Authors: David Skuy
“Goal scorer’s goal!” Dunn declared jubilantly. “Did you see how he got himself into a position to score? Hey, Shaw, I told you he’d break free eventually.” Coach Shaw smiled and gave a thumbs-up. “Two goals. I love it. But he can’t win the game himself. I’m gonna need way more effort from the rest of you — and I’m gonna get it, trust me.”
Jonathon elbowed Charlie’s side. “A chair could have scored those goals,” he said.
He laughed to be polite, although nothing seemed funny right now. The game had been a waste of time. All he’d done was sit and watch the Hawks be annihilated 10–4 by the worst team in the league. He corrected himself — by the second-worst team. The Hawks were most definitely the worst.
The Tornadoes players leapt over the boards to congratulate their goalie when the game ended. The
Hawks skated slowly to their end. A few players slapped Simon’s pads half-heartedly, and then the entire team followed Mike to shake hands. The Tornadoes goalie took Charlie’s hand and held on.
“You’re Charlie Joyce, right?” he said.
Charlie nodded.
“You hurt or something? Why didn’t you play?”
He was at a loss for words. “Coach was trying new lines,” he said.
The goalie looked confused. “I don’t mind you on the bench,” he said. “You made me look bad on that goal, and you almost got another on that pass across.”
“You guys were too much for us today,” Charlie said, letting go and moving down the line.
“What was the goalie saying to you?” Pudge asked, as they skated off.
“He played in the school tournament for Flemington. He remembered me.”
“So what’s your secret?” Zachary said from behind.
“Secret for what?” Charlie said.
“For getting off Mike’s line. I didn’t get a pass from him all game.”
Zachary usually never let things bug him too much. He was obviously unhappy about the game. Who wouldn’t be, after losing like that?
“I think we need to speak to the coach,” Charlie said. “We three have to get on the same line. And I also have to speak to him about Matt. It’ll be fine once we get the lines sorted out.”
“I don’t think he’s the listening type,” Zachary said.
“We’ll have to make him listen,” Charlie said, “or we’ll lose every game we play.”
Charlie forced a spoonful of porridge into his mouth. He wasn’t used to eating so early, and his stomach didn’t seem to be awake yet. He added a third heaping spoonful of brown sugar.
“So, I’m hoping you’re up at six-thirty in the morning to do some schoolwork,” his mom said, joining him at the kitchen table. Charlie smiled awkwardly. School was a bit of a sore point between them. They’d had a few mother–son talks about him pulling his marks up. He wanted to, and he honestly liked school; he just never seemed to have enough time, especially with hockey. He also knew that his mom would never accept hockey as an excuse for not doing well at school.
“So … what exactly could motivate you to wake up at this hour? Have you decided to actually get to school on time?”
“Nothing so crazy. I have to meet someone before class and I don’t want to miss him.”
“Who are you meeting?”
“A guy.”
“What guy?”
She wasn’t going to like the answer.
“A guy from the hockey team. I want to go over a few things.”
Her look hardened slightly. “Like what?”
Charlie hoped to patch things up with Mike. Pudge had told him that Dunn always dropped him off at school around eight o’clock on his way to work, which is why Charlie was up so early. Charlie figured the best way to get Matt on the team was to win Mike over, and then Mike could ask his dad. Charlie also wanted to talk to him about the lines.
“I want to ask him about some plays. I had an idea … and wanted his opinion.”
His mom watched him closely, and Charlie had the uneasy feeling she was going to lecture him about school again.
“Try to eat a little more,” she said. “You’ll be starving in an hour. There are some bananas on the counter — they’ll fill you up.”
“Sure, Mom,” he said, quietly relieved.
“I’m getting ready for work. I have to leave early too. Grandma’s coming over to take care of Danielle until school. If you wait a bit I can give you a lift.”
“Thanks, but I’ll walk. I’ve got lots of time.”
“Isn’t it nice not to rush? Maybe you should get up this early every day.”
“I think I’ll stick to the old routine. Early mornings don’t agree with me.”
His mom ruffled his hair and kissed him on the cheek before heading upstairs.
He pushed the bowl of porridge aside. He couldn’t do it. Maybe he could force down a banana. Besides, he was nervous about speaking to Mike. It was obvious
Mike wasn’t his biggest fan. He’d have to think of something to say — and he had about thirty minutes to do it.
* * *
Charlie kicked a clump of dirt along the sidewalk as he made his way to school along the dark and empty streets. A voice startled him.
“Charlie, what’s up?”
It was Dylan.
“How’s it going?” he said.
“Not bad. What’s got into you? School doesn’t start for over an hour. You want to make sure you’re on time for once?”
His lateness was becoming a school joke. He promised himself he’d start leaving earlier.
“Nah — don’t want to mess with a good thing. I’m actually on my way to speak to your best friend about the hockey team.”
