The Ice Chips and the Grizzly Escape

by Roy MacGregor

  On the third try, Beatrice roofed the ball so it rebounded off the side of the giant lemon and bounced away.

  The two girls high-fived and clinked their paper cups.

  Swift stared, blinking. “I will NEVER understand that friendship.”

  “Me neither,” Edge agreed.

  * * *

  All of Riverton and, it seemed, three or four of the surrounding towns had come to watch the championship game.

  August had just picked up the ball near centre and was running as hard as she could toward the Ice Chips’ net. This was only the beginning, but the Bears’ captain was coming in fast. She was moving deeper into the Ice Chips’ end and splitting their defence of Bond and Slapper.

  Swift squinted, calculating, as August came at her net from the right side, cutting across what would have been the mouth of the crease in an arena game. The Chips’ goalie decided she needed to stay with her, and did. She was watching and thinking about each step.

  It was as though the two players were magnetized, until August suddenly let the ball slip back between her speeding feet, reached back through her legs with her stick, and flicked the ball high into the Chips’ net—the open corner—for a 1–0 lead.

  Swift’s shoulders sagged. She didn’t know what bothered her most: the fact that August had scored with the same between-the-legs move she’d watched Shayna pull in the previous game against the Riverton Stars, or that the loudest cheers in the crowd were coming from an excited, jumping-up-and-down Beatrice Blitz.

  From her crease, the Chips’ goalie had looked at all of August’s options. She’d thought through each move, each possible block. But maybe that was the problem. Carey Price had said thinking was for practice—instincts were for games. Had she practised enough? Do I even know how to be great?

  Dusk was beginning to fall over the crowd, but Coach Blitz had had some expensive lights brought in, in case it got too dark before the end of the game. The Stars and many of the other teams that had competed that day were in the stands, watching.

  “Do you still have your light-up puck?” Lucas signed to Nolan between whistles.

  Nolan laughed and shook his head. “I’m still testing it. It’s not finished,” the Bears’ defender signed back before they took their places again.

  The Bears were soon ahead 2–0 on a neat deflection off the boards by Shayna. Edge put the Chips on the scoreboard with a long slapper that seemed to dip like a curve ball, but then the Bears moved ahead by another goal when Nolan, August, and Shayna combined on a perfect tic-tac-toe passing play. Swift had no chance at all.

  When the whistle blew at the end of the first period, the score was 3–1 for the Bears.

  Lace ’Em Up, Kids!—a national hockey show for young players—was there to film the tournament semifinal and final. The Chips-aged hosts interviewed players on various teams, several spectators, and the mayor, who seemed quite excited to see how many new fans this ball hockey tournament had brought in.

  After noticing the cameras, Swift realized her face was on fire beneath her goalie mask. She was lucky it hid her embarrassment . . . but then that mask had her remembering the amazing Carey Price mask she’d seen inside the arena. The silent auction had ended right after the semifinal match between the Stars and the Bears. Someone had the winning bid. Someone had been handed that beautiful signed prize. But who gets to bring that awesomeness home? Swift looked around at the spectators. It could be any of them.

  Focus, she told herself as the whistle blew again. Don’t think about Carey’s mask. Don’t think about Shayna. Don’t think about August. Or Beatrice. Or even how this game is played.

  Just be ready.

  Just react.

  Lucas was excited by the sound of the whistle. He’d finally been able to catch his breath on the bench. This was tough going. It was harder to run than it was to skate. It was harder to stickhandle a ball on pavement than it was a puck on ice. Every shift took a lot out of him. But he still had a little more to give.

  “Feeling lucky?” Lucas asked Mouth Guard as Edge lined up for the faceoff.

  “Yeah—thank you, Top Shelf,” Mouth Guard said, tapping Lucas’s shin pad with his stick.

  On the bench, Mouth Guard had seemed disheartened, tired from running around their makeshift rink. He’d been panting. He’d been sweating. And that had given Lucas an idea.

