Breakaway Page 25

  “Lately?” Kathy echoes.

  I elbow her in the ribs.

  “Go Oilers,” Teneil says, moving back down the line, holding up her fist for knuckles.

  Every one of us holds up our fist too.

  Mrs. Jordan appears and opens the door for us. We place our helmets on the boards and line up on the blue line. Across from us, the Notre Dame team does the same.

  Mr. Johnstone and Mr. Parker roll out a piece of carpet. Bud’s daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren walk out. I can’t take my eyes off Zack.

  Mr. Johnstone is holding the microphone.

  Don’t be a phony, I think.

  “This afternoon, the Estevan McGillicky Oilers would like to honour the memory of William “Bud” Prentice. Captain Jessie McIntyre will make a presentation to his family on behalf of the team.”

  I give my gloves to Carla and skate over to the group assembled on the carpet. Mr. Parker hands me a plaque, which is adorned with both our team picture and a close-up of Bud on the bench during a time out. There are words engraved on a gold plate at the bottom, but I can’t read them because my eyes are too blurry.

  I shake hands with Bud’s daughter and hold out the plaque to her, but she pulls me close and hugs me.

  “Thanks for everything you did,” she whispers in my ear. “He loved coaching you girls.”

  We have three Oiler jerseys for Bud’s grandkids, all with the name Prentice on the back, and Bud’s number from his Allan Cup winning team. I hand out the sweaters, solemnly shaking three little hands. The kids pull them over their jackets.

  “Looking good.” I give them a thumbs up.

  Zack gives me one too.

  I hold out my fist for knuckles, as I’ve done so often in the past, and they all pound it.

  “We will now observe a moment of silence in Bud’s memory. Please rise and remove your hats,” Mr. Johnstone says.

  I skate back to my place between Carla and Kathy and bow my head.

  Some people don’t get the whole minute of silence thing. There’s usually one loser who has to scream something asinine.

  Today nobody says a word.

  I turn my head a little and sneak a peek at the place where Liam and Russell and the football players usually stand. I’m expecting nothing.

  But they’re all here.

  Liam’s not painted up or decked out. But he’s here.

  My heart starts racing. And it has nothing to do with the hockey game.

  “Please remain standing for our national anthem,” Mr. Johnstone says.

  Jodi takes the mic from his hand, and her throaty voice rises, pure and lovely.

  I try to focus on the song and the game and Bud for the next two minutes, but my mind’s on Liam.

  He can only be here for one reason. He wouldn’t be here unless...

  “Jessie, quit gawking,” Carla hisses out of the corner of her mouth.

  I tear my eyes away and stare at the flag like I’m supposed to.

  But my guts are tying themselves in knots. I’ll talk to him after the game, I decide. I’ll apologize for everything. Maybe it’s not too late this time. Maybe he’s not hooked up with that blonde with the cowboy hat.

  “You’re talking to yourself,” Kathy says. “And it’s not about the game.”

  I nod in acknowledgment and close my eyes, envisioning the power play I’m quarterbacking.

  “Song’s over.” Carla hits me once, between the shoulder blades. “Time to go to work!”

  We gather around Amy in net, shoulders, heads and blades down.

  “Skate! Pass! Kick Notre Dame ass!” Kathy shouts.

  “Oilers!” everyone shouts back.

  –

  We’re high on emotion for a while.

  “For Bud,” we keep telling each other.

  “Make him proud.”

  The Hounds lead us 1–0 for the first two periods. Holding them to that one goal – never mind the shots – is a victory in itself.

  Amy is playing her best hockey of the year. And so are the rest of us. We are doing all the things Bud taught us, beating them to the puck, using the boards, making our passes, driving to the net.

  It’s like someone – I hope it’s Bud – has waved a magic wand over us.

  Late in the third, Dayna’s positioning herself to block a shot and deflects the puck past Amy. A defenceman’s worst nightmare.

  Dayna’s beside herself.

