Breakaway Page 6

  My appetite abruptly disappears. “So she’s going to wear mine?”

  “She’s nearly as tall as you are,” Dad replies. “Makes sense to me.”

  I pick up my plate and move over to the sink.

  “Thanks, Jessie,” Mom says. “You’re a trooper.”

  I hate the way they interpret silence as agreement.

  “She’s not wearing my equipment,” I say quietly.

  “Not even once?” Mom wheedles.

  “So now you’re on board with this hockey thing?”

  Mom rubs her neck muscles. “I don’t want to be. But she’s finally got some decent friends. Would it be so terrible?”

  “She has Pam,” I point out.

  “Pam doesn’t go to her school, Jessie. You know how miserable Courtney was last year. Isn’t it great she’s happy?”

  I pause so we can all listen to Courtney stomp around in her bedroom. “Does that sound like happiness to you?”

  “Come on, Jessie,” Dad says. “Once upon a time, I let you borrow my hockey socks.”

  I turn on the garburator. “She better not wreck or lose any of it!” I shout.

  When I shut it off, Mom says to Dad, “How much will it cost to outfit her for hockey – if she does end up liking it?”

  “We’ll pick up some used skates at JL’s,” Dad says.

  “Sports are supposed to be cheaper than bail or lawyers.” Mom sits back and folds her arms. “But sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it.”

  “Are you going up to tell her the good news?” Dad asks.

  “Why don’t you do it?” Mom replies.

  “I’m not done eating,” Dad says.

  I pick up Courtney’s plate and carry it to the dishwasher. I turn my back on both of them and fire a handful of forks and knives into the cutlery receptacle.

  “Careful,” Dad cautions.

  Mom pushes back her chair. “No time like the present.”

  After she’s gone, I put the stopper in the sink and turn on the hot water, thinking about how my shoulder and elbow pads are going to be wet and stinky every Tuesday, since Courtney’s practices will precede mine.

  The phone in my pocket vibrates, and I look at it.

  Evan.

  Call me, he says.

  I tell myself I’m ignoring him because I promised Holly I’d talk to Mark, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Tonight. I’ve been thinking about it all day. About what I’ll say to him.

  Apply now. Get into university in January. Take a full load of maths and sciences. Get ready for engineering.

  Me = Mark’s hero.

  I leave Dad to finish his supper. He’s pretty much hypnotized by his Crackberry anyway. I grab my phone and go upstairs. As I walk by Courtney’s room, I can see Mom and my sister lying on her bed, shoulder to shoulder, deep in conversation.

  Peace is restored in our happy home.

  I go into my room and close the door. By the time Mark picks up on the other end, my palms are moist, and my stomach is twisting.

  “Hey!” he says. “We were just talking about you.”

  “Who was?”

  “Evan and me. He hung up a while ago. Said he was going to call you. So, what’s up?” Mark’s voice sounds friendly and natural.

  “Not much. I just got home from the U of S fall camp.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “My evaluation says I’m supposed to work on foot speed.”

  He laughs. “Figures. They all say that.” He pauses and clears his throat. “Are you going to U of S next year?”

  “I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

  “You could do a hell of a lot worse. For a Saskatchewan girl, there isn’t anything better than CIS hockey – except the National program.”

  “So what university classes are you taking this fall?” I ask.

  “Who told you I’m taking classes?” he responds, a note of suspicion in his voice.

  “I don’t know. Evan maybe.”

  “Did you see Holly in Saskatoon?”

  Caught. Like a rat in a trap.

  “Yes.”

  “She told you to call me, didn’t she?”

  “No.”

  “She told you to get on my case about quitting Major Junior and going to school full time.” He pauses for so long I think he’s put the phone down and walked away. “I have a once in a lifetime opportunity, Jessie. I’m not screwing it up. It means too much to my dad.”

  “Mark, you don’t believe there’s a connection between your hockey and your dad getting well, do you?”