“Best friend?”
“Mike Dunn.”
Dylan laughed. “Sorry I can’t join you. Band practice.” He held up a large case.
“What do you play?”
“Bass guitar. Jazz band. Once a week we meet with Mr. Parker.”
Charlie liked music. He’d taken piano lessons as a kid, but he’d never gotten into it. He’d rarely practised, and eventually his mom stopped the lessons.
“That’s cool. I didn’t know you played.”
“You haven’t heard me yet. Reserve your judgment.”
“I’m sure you’re good. That’s just your modest streak.” He kicked the clump of dirt to Dylan, who
passed it back. “How’re the Tigers this year?” he said.
“Let’s say average. We got thumped pretty bad by the Snow Birds — that’s one awesome team. They’ve got J.C. Savard up front, Burnett on D, Alexi in goal, and the rest of them can play too. We did have a serious game against
your
best friend last night.”
“Best friend?”
“Jake Wilkenson and the Wildcats.”
This time Charlie laughed.
“Those guys are crazed,” Dylan said. “Dirtiest team I ever played. Their coach is the worst. He tells his players to fight and spear — wait till you play them. We must have had three fights, and I think four guys from each team got kicked out.”
Pudge had told Charlie all about the Wildcats’ coach, Don Schultz. His teams invariably led the league in penalties. Some parents hated him, but others liked him because he produced winning teams.
“I guess Jake and Schultz were made for each other,” Charlie said.
“Watch yourself when you play them,” Dylan said.
“I’ll be okay.”
“I heard about your little encounter the other day — he’s out to get you.”
Charlie pretended indifference. “Not much I can do about that.”
The school came into view.
“See you later,” Dylan said. “I go around the back.” He took a few steps and turned around. “And don’t forget to say hi to Mike for me.”
Charlie grinned and waved goodbye.
Interesting guy, he thought — always had something
on the go. Charlie had major respect for anyone who could play an instrument. He took a seat on a bench near the parking lot. Mike came from that direction. He pulled out a book and began to read. He was so engrossed he didn’t notice the time pass, and so was shocked to hear the warning bell. Mike still hadn’t shown up. Just his luck! The one day he got up early Mike came late. What a waste of time.
He was about to give up when he saw Dunn’s sports car speed past. Mike had barely closed the door before Dunn put it in reverse. He flew out of the parking lot and spun the car in the street to go forward, an impressive bit of driving that made the tires screech and attracted a lot of attention from the students gathered in front of the school. Charlie steeled himself and jogged over.
“Hey, Mike, you got a minute?” he said, in as pleasant a tone as he could muster.
Mike narrowed his eyes. “I guess. What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you about the team.”
“Because …?”
He wasn’t going to make this easy. Keep your cool, Charlie told himself. “I wanted to ask what you thought about getting Matt Danko on the team.”
“Team’s been picked.”
“I know. He missed the tryouts. His dad got laid off and he had to work after school. Anyway, Pudge was able to get him a job with more flexible hours.”
“Yeah … and …?”
“Okay. Well, he’s got the time to play again, and his dad’s found lots of work. He’s an amazing carpenter.
He’s building a ton of stuff for my mom’s café, shelves and new counters, and I think he’s lined up a few more contracts — at least that’s what my mom told me.”
“I can’t tell you how overjoyed I am that he’s building shelves for your mom. What’s it got to do with me, or the Hawks?”
Charlie felt his temper rise. For Matt’s sake, he took the abuse and continued calmly.
“Matt’s a great player — you know that. He’d be a sweet addition to the team. We need more firepower up front. He’s also a physical force, and let’s face it, we’re not the biggest team in the world.”
“That’s my dad’s decision. I’m not the coach. Talk to him.”
“I thought maybe you could talk to him. Get him on side.”
“You thought wrong. We don’t need Matt. Our problem is certain guys think they’re better than everyone else.”
Charlie flushed deeply. Mike was obviously referring to him.
“Let me give you some advice,” Charlie said. “You’re the captain, and the captain’s supposed to bring the team together, not … not … make things up about guys.”
“I’m not making anything up. I call ’em like I see ’em,” Mike snarled. “Stop acting like you’re such a superstar — and come off the ice when you’re called!”
“That’s spaced. I don’t know what game you watched. I was on the bench practically the whole time. While we’re on the subject, if anyone needs to get off the ice it’s you.”
“Well, I scored, didn’t I?”
“So what. I scored too.”
“Aren’t you just the superstar?”
“That’s not the point. The point is …”
“The point is the other lines suck.”
“And that’s why we need Matt!”
“Forget Matt — and forget you. You’re lucky to be on the team, Joyce. My dad already regrets picking you. Our team would be ten times better without a superstar wannabe like you … and get off the ice when you’re called, Third Line Boy!”
