sprinted up the stairs, pushed the doors open, and continued ahead at breakneck speed towards his homeroom. The class door was still open — he wasn’t late yet! He charged into the room and ran right into his teacher. Charlie got the worst of it, bouncing off and staggering a few feet backwards. He reddened as he heard the other kids in the class laugh.

  “I appreciate your desire to be punctual,” Hilton said. “Perhaps if you arrived a little earlier you could walk into the room.”

  The entire class was laughing now.

  “Sorry, Mr. Hilton,” he said. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “An accurate assessment, Charlie,” he said. “Do you think you can make it to your seat without throwing another bodycheck?”

  His classmates giggled.

  “I’ll try.”

  He sat down at his desk and opened his notebook. The character sketch was due Friday. Most of that was done. A composition was due next week. He was in a bit of trouble on that front. He’d have to finish the rough copy over the weekend. At least hockey wouldn’t get in the way.

  “I want to speak briefly about the stories you’re writing,” Hilton said.

  A crumpled piece of paper landed on top of Charlie’s notebook. Pudge cleared his throat and nodded at it. Charlie opened it.

  You hear about the Hawks’ game last night?

  They’d played the Wildcats — Jake’s team. He shook his head. Another note followed.

  Wildcats winning 14–0 by end of second. Had to leave — too ugly. Mike got new guys to play. Not sure if they’d ever played before!

  Pudge scribbled a third note and tossed it over.

  Shaw came to restaurant after game. Told me Dunn went ballistic — screaming, tossing sticks. He’s pulling sponsorship. Hawks folded!

  Charlie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Dunn killing the Hawks — the perfect ending to a total disaster. He didn’t have time to think about it, however. Hilton was in a questioning mood. He was going around the room asking every student about the story they were writing. Charlie’s was about a mountain climbing expedition to Mount Everest. Five men reach the summit when a massive storm rolls in. The story was mostly about how they got down. Charlie’s anxiety rose as Hilton ca
me closer to him. The other kids would think the story was weird.

  “Well, Charlie, what have you got?” Hilton said.

  Charlie described the story, and read the opening paragraph.

  “Sounds like a great idea,” Hilton said, after he was done. “Pay attention to how you build the tension. Everything should be relaxed and fun until the storm hits, after which you need to pick up the pace. I’m looking forward to reading it. Good creativity.”

  A wave of relief rolled over Charlie. Praise from his teacher was hard to come by. He also noticed the class hadn’t laughed or made fun of his idea. Maybe it wasn’t such a dumb one after all.

  Once he’d made the rounds, Hilton surprised them with a grammar quiz. He placed a sheet of paper, face down, on everyone’s desk.

  “You’ve got fifteen minutes. There are eight questions, so don’t take too long on any one question. The test begins now.”

  Grammar was not Charlie’s strongest subject, and he hated pop quizzes. He turned the test over nervously. Hilton had been drilling them on grammar for the past two weeks. At the end of the last class, Hilton had told them to review their grammar book. Charlie hadn’t taken the advice seriously, and spent the night watching television to take his mind off the Hawks and his friends.

  Charlie answered the questions as quickly as he could, but he was still shocked to hear Hilton announce the test was over. How could fifteen minutes pass so quickly? Seemed like two.

  “That’ll do it,” he said. “Pens down and drop your tests on my desk on the way out.”

  Charlie hadn’t finished the last question. Way to go, Joyce, he thought bitterly. Blew another test by being lazy. He was so irritated that he didn’t notice Julia standing in front of his desk. Startled, he looked up at her.

  “Hey, Julia. How’d you do on the test?”

  She had probably done very well. Julia was a straight-A student.

  She wrinkled her nose and shrugged.

  “I think I did all right. Last question was kind of tricky. Don’t know if I got that one.” This was not exactly what Charlie wanted to hear. He’d barely had time to read it. “So Jonathon didn’t tell me how things turned out with Dunn … with the petition.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Charlie said.

  “Try me.”

  “Dunn kicked everyone who signed the petition off the team.”

  Julia’s eyes widened. “But that’s, like, the whole team. Who’s left to play?”

  “You know Mike Dunn?” he said. “He managed to find some new players, and they got destroyed by the Wildcats last night. Mike’s dad pulled his sponsorship. The team’s dead.”

  “So who are you guys going to play for?”

  Charlie’s shoulders sagged. “That’s the worst part. It was mostly my bright idea for the guys to switch to the Hawks, and it’s probably way too late to get spots on another team — at any level. And it’s all my fault.”

  “Can Mike’s dad just kill the team like that?” Julia said.

  “Why not?” Charlie said. “It’s his team.”

  “I know he can stop sponsoring the team. But can he just take the team out of the league once the season starts? Isn’t everything already paid for?”

  Her words hit him like a bodycheck into the boards. It was insane, totally ridiculous, but he felt himself get excited just thinking about it.

  “Dunn must have paid the league fee for the team,” Charlie said. “I wonder if he can get a refund.”

  “I bet he can’t,” Julia said. “Not once the season’s started.”

  “You might be right,” he said. “Otherwise, teams could pull out halfway through and the league would be stuck with the cost of the ice time for the games.”

  Pudge came over. “How’d you do on the test?”

  “Last question was tough,” Julia said.

  “I barely had time to finish it,” Pudge said.