  “Is that what Holly told you?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Well, Holly’s exaggerating, as usual. She figures she needs to be my mother and my girlfriend since Mom’s out East. Every guy on my team has a demon on his back. My D-partner should have shoulder surgery, but he’s putting it off. My captain lost his mom to breast cancer last year. Playing through pain and personal stuff comes with the territory, Jessie. Next time you talk to Holly, ask her about her ankle sprain. It doesn’t seem to be holding her back.”

  When I hang up a minute later, I feel like a total dork. Kathy always says, “Before you jump in a hole, make sure you know how deep the shit is at the bottom.”

  I’m up to my ankles.

  There’s a knock at the door, and Courtney sticks her head in before I have a chance to answer.

  “Thanks for letting me borrow your equipment,” she says sweetly. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  The phone rings downstairs.

  I know who it is even before I hear Dad shout, “Jessie! It’s Evan.”

  “I’ll get the cordless for you,” Courtney volunteers.

  The last thing I want to do is talk to him, but I know I have to. It’s been a week since we Skyped.

  “Sure, Court,” I tell her.

  She bounces out of the room.

  – Chapter Eleven –

  I hardly get any sleep the night before our first exhibition game against the Weyburn Gold Wings. After school I have a nap, then drive to the rink at five thirty.

  We were hoping we’d get our own dressing room in the new arena, but no such luck.

  Then again, I’d sooner have a full-time coach. So far Sue has run two out of four practices. Two Bruins ran the others, but Whitney was so busy flirting with them, we didn’t get much accomplished.

  Furthermore, Mr. Johnstone isn’t holding up his end of the deal as team manager. We don’t have uniforms, but he promises they’ll be here for our first league game in October. Tonight we’ll be decked out in our old Rafferty Rage unies.

  Normally Kathy’s cocky in the dressing room on Game Day, especially when we’re playing Weyburn, but today she’s quiet. Carla’s always reserved, so the three of us don’t talk much until the rest of the girls show up.

  The Rookies are starting to fit in. The ones who go to the Comp sit with us at lunch, and that makes it easier to get to know them. The only player who doesn’t hang out with us at lunch or say much in the dressing room is Jodi. She’s so totally unlike the Jodi I played with two years ago I sometimes forget she’s there.

  But I can’t say that about her on the ice. Jodi’s lost a little of her jump, but she sees the ice better than anyone else, and her hands are pure gold. As much as I hate the thought of her getting hurt again, we’d be screwed without her.

  “Talk to Evan lately?” Kathy asks me.

  “On the weekend.”

  “How’s his season going?”

  “Okay. There’s no league games until mid-October.”

  “It sucks we don’t have uniforms yet,” Randi says.

  Miranda walks in, carrying a doll wearing a blue sleeper. A receiving blanket hangs over her shoulder.

  “What the hell,” Kathy says.

  “Everybody, meet Jake.” Miranda holds up the doll so it’s looking at all of us. “Jake, this is everybody.”

  “Are you kidding us, Ebberts?” Carla asks.

  “It’s p
art of my Psych 30 class,” Miranda says. “I’m learning what it feels like to be a mom.”

  Jake starts crying, a pathetic whimpering noise.

  “Shut it off,” Kathy says. “Dolls are creepy.”

  “What about clowns?” Randi asks. “I hate going to the circus because of the clowns.”

  “You’re a clown,” Kathy says.

  Jake keeps on whimpering. Miranda paces and jostles and pats him, but the robotic cries persist.

  “Maybe he needs changing,” Larissa suggests.

  “I did that already,” Miranda says. “And I fed him too. Nothing helps. He woke up at three this morning and started bawling. None of us got any sleep. And then I couldn’t find a sitter, so I had to call Sue and tell her I couldn’t warm the bench today.”

  “And you brought him down here so we could all be miserable with you,” Kathy says.

  “Thanks a lot, Ebberts,” Carla says.

  Miranda yawns loudly.

  “Give ’im here.” Amy beckons with one finger.

  “But I’m supposed to be the one who settles him,” says Miranda. “I’m getting graded on this.”

  Amy gestures again. “Hand him over. Nobody’s gonna know.”