He brushed past Charlie and marched towards the front doors. Charlie was so angry he felt like running after him. Then it occurred to him — and he allowed himself to smile. Mike hadn’t said no; he’d told him to speak to his father. Well, Charlie Joyce would do just that.
The bell rang for the start of school. He picked up his knapsack and hurried to join the line. He had to laugh. Even when he got to school an hour early he was late.
Charlie caught up with Matt during the day. “What’s Matt up to today?”
“I got a spare right now,” Matt said. “Might head to the library and catch up on some work. I’ve been totally behind this term.”
“I know that feeling,” Charlie said. “I’ll catch up with you after my class.”
“Pudge told me you spoke to Mike this morning,” Matt said in a low voice.
Charlie could see Matt was embarrassed. “I just wanted to talk about the team. I also asked about you playing, and he told me to speak to his father. I’m going over after school.”
Matt groaned. “I gotta work.”
“I know. Don’t sweat it. I think he’ll say yes, especially after the Tornadoes game. It was pathetic. We got totally smoked.”
“Zachary filled me in. Said something about Mike playing the whole game.”
“Things will sort themselves out. First thing is get you on the team.”
Matt cleared his throat, rolling his neck slightly. “I’d
love to be out there — now that things have sort of gotten under control.” He paused. “You don’t have to do this, by the way. I mean … I should be the one asking. I could go later in the week.”
“We can’t wait another day. We need you out there like you wouldn’t believe. It’s going to be a long season as it is.”
“Well, thanks. I appreciate it.” He cleared his throat again. “And thanks for talking to Pudge and your mom.”
Charlie cut him off. “Forget that. Your dad’s doing my mom a favour. Just promise to set me up for a ton of cheap goals when you come out.”
“I can do that.”
Charlie looked at the clock on the wall. He was going to be late for his next class. He needed to say something first.
“It’s no big deal,” Charlie said softly. “I mean, about your dad and all. Things happen, and he’ll be okay once he gets going. Don’t let Jake bug you about it.”
Matt’s face turned red. “I guess. Not much I can say.”
“That’s not true. You don’t have to take his dissing about your father — and if you want me to back you up, I’m there,” he said fiercely.
Matt nodded and held out his fist, and Charlie punched it.
“See you later,” Matt said, and he ran off down the hall.
The bell rang, announcing the start of the next period. Charlie groaned and ran down the stairs to get his science books, and then back upstairs, karate-kicking the hall doors open so he wouldn’t have to slow down. He groaned again. Should have saved his energy. The
door was closed. His life was one big late slip! He took a deep breath and went in. His teacher gave him a stern look, pointing at the clock. Charlie cast an apologetic look back and quickly took his seat. He caught sight of Scott off to the side, laughing. He suppressed a smile and opened his books. But try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about meeting Dunn after school.
He’d already blown it with Mike. He couldn’t mess up again.
* * *
Charlie crouched slightly on his skateboard, cruising down the hill towards Terrence Falls’ downtown. The autumn air had a slight chill to it, although the cool air was welcome after a long day at school so he didn’t mind.
Dunn’s store was easy to find. An enormous orange sign dominated the street:
Dunn’s Sportsmart — Play Hard … Live Large
. He’d been here once before. The place was amazing — equipment for practically every sport you could name: hockey, golf, tennis, skiing, soccer, lacrosse, running, cycling … Hard to imagine Dunn owned twenty more stores like this. He thought his mom’s café was big. Fifty cafés could fit into this place.
He made his way to the cash.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Mr. Dunn.”
“In the back,” the cashier replied.
“Charlie!”
Edward Shaw came over carrying an armload of hockey sticks. Charlie had grown to like his assistant coach. Charlie found he had a strange desire to help him out, even though he was an adult. He seemed sad most
of the time. It couldn’t be easy working for Dunn — and he didn’t seem to enjoy coaching.
He told Shaw why he’d come. The assistant coach’s eyes widened and Charlie saw a drop of perspiration run down the side of his head.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Mr. Dunn likes to do things his own way. He did say the team was picked.”
“Matt’s a great player, and he’d make a huge difference. He’s great with the puck, and he’ll also add some toughness.”
Charlie saw that Shaw was uncomfortable with the idea, but he offered to escort him to Dunn’s office anyway. They went to the back of the store and through a black metal door. Charlie felt like he was entering an alternate universe. The store was spectacular, so luxurious, clean and modern; the office area and warehouse looked more like a hockey arena. Concrete walls and floors gave it a depressing air. Boxes were piled up to the ceiling on rickety grey shelves and there was dirt everywhere he looked. A few men drove around in hydraulic lifts, moving large boxes around. Fluorescent lighting gave off a yellowish glow and a distinct buzzing noise. He couldn’t imagine working in a worse place. He really felt sorry for Coach Shaw now.