  “Shake it off!” I tell her. “We need a faceoff in their end. Go get it done!”

  Kathy wins the faceoff back to me. I back pedal, creating room for myself, then slide it over to Dayna. Her pass catches Randi in full stride, who saucers it to Kathy. A little backdoor delivery between Kathy’s skates lands right on Larissa’s stick and she fires on net. The Hounds goalie’ stones her, but she has to freeze the puck.

  Mission accomplished.

  Forty-two seconds left.

  Sue calls a time out and hauls out her whiteboard.

  “I want five across the line. Whitney, you’re here on the boards. Kathy takes the faceoff. Jessie’s here on the hash marks. Larissa and Randi are in the slot. Carla’s on the point. Kathy, you win the draw back to Carla. Larissa and Randi will drive to the net while Jessie and Whitney tie up their men. Carla moves to centre and finds a shooting lane. Score on Carla’s shot or on the rebound – I don’t care. Just put the puck in quick.” She surveys our faces for comprehension, and then quickly erases the board.

  Now what?

  Sue quickly draws another play. “After the goal, Kathy faces off. Randi and Carla line up here on the left hash marks. Whitney and Larissa are here on the right. Jessie, you’re back here at centre. Kathy, you win that face off and hammer the puck into the right corner. Randi and Carla drive to the net. Larissa and Whitney go after the puck. Kathy goes to support. Jessie, you move to the high slot. From that point on you’re making it up as you go along.”

  Good thing Bud taught us to pay attention.

  Sue clutches her whiteboard against her chest. “Bud would be so proud of you girls. I’m proud. Go get it done.”

  Amy steps inside the box. We are six on five. As I skate to the left face off dot, my head is reeling. Sue thinks we’re going to tie this up?

  Then the hockey gods look into our hearts and find us worthy.

  Carla fires from the point, and Randi chips our first goal in.

  On the second, Larissa pulls the puck out of the corner and passes to me. I walk in uncontested and score, high glove.

  Two goals in fourteen seconds.

  While we scream and cry and hug each other, the Hounds are knocked back on their heels. Their bench looks like it’s the one minus a coach. The Hound coach waits until both teams are lined up at centre ice.

  Whistle. Notre Dame time out.

  “Bring it,” Sue says to us, and there are tears in her eyes. Real tears. “Bring it all. Anything can happen in OT. Anything.”

  But it’s not easy to beat back a team that’s confident.

  When we line up again, the Hounds drive to our net. A perfectly executed play.

  Tic.

  Tac.

  Toe.

  Amy is sprawled on the ice, the puck behind her, while the Hounds celebrate. They haven’t had many close games this year, so the victory is made sweeter.

  But they don’t celebrate like we would have.

  Kathy, Miranda and I bawl like babies during the post-game routine – the final tribute to the fans, the final lap of the ice, the final group photo. Carla and Amy are stoic, but I know in their hearts they’re just as miserable as we are.

  “It’s over,” I say to Kathy. “It’s all over. No more Xtreme. No more Rage. No more Oilers.”

  “It wish we could go back and start all over again,” Kathy says.

  “It just won’t be the same without you next year,” Randi sobs in my ear.

  –

  You girls sure like to ride the roller coaster,” Gia’s dad tells us in the dressing room. “You’
re hard on a guy’s heart.”

  Dead silence.

  I feel for him. It just slipped out of his mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “That was thoughtless.”

  Kathy, Miranda, Carla and I take the longest to get undressed. We just sit there and exchange Bud-isms.

  “Remember when he gave us the phone lecture?” Carla says.

  Kathy stands up and thrusts out her belly. Her gruff tone mimics Bud’s exactly. “Next time I hear a cellphone in this dressing room, it better be God or Don Cherry calling.”

  We laugh and cry and then laugh again.

  “I’m really gonna miss this,” Miranda sighs.

  “Me too.” Carla bends over and zips up her equipment bag. “See you suckers,” she says.