  Miranda does as she’s told, but she’s not happy. There’s tension between her and Amy – although if you ask me, it’s Miranda who’s tense. Amy treats Miranda like she treats everyone else.

  Amy places Jake on her knees and gently massages his back. He gives a loud mechanical burp, and the cries desist.

  “Gas,” Amy explains.

  “Kid must be a hockey player,” Kathy says. “And speaking of gas...”

  “Don’t.” Carla raises a warning finger. “If you release any toxins, you’re going to be very sorry.”

  “Correction.” Kathy points back. “You’ll be sorry.”

  “Can I have him now?” Miranda demands.

  “Sure.” Amy hands Jake over and goes back to lacing her goalie skates.

  Miranda cuddles the doll as she crosses the dressing room and sits down next to Kathy. “Who’s your momma now, Jake?” she coos.

  “Jake must take after his daddy,” Carla says, “because he doesn’t quite have your colouring, Ebberts.”

  Miranda ignores her and starts singing “The Good Ol’ Hockey Game” in her peculiar Minnesota drawl. She gets some of the words wrong, as she always does.

  “Why don’t you leave the singing to Jodi?” Carla asks.

  “Shut up, Bisonhead,” Miranda says.

  Whitney throws open the door and makes an entrance. “Hey, girls! Want to know which Bruin I had last night?”

  “Let me guess.” Kathy taps her lower lip. “All of them?”

  The remark doesn’t fizz on Whitney, who launches a detailed account of her date with the Bruins’ seventh defenceman. I try not to listen. None of the other girls talk about sex in the dressing room, even though I know most of them are on birth control.

  Jake farts, and we start howling.

  Whitney’s pissed that she never gets to finish her story. She gestures at the doll. “What is that?”

  “It’s a baby, Johnstone,” Kathy says. “That’s what you’ll get if you keep screwing the Bruins.”

  “Jealous?” Whitney asks, fluttering those beautiful eyelashes.

  Fortunately Jodi walks in then, and we put on their game faces. Kathy manages not to stir anything else up before Sue arrives for our pregame pep talk.

  Mr. Johnstone is one step behind her.

  “I apologize to you ladies for making you play in these old uniforms,” he says. “Your new ones will be here soon, I promise.”

  Jake starts crying, and Miranda does her best to quiet him.

  Sue stares at the doll and wrinkles her nose.

  “He comes equipped with smell too?” Kathy demands.

  Miranda hustles him out, and Sue runs through the lines. She’s got me paired up with Jennifer on D while Carla gets a Rookie. Jodi and Kathy are our centres, but Jodi will also drop back to quarterback our first power play unit.

  Mr. Johnstone interrupts Sue to offer us some advice. He knows his hockey, but he sure doesn’t know his place. The second time he does it, she asks him to go find a new marker for her whiteboard.

  During the warm-up, I try to concentrate on the drills and not gawk at the Weyburn girls at the other end of the ice. They look big and fast and confident.

  “Hey, you’ve got fans! Did you notice?” One of the Rookies taps me on the shoulder and points into the stands.

  There’re two guys up there, with signs. One of them says, “Hockey Girl, I’m having your baby.”

  “Who are those guys?” I ask.

  The Rookie shrugs.

  I take a closer look. The guy with the sign could be Liam MacArthur. I haven’t talked to him since the talent show.

  “Looks like somebody thinks you’re cute,” Kathy murmurs in my ear.

  I skate away.

  –

  Opening faceoff. I look at Number 19, lined up across from Kathy at centre ice. She doesn’t look big enough to be last year’s runner-up in the SFMAAAL scoring race. She wins the puck back to her left D and steps around Kathy like she’s standing still, pounding her blade for a pass. She comes straight at me, and I try to poke check, but she puts the puck between my legs, glides past me, and blisters a shot off the crossbar.

  I hurtle into the corner, arriving just ahead of Number 19. I turn myself to get body position and hold her off while I use my feet to inch the puck along the boards. Now there’re two sticks gouging at my skates, and it’s all I can do to stay on them. Somebody elbows me in the ear, and my head bangs the Plexiglas. The ref is yelling at us to play the puck. Kathy barrels in, using her ass to block the two Gold Wings, and fishes out the rubber. Before she can do anything with it, 19’s got it back. She fires on her backhand, but Amy deflects it with her blocker. The juicy rebound falls on 19’s blade and she stuffs it in.