  Charlie groaned inwardly. He pushed the test out of his mind. He had more important things to do. He needed to find out if Dunn had already paid for the Hawks — which might mean they could enter a team in its place!

  “Excuse me, people,” Hilton interrupted. “Please hand in your tests. I also believe you all have another class to get to.”

  Charlie dropped the test on his desk and headed off to science. His mind was whirling with plans. He’d have to act quickly. Find out if Dunn had paid all the fees, and then if the league would accept a new team. Every second he got more and more excited by the idea. The Hawks might be dead. But maybe the dream team was still alive.

  13

  CHARRED RICE

  Charlie stepped out of the elevator. Taped to the wall in front of him was a small yellow poster. A hand-drawn green arrow pointed to the left, the words East Metro Hockey League written above it. The dinginess reminded Charlie of Dunn’s office. Must be a sports thing, he thought.

  A tiny woman with grey hair piled up into a bun and striking blue eyes, framed by the largest round glasses and thickest lenses Charlie had ever seen, sat behind a desk. She looked up from her computer.

  “Hi. My name is Charlie Joyce. I spoke to you on the phone?”

  “How can I help you?” she said.

  He’d called her only an hour earlier. “I wanted to speak to the person who runs the EMHL … Steve Roberts?”

  She brightened up. “Wonderful. I’ll see if Stevie is in his office.”

  A moment later she was back.

  “Come on in. Stevie will be right with you.”

  Charlie noticed the resemblance between Steve and the receptionist as soon as he walked in. He was extremely short and wore round glasses with thick lenses. He was on the phone, and motioned for Charlie to sit. Five minutes passed before he hung up. He spun his chair to face him and read something from a piece of paper. “So your name is Charred Rice?”

  “Not exactly. It’s Charlie Joyce.”

  Steve looked down at the paper, and shook his head. “Mother’s hearing is not what it used to be. So you used to play for the Hawks?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Can you believe what that Dunn fellow did? Gave me one massive headache, that’s what! I’ve been on the phone all day trying to line up another sponsor. Do you think it’s easy to replace a team once the season’s started?” He stared hard at Charlie.

  “No, sir … but I might have a solution.”

  “I’m all for that. First, can you shed any light on the situation? Why did Dunn pull out?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  He looked confused. “You told me on the phone that you were on the team.”

  “I was — and I don’t exactly know why he pulled out. Could be the team got off to a slow start.”

  Steve shook his head and sighed deeply, slouching back in his chair.

  “He loses a couple of games and quits. What a guy. He kept saying the Hawks would be a powerhouse — a new dynasty. Blast the Snow Birds out of the water, he said to me over and over. You sure there isn’t another reason?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Charlie said. “I could ask around. Anyway, the reason I’m here, what I wanted to ask you … well … I was wondering how much it would cost to keep the Hawks going. How much did Mr. Dunn pay?”

  Steve scratched his head vigorously, and pushed his glasses back in place. “Depends on a lot of things. There’s the equipment, sweaters, transportation costs, tournaments. Parents offset some of that, but the sponsor usually puts in a good chunk. Dunn said he was going first class, so I’m not sure how much he was going to pay. Then there’s ice time for games and practices, plus insurance, not to mention registration … Adds up to quite a pile of cash, believe me.”

  “I was more interested in the registration fee,” Charlie said. “What do the Hawks owe for that?”

  He looked surprised. “Nothing, of course. Teams pay for registration, insurance, and ice time for games up front. Dunn paid all that — and it’s non-refundable. He’s been threatening me with lawye
rs and lawsuits. He can sue me, for all I care. He’s not getting a penny back — leaving me a team short when the season’s already started. Bad enough the Aeros cancelled. Now this. This league’s gonna give me an ulcer.”

  He picked up the phone and pushed a button.

  “Mom, can you bring me some mint tea? My stomach’s all upset.”

  He hung up the phone. “I don’t know what Dunn paid for practices. He probably put down a small deposit for the season. He’d lose that, for sure.”

  “So you’re saying,” Charlie cut in, “that the Hawks are all paid up for league fees … and I think you mentioned insurance.”

  “You got it. The only consolation is that it cost Dunn a ton of dough — makes up for the headache he’s caused me. He thinks he’s God’s gift to hockey. Talked about building a powerhouse. Must have said that to me fifty times. Man, that guy’s repetitive. He’s like a broken record. Said the EMHL better shape up and be a professional organization or we’d be in trouble. Like we ain’t professional!”

  His mother came in and put a large mug on his desk.

  “Can I get you a chocolate-chip cookie?” she asked Charlie.

  “Thanks, but I’m not really that hungry,” he said uncertainly.

  “I’d love one, Mom,” Steve said. “Do they have nuts?”

  “No dear. I made those yesterday.”

  “I’ll have a couple. You sure you don’t want one, Charlie?”

  He shook his head.

  Once she left, Charlie leaned an elbow on the desk. “I think I have a team for you,” he said earnestly. “I can take that headache away right now.”

  “Who’s the sponsor?”

  “I don’t exactly have a sponsor. I’m working on that — very close actually. It’s almost not a problem. More important is that I have the players. I can put out a competitive team. And, like you said, the registration fee, insurance, and ice time for games is already paid for.”

  Steve leaned forward, took his glasses off, and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t speak until he had the glasses back in place.