Shaw pointed to a door to the right. In large, gold letters, a sign proclaimed:
The Boss Lives Here
. Charlie heard a loud voice from inside. Without warning, the door swung open and a man walked out, his face ashen, as if all the blood had left.
“Get here on time,” Dunn’s voice thundered, “and make sure the shoes are unloaded from the trucks and stocked on the shelves before we open.”
Dunn sat in front of a metal desk that ran the length of the room. Papers littered the desktop, with multi-coloured forms hanging from hooks in the wall.
Shaw cleared his throat. “Mr. Dunn, Charlie’s here to see you, sir.”
“Who?”
“Charlie Joyce, from the hockey team, sir.”
“What does he want? We don’t play until tomorrow.”
“I know, Coach,” Charlie said, stepping nervously into the office. Even in his sweatshirt he was cold and he had to force himself not to shiver.
The cold didn’t seem to bother Dunn — he wore a short-sleeved shirt.
“I wanted to tell you about a good friend of mine, Matt Danko. Mike knows him. He played with the Wildcats last year, and the school team this year. He can play centre or wing. He scores, and hits too. He’s a real all-round team player. I talked to Mike this morning, and he told me to speak to you.”
Dunn’s eyes narrowed.
Charlie’s heart was racing. Deep down, he just wanted to run. But he wasn’t going to let Matt or the team down. He forced himself to speak slowly. “He missed the tryout because of work, but now he’s got a new job and can play. He’d really like to come out. I mean, maybe he could just come to a practice and you could see what he can do. Once you see him in action, I know you’ll be impressed.”
He had prepared an entire speech, but somehow he couldn’t remember the words. He mumbled about Matt being ready to come out any time, and then waited for Dunn to reply. Dunn nodded a few times. Charlie
thought that was a good sign. Then he began to chuckle, at first quietly, and then louder and louder. Charlie’s hopes began to fade. The laugh sounded nasty.
“I really appreciate you taking the time from your busy schedule to come down here and talk to me. As you can see, I don’t have anything to do but discuss the Hawks. Isn’t that right, Edward?”
Shaw smiled awkwardly, his face beet red. He looked as if he wanted to run out of the office.
“In fact, now that I think of it, I don’t see why I even bother to coach. You know a lot more about hockey than me. Right, Joyce?”
“I didn’t mean that,” Charlie said.
Dunn interrupted. “It’s not enough that I drop fifty grand on new equipment. It’s not enough that I take time out of my incredibly busy schedule, running a chain of sporting goods stores, managing the distribution system, sales, marketing. That’s obviously not enough for Charlie Joyce. You can do better, I guess.”
Charlie remained rooted where he stood. He couldn’t feel his legs.
“I’m glad you came, though,” he said. “Now I can fix my mistake — something I should have done already. Instead of this Matt joining the Hawks, why don’t you join him at that new job? You’re too high maintenance, Joyce. I don’t like your attitude. Never have, never will. I don’t put up with problems. I take care of them, which is why I’m sitting here and you’re going to get out of my store.”
What?
Charlie’s mind was reeling.
“I was just …”
“Are you thick or something?” Dunn yelled. “You’re
off the team. It’s over. So find the nearest exit and use it. And I want my equipment back in my store by seven o’clock tonight or I’ll call the cops and have you charged with theft. Got it?”
Charlie stared uncomprehendingly at Dunn, who spun in his chair and began banging away on a keyboard.
A hand touched his shoulder
“Come with me, Charlie,” Shaw said softly.
He followed him back into the store. Nothing seemed real. He felt like he was dreaming. Unfortunately, it was no dream.
“Don’t worry about the equipment,” Shaw said. “I can come by your house tonight after work and get it.”
“I’m off the team?” Charlie asked.
“He doesn’t take kindly to criticism. I had a bad feeling about your idea. Maybe I should have asked him.”
“But I didn’t criticize.”
“I know,” Shaw soothed. “He’s been in a foul mood since the last game.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “I have a feeling he’ll be in a foul mood most of the time now that you’re gone. I don’t know much about hockey, but from what I’ve seen you’re the best guy we have.”
“I can’t believe it,” Charlie said. He wasn’t really listening.
“Don’t worry about the equipment,” Shaw repeated. “I’ll get it tonight.”
Charlie nodded. “Thanks, Coach Shaw. That would help out.”
They shook hands.
“Edward, the boss wants to see you — now.”
Another employee was motioning towards the back of the store.
“I have to get to work,” Shaw said. He looked closely at Charlie. “You okay? You need a lift back? I could take my break early and drive you.”
“Don’t worry. I have my skateboard.”
“I’ll see you later — for the equipment.”
He left the store. The guys were going to freak. He was the biggest loser ever. The dream team was over. Why couldn’t he leave things alone?
He started back up the hill. Typical. No matter how hard he tried, things always got messed.