  “When we get back to the dressing room after this,” Lucas had said while they waited for the second period to start, “I’ll give you my ripped sweatshirt so you can wipe your armpits. Then you can make as many fart sounds as you want—whether we win or lose.”

  “Okay, excellent,” Mouth Guard had said, laughing before taking a sip from his water bottle—careful not to drink too much this time.

  “But until the end of the game,” said Lucas, trying to sound like Coach Small, “let’s get out there and give it our best.”

  Now in position, Mouth Guard was grinning. A sweatshirt had been ripped, but their friendship was stitched back together.

  * * *

  By the start of the third period, the Bears were ahead 5–4.

  Despite the score, Coach Small was happy. Bond, who’d practised a lot in her driveway, was stickhandling better here than she did on the ice. Dynamo’s moves were impressive—even the Bears’ coach had noticed. And Slapper’s slapshots had been hard and accurate. But August had pulled out a wicked slapshot of her own, and Shayna had again dazzled Swift in front of her goal. The Ice Chips were still losing!

  Coach Small called his kids into a circle one last time. “You know what our two communities have in common, don’t you?” He paused, as if maybe this was a riddle.

  Edge shrugged. Dynamo and Bond both smiled, but they didn’t know, either.

  “Kids,” answered the coach, swallowing hard. “You guys don’t live in the same town, but you’re all great kids, and you’re all having fun out there, playing.”

  Lucas smiled. He knew where this was going.

  “This is a great opportunity,” Lucas said, nodding along.

  “It is,” said Coach Small. “And we’ll thank the Bears for it at the end of the game. But for now, play. Enjoy this day.”

  The Chips were down one goal, and they needed to tie the game up or they’d lose the championship. With time ticking down, Slapper stopped one of Nolan’s shots in front of Swift and sent a “football” pass far “up ice,” where Edge brought it down with his glove—careful not to wrap his hand around the ball, which would bring a whistle from the referee.

  Edge tried his little tuck move, the one that had worked so well for him last season, and the defence went for it, stabbing at the ball, which instantly vanished. Edge had held it out and yanked it back as if it were a balloon on a string. He then slipped the ball between the other defenders’ feet and was home free with only the goalie back.

  Again he tried his tuck play, and the goalie half went for it. Only half. As Edge went to his backhand to pot what should have been a gimme goal, Charlie thrust back hard with his left leg and fell, just in time to block the shot.

  The crowd cheered wildly as Charlie fired the ball around the back of the net toward Shayna. Edge was so sure he would score that he’d kept running and was now out of position, out of the play.

  The ball was on Shayna’s stick.

  She came in fast on Swift, who was now certain that the secret to stopping Shayna’s move was to let her move first. Swift would wait her out and simply block the between-the-legs flip shot.

  Shayna came in just as Swift had anticipated, cutting across at the same angle that August had. She dropped the ball back, and instead of falling for it, Swift stood her ground.

  But that’s when Shayna kicked the ball back up to the blade of her stick and wrapped around Swift so effortlessly that the goalie appeared frozen.

  The ball was in the back of the Chips’ net. The score was 6–4.

  The referee’s whistle was screaming time’s up, but the players could hardly hear it over the roa
r of the crowd for Shayna’s second brilliant goal.

  Shayna looked over at the Chips, her eyes sparkling almost as much as her smile. Lucas was smiling back, clapping with his gloves still on. Swift, too. But Mouth Guard had taken his off and stuck them between his knees. He cupped his hands together and brought them up toward his mouth . . .

  WHO-UUUUH-UHH-UUH-UUH-OOOooo!

  WUHHHHH-OOO-OOO-OOooo!

  Chapter 17

  The Riverton Ball Hockey Tournament had been decided. If there’d been medals, the Bears would have won gold, the Ice Chips silver, and the Riverton Stars bronze. Of course, there were no medals. All the planning for this one-day tournament had gone into fundraising, lining up teams, and setting schedules. The Chips didn’t even know if the mayor had found a prize to present to the team that had won.

  Regardless, it had been a great tournament for a great cause.

