Breakaway Page 5

  Liam turns to Kathy. “How about you?” he asks.

  “I have to run the music,” she says sweetly. “Love to, but no.”

  He heaves a disappointed sigh and exits, using the back stairs.

  “I still say he’s cute.” Kathy turns to the sound system and cues up the air band’s CD.

  “What’s with you anyway?” I ask. “You’ve hounded me for two years to take Evan seriously. And now that I’m dating him, you try to throw some other guy in my face!”

  Before Kathy can answer, Jodi comes backstage to get ready for her performance, and I push the incident with Liam to the back of my mind.

  Good place for him, my little voice says.

  – Chapter Nine –

  Rutherford Rink. U of S campus. Saskatoon. There’s less than two minutes left in the period.

  I’m lined up at centre ice.

  We lead the U of S Rookies 5–4.

  Kathy looks over her right shoulder and grins. She’s having a great game, and so am I. Why wouldn’t we be? We don’t have to make this team, this year.

  But the girls we’re playing want to.

  Badly.

  This is the second time I’ve been invited to attend the U of S Huskies’ fall camp. Last year I got a decent evaluation, and this year, I plan to do even better.

  Kathy wins the draw back to me, and the Rookie left winger skates right at me. I pass to my D-partner, who puts a move on the Rookie rightwing and fires the puck in deep.

  The old dump and chase.

  I like our chances.

  –

  Hi, Jessie.” I turn around and see Holly Chamberlain, Mark’s girlfriend, standing in the hallway between the Rutherford ice surface and the dressing rooms. She’s wearing sweatshorts and a tank top, and she’s got a green bandana tied around her short, feathery brown hair. Holly is a little bundle of dynamite, with muscles popping in her forearms and calves.

  “Hey, I was hoping I’d see you this weekend,” I tell her, trying to inject some sincerity into my tone. “How’d you know I was in Saskatoon?”

  “I saw your status on Mainpage,” she explains. “Thinking about coming to U of S next year?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “It’d be great if you made the Huskies.”

  Holly wrestles for the university team. Last year she was a CIS All-Canadian, and she’s medalled two years in a row in her weight class at Nationals. Besides that, she’s brilliant. She’s working on a Bachelor of Science, majoring in microbiology.

  “Next year when I come to this camp, I’ll be coming as a rookie.” The thought makes my insides twist and turn.

  “Is that what Kathy’s hoping for too?” Holly gestures at Parker, who’s standing just outside the dressing room, schmoozing some of the Huskie vets.

  “Yes.” I pull off my helmet and tuck a sticky strand of hair behind my ears. “Seen Mark lately?”

  A weird look crosses Holly’s face. “Not for a little while.”

  Such mixed emotions. I do like Holly, and I know she’s great for Mark. But there’s a big part of me hoping their long distance relationship will eventually implode.

  Correction, says my little voice, there was a part of you hoping. Now you’re going out with Evan, and everything’s different, right?

  Right.

  “Is your family here?” Holly asks.

  “No, I came with Kathy and her mom.”

  Holly nods. “I was wondering if you wanted to get together this weekend – go for lunch or something. Will you have time?”

  “Sure.”

  “Text me,” she says.

  After we’re showered and dressed, Kathy and I pack up our equipment.

  She pushes the dressing room door open. “Wish we could leave our stuff here to dry.”

  “We can air it out on the hotel balcony.”

  As we walk along the narrow walkway, headed for the rink entrance, I look up at Rutherford’s roof, which looks every minute of its eighty-plus years. There are posts and exit signs everywhere, and spectator stands on one side only. The luxury boxes above us – I’m using that term loosely – give the best view of the ice. The place feels comfortable, even if it’s not glamorous.

  “Look who Mom’s talking to,” Kathy calls back to me.

  I can’t see past her, so I have to wait until the walkway widens.

  Near the entrance, Mrs. Parker is standing with the Huskies’ head coach.

  Kathy stops and shifts her bag to her other shoulder. “I hope she’s telling him how much we’d love to come to school here.”