  We mumble goodbyes.

  Kathy and I are the last ones out of the dressing room. Sue’s talking to Whitney in the hallway. I can tell it’s one of those private conversations, but I have things I want to say to Sue. I’m afraid if I don’t say them now, there’ll never be another chance.

  I stop and crane my head in Sue’s direction. Kathy mouths a goodbye and moves on down the hallway.

  Whitney wipes her eyes and steps away from Sue. “I better be going,” she says. She gives me a tight smile and moves towards the exit.

  Sue turns to me. “Great game, Jessie. No shame.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, “and thanks for all you’ve done for us.”

  The words seem so inadequate. I’ve always been at a loss with her.

  “No, thanks for all that you’ve done,” Sue replies. “You’ve been a great role model to the younger girls.”

  I shrug and drop my gaze. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You did lots,” Sue corrects me. “You listened when they needed someone to listen, and you led by example. A coach couldn’t ask for more than that from a captain.”

  It’s the biggest compliment Sue has ever paid me.

  “I just feel so bad about Bud.” The tears start to pool. “Whenever I think about him, there’s this ache...right here.” I place my hand on my chest.

  She puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t spend too much time looking back, Jessie. You’ve got a great life ahead of you. Enjoy the ride. It’s over way too soon.”

  “Well, hockey’s over,” I tell her.

  “Not for you,” she says. “Not if you want to keep playing.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Really.”

  My next words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I’ve never told you before, but I’ve learned a lot from you. You’re a great coach, and I’m going to miss you next year.”

  “I’ll miss you too,” she says. “See you at the windup.”

  –

  Out in the lobby, my mom and dad and Courtney are waiting.

  “I’m so proud of all you girls,” Mom says. “You overcame a lot today.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Want to get something to eat?” Dad asks. “You pick the place.”

  “I’m not that hungry. I’m mostly tired. It’s been a rough week.”

  “See you back home then.” He picks up my hockey bag. “We’ll order in.”

  “Tower Pizza!” Courtney says.

  “Sure.” I hand her my sticks. “Thanks for coming, Sis.”

  She treats me to a quick hug and a smile.

  By the time they’re gone, the lobby is nearly deserted. I talk to Kathy’s parents for a minute, and then walk out the arena doors into the Leisure Centre.

  Liam’s there, leaning against the wall and checking his phone.

  It’s all I can do to contain myself to a walk.

  “Waiting for somebody?” I ask.

  He doesn’t look up from his phone. “You,” he says.

  The word undoes me.

  “Too bad about your coach,” he says. “He was a great guy, huh?”

  “Yes.” I wipe away the tears. Will I ever be able to think about Bud without leaking?

  “And I’m sorry about your playoff run. Must be tough.”

  I nod. “Where’s Russell?”

  “I took him back to the group home right after. I knew you’d be a while,” Liam says. “I went through the same thing after my last football game.”

  “I’m sorry I missed that,” I tell him. “I never watched you play, and I’m sorry about that too.”

  He shrugs. “Wasn’t meant to be, I guess.” He tucks his phone in his pocket. “I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?”

  He stares at the floor. “For being such a jerk. I know it’s no excuse, but it really hurts a guy when he likes a girl but she won’t give him the time of day and then she does so he kisses her and he can tell there’s a connection, and then she just throws another guy in his face.”

  “Maybe after I explain about Evan and Mark, you’ll understand why I was so afraid.”

  “I don’t need to hear it,” he says. “That’s your business.”

  “I’m too late, right? You already asked Miss Agribition to be your grad escort, so you can’t be mine. My timing is brutal.”

  He looks at me for the first time. “Ask me.”

  “Say what?”

  “I want to hear it from your own lips,” he says.

  I suck in my breath and let it out slowly. “Liam, will you be my grad escort?”

  He pretends to think about it.

  “Don’t make me beg,” I say.