  The players shook hands and the restless crowd began to move around, but people didn’t leave. Everyone had noticed Mayor Ward waiting off to the side with the camera crew for the kids’ show and a couple of local reporters.

  The mayor was holding a box. It obviously held something she planned to give to the Bears to recognize their hard work and skill, but none of the Chips knew what it could be. Giant keys to the city? A multi-layered cake? A smiling Coach Small stood to one side of the mayor, and Coach Smith stood to the other side, grinning. She was proud of what the Bears had accomplished—not only in this competition. Coach Blitz stood behind them all, red-faced and talking on his phone.

  Someone in the crowd began singing the national anthem, and Swift elbowed Bond to get her to start singing, too, since she took lessons and had such a great voice. Soon everyone had joined in. Players took off their helmets, and the crowd stopped shuffling.

  When the singing ended, the mayor stepped forward to speak.

  “This was a surprise event—an unexpected one—but I must say, this was a wonderful tournament!” she said. She looked at the spectators, at the parents and families, and then at the players. “Seeing you all play ball hockey, the way I started out, gave me such a warm feeling. And the fact that all this is to raise money for an arena for a team that has never had one . . . well, I’m delighted.”

  The crowd cheered wildly. Swift cheered with them, but in her head she was trying to figure out how many tickets they had sold and how much money those amazing items in the silent auction had raised.

  The mayor then nodded to the Bears’ coach and her players.

  “Thank you to the organizers—Shayna, August, Nolan—and to the Bears for coming all the way from their communities up north to be here,” the mayor continued. “Meeting all of you has meant so much.”

  “Well, thank you for coming out for our fundraiser!” August said loudly, blushing. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to speak for all the organizers, but she was doing it anyway.

  Mayor Ward smiled. She was proud of them, too. “We won’t know any of our fundraising totals until tomorrow, but we sold twenty-one times the number of tickets we expected,” she said. “And the auction has brought in over $10,000. I’ve got to say, it’s looking good.”

  More wild cheering.

  Coach Blitz stepped forward reluctantly—as if he were being dragged into this—then asked if Shayna and August, the first and second stars of the championship match, would accept the prize that their team had just won.

  The cousins took that step gladly. The mayor shook the two girls’ hands, and a photographer took their picture.

  Slowly, carefully, the mayor then opened the box she was holding and handed the two girls the tournament prize.

  The Carey Price mask.

  * * *

  Swift was putting her track clothes in the laundry at home when the doorbell rang. She was tired from the ball hockey tournament, and from all the thoughts she had flip-flopping around in her brain. She was mad at herself for letting Shayna and August score those two spectacular goals. Had she stopped those two shots, the game would have been tied 4–4. It would have gone into overtime. And who knows what could happened in overtime?

  But then the next second, Swift was remembering how glad she was that the Bears had come out on top. She was happy that they’d won their tournament. And that maybe, just maybe, August’s village would soon be getting its rink.

  “Swiiiiift! Get the door!” Blades, Swift’s sister, was calling from the basement, where she was showing Charlie, their billet, the trapeze and gym equipment her parents had set up to help with her figure skating tricks.

  Swift was yelling back, “Already here!” as she turned the handle.

  It was Shayna, Nolan, and August. They were laughing. And August’s hands were behind her back.

  “Hey, Swift!” Shayna said with a funny smile on her face.

  “The three of us are staying until the end of hockey camp, but the rest of our players will go back to Eabametoong and my village tomorrow, as you probably know,” August said quickly.

  “We think you should try this on before they leave,” signed Nolan.

  From behind her back, August produced the Carey Price mask and handed it to Swift.

  Swift started to tremble. She took it as if it were a genie’s lamp, a legendary sword, and a magical wand, all wrapped up into one fantastic object.

  “Try it on,” August said with a nod. “We’ll take some photos of you wearing it so you can always remember.”

  Nolan was already pulling out his phone.

  Swift lifted the goalie mask and pulled it over her head.