  “No doubt,” I say.

  When we get there, we drop our equipment, so the coach can shake our hands. We make some small talk about the game, and then he says, “What’re your plans for next year, girls?”

  “University,” I tell him. “And university hockey, if I can make the cut.”

  “Me too,” Kathy says.

  “Well, U of S has a lot to offer. You girls can’t go wrong staying close to home to further your education – and to play.”

  He shakes hands with us again before moving on to another set of parents.

  Mrs. Parker grins and gives us two thumbs up.

  “He’s just doing PR,” Kathy says. “We shouldn’t let it go to our heads.”

  “Right,” I tell her.

  Just the same, we throw down our bags outside the Rutherford and do a happy dance.

  Mrs. Parker drives us downtown, where Kathy and I plan to start looking at grad dresses. Since my mom’s not along, I won’t be buying one, but I don’t mind helping Kathy pick one out.

  “You should strongly consider black and white,” I tell her as we drive over the 25th Street Bridge.

  “You think I’d look good in those colours?” Kathy asks.

  “You and Brett the Ref will match. He won’t even have to rent a tux.”

  She nails me in the shoulder so hard it brings tears to my eyes. “Keep your chirps to yourself,” she says.

  –

  The next day Holly picks me up at the rink after our skills session. She drives an awesome shiny blue and white striped MINI Cooper. It even has a stick shift.

  As soon as I open the passenger door, I can see she’s upgraded her look. She’s got on jeans, a bright yellow tank top and a white shirt. She’s even wearing makeup, and she’s flat-ironed her hair.

  “You look nice,” I tell her, sliding into the seat. I reach for the lever to push it back as far as it will go.

  “Thanks,” she says. “After I drop you off, I’m headed to the library to do some reading.”

  “Do you always dress up for that?” I ask.

  “I’m dressed up for lunch,” Holly replies.

  I look at the stack of textbooks behind us. “Wow. Do you plan to read all that this afternoon?”

  “No!” She laughs. “I just picked those up from the bookstore, and I want to get a head start. Classes start Wednesday.” She waits for me to buckle my seatbelt before rocketing us onto Campus Drive.

  It’s my first time driving with her, and I find out pretty quick she’s one of those aggressive city drivers. Must come from growing up in Calgary. I brace my feet on the floor, and my hand on the armrest, as she swerves in and out of traffic. She keeps up a steady chitchat the entire time, telling me about her summer job as a camp counselor for deaf kids.

  “You know sign language?” I ask, amazed.

  “It might sound mercenary, but the summer job will look great on my pharmacy application. I enjoy the kids, and I know I’m good at it, so I try not to feel bad about some of my motives.”

  “You gotta do what you gotta do,” I tell her. But inside I’m wondering, does she have the faintest clue how to do anything wrong?

  After we get to the restaurant and place our order, she quits making small talk and gets down to business. “I need to talk about Mark,” she says.

  I try to keep my face expressionless. Has she suspected I still like him?

  “I’m worried about him.” She
leans closer, as if she’s exposing a state secret. “His whole focus has changed.”

  “Should that be a surprise?” I point out. “With his dad being sick, his world must be pretty shook up.”

  “It’s more than that,” Holly says. “He thinks he can make his dad better by having a great year with the Hitmen.”

  “That’s crazy,” I tell her. “You can’t believe he thinks that way.”

  “I do, and so does Maggie.”

  Mark and his mom are very close, but right now she’s managing an art gallery in Ontario while Mark lives in Calgary with his dad and his dad’s partner.

  “We’ve all tried to talk some sense into him,” Holly continues, “but he won’t listen. He says he knows what he’s doing.” She pauses to take a sip of her water. “I don’t think he’s preparing himself for the worst. And he’s messing with his future.”

  What about Mark’s future? Will he and Holly live in Calgary, juggling two careers and raising their kids? Will he ever think about me, and the time we spent together?

  You know he won’t, my little voice says.

  “Jessie, are you listening?” Her brown eyes are looking right through me.