  While the Wings celebrate, there’s nothing for us but the walk of shame back to the players’ box.

  My next shift starts on the fly with Jodi taking the puck deep into Weyburn’s end. One of their D-men smacks the puck away from her and tries to chip it over the blue line. I arrive just in time to pinch along the boards, cycling to Larissa. She passes to Whitney, who stickhandles in a tight circle, looking for an opening, and then passes back to me. I slide the puck to Jennifer, and she fires it right back. My slapshot hits the Weyburn left-winger square in the shin. While she goes down squealing, 19 picks up the puck and blasts down the ice on a breakaway, with me on her heels.

  Not a chance of catching her.

  Amy skates out to meet her, and 19 takes a wrist shot, glove side.

  Right where Amy likes it.

  She does the splits and snaps the puck out of the air.

  I love this girl.

  Line change.

  Back at the bench, Sue draws me aside and shows me a play she’s drawn up on her whiteboard. I get the feeling she thinks I forgot some basic defensive rules over the summer.

  You are the weakest link, my little voice tells me.

  A few minutes later Kathy takes a roughing penalty. We get trapped in our end for the whole PK. When Weyburn’s biggest D-man lines up a slapshot, I block it with my belly.

  Carla says blocking a shot gives her as much of a rush as scoring a goal. Frankly, I find shot-blocking to be mostly painful.

  This time is no exception. Especially since I end up on top of the puck, with three different players trying to gouge it out with their sticks. Mercifully the ref blows down the play, and I skate back to the bench, holding my stomach.

  Jennifer pounds my shoulder blades the whole way. “Way to take one for the team, Mac!”

  The guys with the signs are going crazy in the stands. Liam’s yelling, but I can’t make out the words.

  Sue gives me a pat on the head as I come off while Crystal’s mom, our trainer, waves me over. I know I’m going to have some major bruises. Good thin
g I took out my belly button ring.

  After the penalty, it takes a while for us to get some momentum. Then Jodi dekes the Gold Wing’s goalie into oblivion and scores unassisted, popping the water bottle. It’s her first goal in almost two years, and it’s an amazing moment. Strangely, Jodi doesn’t seem that excited as she skates by to receive our high-fives.

  “I can’t believe how good she is,” the Rookie D says when I meet her on my way back out.

  “Believe it,” I say.

  Then Whitney nearly runs into me. “That wasn’t unassisted! I should have gotten a point!” she pouts.

  Sue always says it takes all kinds of players to make a team.

  Why do some of them have to be such prima donnas?

  –

  Amy stands on her head, and Jodi gets a hat trick. We beat Weyburn 3–1, even though the shots are 37–21 for the Wings. As we line up to shake hands, I can tell they’re choked.

  “Good game,” I tell Number 19, who brings up the rear.

  “We’ll get you next time,” she says. “Your refs are friggin’ homers.”

  I watch her skate away. Liam leans over the glass and smacks our helmets as we exit the ice. Mr. Parker, who’s been manning the booth, announces the three game stars: Jodi, Amy and me.

  I am blown away.

  “Don’t let it go to your heads,” Sue tells us in the dressing room. “You’ve got your work cut out in this league. Eat properly. Stretch. Hydrate. Work hard in practice.”

  “Will you be there this week?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  Great.

  – Chapter Twelve –

  I dip my brush in the shiny orange acrylic paint and brush it on the wall, managing not to drip any on my coveralls. Painting the outside of the Sarcan Recycling building is part of a project for my senior art class. One of my classmates came up with the colourful design of crushed cans and geometric shapes.

  I’m happy just to be applying paint, and not having to freehand the objects on the storefront.

  “Would you mind staying until four thirty?” Mr. Tilson, our visual arts teacher, stares up at the sky, frowning. “There’s rain in the forecast tonight. I’d like to finish this part today.”