  “You look like Manon Rhéaume,” Shayna said with a wink. Manon, Swift had told Shayna after their leap, was the first woman who’d ever played in the NHL—in a pre-season game for the Tampa Bay Lightning. She was also the five-year-old goalie the time-travelling friends had seen playing on a backyard rink with her brothers in Quebec. Shayna loved that Manon’s little brother, Pascal, had gone on to make the NHL, too.

  When the Carey Price mask had settled on Swift’s face, she felt she had entered a world where anything was possible. Of course, she knew many of those possibilities would have to be earned through hard work.

  “Not everything is fun in goaltending,” Carey had told her when they were sitting on that fallen tree, watching Lucas try to fly-fish. If the Chips’ goaltender wanted to be better than everyone else, he’d said, she couldn’t just show up at the rink with her pads and expect her talent to be enough. She’d have to be willing to work. To get hit by the puck. To be exhausted every day. And to practise so hard that in a game, she wouldn’t even have to think about what she was doing. “If you’ve done the work,” young Carey had told her, “then you can find that calm space, that sweet spot, and let your instincts take over.”

  Wearing Carey’s mask so many years after their time in the woods already made Swift feel peaceful and confident. The NHL’s Carey Price—the adult Carey—had sent it for the tournament, not for her. But she still felt she could almost smell the spruce trees while wearing it. She understood how hard that kid back in Anahim Lake had worked to make it to the show. And she knew without a doubt that that was her goal, too.

  “Hey, did you know that Carey Price didn’t have a rink near where he lived, either?” asked August.

  It seemed that Nolan and Shayna had kept the leaping Chips’ secret. August still had no idea that they’d travelled through time and met him.

  “We looked up the town last night on the computer,” said Shayna, trying to keep her voice level, natural, while looking Swift straight in the eye. Then she smiled. “They’re, uh, building a healing centre in Anahim Lake now. We read that, too.”

  “A healing centre?” Swift asked, her words catching in her throat. She took the mask off carefully so she could look at it again. “But that’s what Carey Price’s mom, Lynda, said she hoped the chief and council would approve one day. I . . . uh, read an interview.”

  “Well, they’re getting one,” said Shayna with a twinkle in her eye. “And the chief did h
elp make that happen. I mean, it makes sense—it’s something you’d expect Chief Lynda Price to do.”

  Swift immediately felt a sting in her eye and a lump in her throat. Chief?!

  Someone following their dreams—a hockey player, Bond with her singing, Carey Price’s mom—it got her every time. The Chips’ goalie wasn’t sure what else to do, so she handed the mask back and gave each of her friends a big warm hug.

  “I couldn’t believe it when we saw that the town had bought this as the trophy,” she said, grabbing the front of her shirt and giving the mask, now in Nolan’s arms, a little shine.

  Both August and Shayna started giggling.

  “Not the town,” Shayna said. “It was Coach Blitz who bought it at the auction and donated it to the tournament. He was certain that his Stars would win it and keep it.”

  “How do you know?” Swift asked.

  August smiled. “Beatrice told us. She couldn’t believe her dad’s ridiculousness, either.”

  Chapter 18

  “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin! LEEEEAVE ME ALOOOONE, poopface!”

  Connor was laughing, screeching, and running as fast as he could through the grass, away from Lucas’s outstretched arms.

  “I just want you to give me back my . . . stuffed . . . fox!” Lucas wheezed. He was angry. Connor had stolen his older brother’s stuffed toy—the one he’d slept with until grade 1—and taken it out into the backyard to play with it in the garden.

  “But Fox is her boyfriend! They’re going to get married! On a spaceship! And have one hundred stuffled alien babies!” Connor cried, ducking behind a tree. “Alien babies that look just like YOU,” he whispered, giggling.

  In the garden, near where Mrs. Finnigan was setting up an old card table, Connor’s stuffed toy moose was lying sideways in the dirt—apparently waiting for her wedding ceremony.

  “Just be glad he’s given up on the howling for a bit,” said Mrs. Finnigan, who looked like she needed a break. She’d unzipped a large bag beside the table and was starting to pull out mismatched hockey equipment.