  “Sorry, yes.” I give myself a mental shake. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt.” She sighs. “Just don’t make it sound like I put you up to it. He doesn’t like me meddling.”

  “How’s his dad doing anyway? I know he had surgery to remove part of his stomach, but I don’t know anything else.”

  “They removed some lymph nodes as well, and part of his pancreas,” Holly explains. “He finished his last round of chemotherapy a few weeks ago. We’re all praying he’ll get a good report at his next checkup.”

  “So what does he say about Mark not going to university this fall?”

  “To be honest, I think he’s looking forward to watching Mark play another year of Major Junior. At least Mark’s taking some university classes.” Her fine chestnut brows furrow. “It’s tough for us, living in two different cities, trying to do university and a sport.” Holly rolls up the remains of her chicken wrap and stuffs it in the satchel beside her chair. “Will you call him? He values your friendship.”

  Yeah, Holly, he values it so much I haven’t talked to him for ages. My stomach twists at the thought.

  “Okay.”

  “You’re a good friend – to both of us. “ She folds her arms and leans on the edge of the table. “Now let’s hear the skinny on you. Is there a guy in your life?”

  I tell her about Evan and Evan’s basketball. I’m a little embarrassed because I find myself faking some of my answers to her questions.

  You should know these answers, my little voice tells me.

  “He sounds terrific,” Holly says when I’m finished. “I know Mark’s mentioned him once or twice. How long have you been going out?”

  “Just a few weeks.”

  She gives me a quirky smile. “So I’m not the only one juggling a long distance romance.”

  “It won’t be so bad – with Skype and texting and stuff,” I tell her.

  “Well, I hope you two can hold things together.”

  “Have you heard my hockey team went AAA this year?” I ask.

  “No, I didn’t. Does that mean big changes?”

  I nod. “Lots more practices. Time at the gym. Weekends on the road. A new coach to get used to.”

  Holly raises an eyebrow. “Who is it?”

  As I tell her about our situation, I get the idea she’s not listening. I drop the subject and suggest we leave because I can tell she’s preoccupied with thoughts of Mark.

  Yeah, I know the feeling.

  After she drops me off at the hotel, I remember my promise to call him. My hands get sweaty.

  Stop it, I tell myself, before my little voice can kick in.

  Stop it.

  – Chapter Ten –

  “How was practice?” Mom asks at supper on Thursday night.

  “Yeah, how do the Oilers look?” Dad’s scrolling on his Blackberry with one hand and picking at his supper with the other. Who says adults can’t multi-task?

  “Good,” I reply.

  “Just good?” Dad sets down his phone and looks at me.

  “We’ve only had two practices.”

  “Define good.” Mom sits down across from me and unfolds her napkin.

  “Goaltending is good. Defence is good. Offence is good.”

  “Thanks.” Dad’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “How does the team compare to last year’s?”

  “We’ll find out when we play Weyburn next week.”

  “How does Jodi look?” Dad asks.

  “About eighty per cent of what she used to be,” I tell him. “But she’s still our best forward.”

  “Tell us about the new girls,” Mom says.

  While I’m describing them, Courtney keeps making these annoying noises, sighing loudly, dropping her fork on the floor, shifting her chair. It’s hard to concentrate.

  “What’s with you?” I ask her, exasperated.

  “I’m not figure skating this year,” she announces.

  Mom drops her fork. Dad raises both eyebrows.

  Courtney’s been in Grade Six less than two weeks, and she’s already charting a new course. Because she’s the only Grade Six girl interested in playing volleyball, her principal told her she could move up to the Grade Seven and Eight girls’ team. Apparently the older girls have been awesome. Courtney’s been hanging out with them on the playground and after school. She talks about them all the time. Meanwhile her classmates, the ones Mom nicknamed the Coven because they’re all little witches, have laid off the teasing and bullying. Courtney’s walking on Cloud Nine.

  At least I’m pretty sure she is. Between my hockey and her volleyball, we’re lucky if we see each other an hour a day.