  “Here’s the problem.” He pulls off his toque and scratches his head. “We’re both graduating. If I’m your grad escort, then you’re my escort.”

  I sigh. “I guess I’ll have to take Kathy up on the blind date with that referee.”

  He laughs, showing me that gorgeous gap-tooth. “In that case, I better say yes.”

  “Thanks.”

  Feels great, doesn’t it, my little voice says.

  Yeah, it does.

  “Let’s go some place and talk. We have a lot to catch up on.” He pulls his toque over his ears.

  “My family’s expecting me at home. Will you come meet them?”

  He slides an arm around my shoulders, drawing me close. “Sounds like a plan, Hockey Girl.”

  – Chapter Fifty-one –

  The night after my eighteenth birthday, Courtney and I are in the garage trying out my new composite stick. It’s got a wicked flex.

  We’ve hung some pie plates from the corners of the net to make targets.

  The garage door is wide open, but we’re sweating bullets. Courtney takes a few more slapshots, then stops, puffing, and adjusts her pony. At five foot nine, she’s officially as tall as I am. She hefts her stick, bends her knees, rotates from the hip, and stares down the pie plate hanging from the right corner.

  “Weight transfer,” I tell her. “Follow through.”

  She nods, winds up, and releases.

  Misses the plate entirely, and puts another dint in the gyproc.

  “Not bad,” I say. “You just need to work on your aim.”

  She shakes her head and straightens. “I can’t shoot worth shit.”

  “You didn’t even have a slapshot three months ago,” I tell her. “Look how far you’ve come.”

  She smiles, obviously pleased. “Thanks.” She tucks some stray hairs behind her ear. “I’ll tell you a secret if you promise not to laugh.”

  “Deal.”

  “I want to play AAA one day. I know I started late, but I’ll do whatever I have to. Do you think I have a chance?” The smile is gone from her face, and I know my answer will make a world of difference.

  The Dream again.

  “Anything’s possible if you work your ass off, and nothing’s possible if you don’t,” I tell her. “Go for it, Court.”

  She looks wistful. “I wish you could be here next year, to help with practice.”

  “I wish I could too. I had fun with the bantams, and so did Kathy.”

  “Are you scared about going to university?” she asks. “I woul
d be.”

  “Yeah, I’m scared,” I admit. “But it’s the next big adventure. Sooner or later, you have to make the break.”

  My phone beeps. Courtney picks it up off the step, gives it a once over, and hands it to me. “It’s Liam.”

  “Thanks.” I send him a quick text.

  “Are you going out with him tonight?”

  “Yep.”

  “I like Liam,” she says.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “I hope I get to see some of your games next year,” she says. “It won’t be easy with my schedule.”

  “Speaking of that, I have something for you.” I select Rambo from the other sticks and hold it out to her. “The team has a stick allowance. I won’t be needing this.”

  “But that’s your PK stick,” she says.

  “It’s yours now.”

  “But I never kill penalties,” she says.

  “You will.”

  After she goes inside the house, I pull out my old Easton stick, the one I used when I played with the Xtreme. The girls all signed it at the end of the year. Looking at those names makes me feel both happy and sad.

  “I hope you make as many friends as I did along the way,” I say out loud, putting it back. “Go hard, Little Sis.”

  Kristi Willock, Without Words Phtography

  About the Author

  Maureen Ulrich is a YA author and playwright who was a middle-years and high school teacher for twenty-five years. Her Jessie Mac hockey trilogy includes Power Plays, Face Off and Breakaway. Power Plays was a gold medallist, and Face Off a silver medallist, in the Moonbeam Awards. Power Plays was a finalist in three categories of the Saskatchewan Book Awards as well as two Young Readers’ Choice award programs. Maureen has also written more than thirty plays for young people and adults, and has two plays published – Sam Spud: Private Eye and The Banes of Darkwood. You can connect with Maureen through her website, www. maureen-ulrich.ca, and the I Heart Jessie Mac group on Facebook.