  “Then what are you going to do all winter?” Dad is asking her.

  “I’m going to play hockey,” Courtney says. “I’m grown up, and I can make my own decisions.”

  Whoa.

  “Hockey?” Dad acts like he’s never heard the word before.

  Mom shakes her head repeatedly.

  I wonder if she’s experiencing déjà vu. I sure am. Three years ago. Same location. Only that time Mom told me I had to play hockey, and I told her I wouldn’t. Lucky for me she won that round.

  “What brought this on?” Mom’s tone is prickly.

  Courtney shrugs.

  “It would help if you opened your mouth,” I say to her.

  She sticks her tongue out at me.

  “Oh, not so grown up after all,” I say.

  “This is none of your business!” she retorts. “This is between Mom and Dad and me!”

  “That makes sense.” I pick up a forkful of potatoes. “I know nothing about hockey.”

  “Jessie, stop,” Dad says quietly.

  Mom’s staring at the ceiling. I can see the dollar signs flipping, as she tallies the money spent on figure skating this past spring and summer while Courtney worked on her free skate, skills and dance.

  “I just bought you new skates,” Mom says vaguely. “They’ve only been sharpened once.”

  Courtney shrugs again.

  “There’s no peewee girls’ team. You’ll be playing with girls two years older than you,” I say. “What did Gia say when you told her you wanted to play?”

  Gia’s got talent. She tried out for the Oilers, but she got cut – I assume – because she’s only in Grade Eight. She’s on Courtney’s volleyball team, and she’s the girl Courtney talks about the most.

  “She doesn’t mind.” Courtney gives me a sideways glance. “She wants you and Kathy to help her dad with practices. There’ll be a few girls who’ve never played hockey before.”

  “You make it sound like you’re not one of them,” Dad observes.

  No wonder he’s cynical. He thought I was making the switch from ringette to hockey too late when I started playing in Grade Nine. But I
proved him wrong.

  “You also make it sound like you’re already on the hockey team...which you’re not,” I point out.

  Courtney ignores me. “Dad, I’m a good skater. I won’t be like those other girls who’ve never worn hockey skates.”

  “You’ve never worn hockey skates,” I point out.

  She rolls her eyes at me.

  “Jessie,” Dad says again.

  “Hockey skates aren’t figure skates. The stride is way different. Then there’s the equipment and the stick and the puck. And all those people who aren’t afraid to run into you. It won’t be as easy as you make it sound.”

  Courtney stands up, knocking over her chair.

  “Dramatic exit, coming right up,” I say.

  “Shut up!” she screams. “You’re just afraid I’ll be better than you! That I’ll be the centre of attention for once!” She looks down her nose at me. “Mom and Dad think it’s okay. Why can’t you be happy for me?!”

  I look at Dad. “Did I say I wasn’t happy?”

  Dad lays a hand firmly on mine and shakes his head. Poor man. Living in a household with three women, he’s tossed like a cork in the maelstrom of our overlapping menstrual cycles.

  “Courtney, we need to talk some more,” Mom says.

  “I’m sick of this bullshit!”

  “Watch your language,” Mom warns.

  “I don’t care!” Courtney wails. “You treat me like a slave, and I’m sick of it!”

  “Slave?” I laugh out loud. “You won’t even do the dishes on your night!”

  “Jessie, please,” Mom says.

  Courtney bolts out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Her bedroom door slams like an exclamation point.

  Dad picks up Courtney’s chair and positions it under the table, then sits down and resumes carving his steak. “What in the hell was that about?”

  “Puberty,” Mom says.

  “There’s lots of time for Courtney to finish her dances,” I say.

  “She’ll never go back to figure skating.” Mom massages her temples with her fingertips. “She’ll get the hockey bug – just like you did.”

  “She may not like it so much,” Dad says. “In fact, a few practices might be enough to convince her she’s not cut out for hockey.” He pauses to chew and swallow a piece of steak. “That’s why I’m not buying her any equipment. Not yet anyway.” He looks at me significantly.