Rebel Power Play (8 page)

Charlie stepped out of the elevator. Taped to the wall in front of him was a small yellow poster. A hand-drawn green arrow pointed to the left, the words
East Metro Hockey League
written above it. The dinginess reminded Charlie of Dunn’s office. Must be a sports thing, he thought.

A tiny woman with grey hair piled up into a bun and striking blue eyes, framed by the largest round glasses and thickest lenses Charlie had ever seen, sat behind a desk. She looked up from her computer.

“Hi. My name is Charlie Joyce. I spoke to you on the phone?”

“How can I help you?” she said.

He’d called her only an hour earlier. “I wanted to speak to the person who runs the EMHL … Steve Roberts?”

She brightened up. “Wonderful. I’ll see if Stevie is in his office.”

A moment later she was back.

“Come on in. Stevie will be right with you.”

Charlie noticed the resemblance between Steve and the receptionist as soon as he walked in. He was
extremely short and wore round glasses with thick lenses. He was on the phone, and motioned for Charlie to sit. Five minutes passed before he hung up. He spun his chair to face him and read something from a piece of paper. “So your name is Charred Rice?”

“Not exactly. It’s Charlie Joyce.”

Steve looked down at the paper, and shook his head. “Mother’s hearing is not what it used to be. So you used to play for the Hawks?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Can you believe what that Dunn fellow did? Gave me one massive headache, that’s what! I’ve been on the phone all day trying to line up another sponsor. Do you think it’s easy to replace a team once the season’s started?” He stared hard at Charlie.

“No, sir … but I might have a solution.”

“I’m all for that. First, can you shed any light on the situation? Why did Dunn pull out?”

“I don’t really know.”

He looked confused. “You told me on the phone that you were on the team.”

“I was — and I don’t exactly know why he pulled out. Could be the team got off to a slow start.”

Steve shook his head and sighed deeply, slouching back in his chair.

“He loses a couple of games and quits. What a guy. He kept saying the Hawks would be a powerhouse — a new dynasty. Blast the Snow Birds out of the water, he said to me over and over. You sure there isn’t another reason?”

“Sorry, sir,” Charlie said. “I could ask around. Anyway, the reason I’m here, what I wanted to ask you …
well … I was wondering how much it would cost to keep the Hawks going. How much did Mr. Dunn pay?”

Steve scratched his head vigorously, and pushed his glasses back in place. “Depends on a lot of things. There’s the equipment, sweaters, transportation costs, tournaments. Parents offset some of that, but the sponsor usually puts in a good chunk. Dunn said he was going first class, so I’m not sure how much he was going to pay. Then there’s ice time for games and practices, plus insurance, not to mention registration … Adds up to quite a pile of cash, believe me.”

“I was more interested in the registration fee,” Charlie said. “What do the Hawks owe for that?”

He looked surprised. “Nothing, of course. Teams pay for registration, insurance, and ice time for games up front. Dunn paid all that — and it’s non-refundable. He’s been threatening me with lawyers and lawsuits. He can sue me, for all I care. He’s not getting a penny back — leaving me a team short when the season’s already started. Bad enough the Aeros cancelled. Now this. This league’s gonna give me an ulcer.”

He picked up the phone and pushed a button.

“Mom, can you bring me some mint tea? My stomach’s all upset.”

He hung up the phone. “I don’t know what Dunn paid for practices. He probably put down a small deposit for the season. He’d lose that, for sure.”

“So you’re saying,” Charlie cut in, “that the Hawks are all paid up for league fees … and I think you mentioned insurance.”

“You got it. The only consolation is that it cost Dunn a ton of dough — makes up for the headache he’s caused
me. He thinks he’s God’s gift to hockey. Talked about building a powerhouse. Must have said that to me fifty times. Man, that guy’s repetitive. He’s like a broken record. Said the EMHL better shape up and be a professional organization or we’d be in trouble. Like we ain’t professional!”

His mother came in and put a large mug on his desk.

“Can I get you a chocolate-chip cookie?” she asked Charlie.

“Thanks, but I’m not really that hungry,” he said uncertainly.

“I’d love one, Mom,” Steve said. “Do they have nuts?”

“No dear. I made those yesterday.”

“I’ll have a couple. You sure you don’t want one, Charlie?”

He shook his head.

Once she left, Charlie leaned an elbow on the desk. “I think I have a team for you,” he said earnestly. “I can take that headache away right now.”

“Who’s the sponsor?”

“I don’t exactly have a sponsor. I’m working on that — very close actually. It’s almost not a problem. More important is that I have the players. I can put out a competitive team. And, like you said, the registration fee, insurance, and ice time for games is already paid for.”

Steve leaned forward, took his glasses off, and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t speak until he had the glasses back in place.

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

He slumped back. “You can’t run a team. The
manager has to be at least eighteen, and you need a certified trainer at every game and practice.”

“Not a problem,” Charlie said. “I have an adult willing to run the team, and the trainer’s all lined up. Our team will take the Hawks’ place. You won’t have to change your schedule at all.”

Steve leaned forward again.

“And the team will be good,” Charlie said. “Better than the Hawks. I promise.”

“Good,” Steve said. “Some people were saying the Hawks were barely an A team.”

His mother came in with the cookies.

“What do you think, Mom?” he said. “Do you think this young man can put a team together?”

She squinted at him closely.

“I like him,” she said. “He looks like a very nice boy. Do you enjoy school?”

“I like school very much … It’s my favourite place … to go … to school,” Charlie stammered.

“I think he’s a very nice boy,” she said.

“That settles it, then,” Steve said. “I like you too. You have initiative. I’d rather have you in the league than that Dunn creep.” He took a bite of his cookie. “Come here in the next day or two with your manager. We need to sign a contract and the insurance forms. You’ll need a list of players, and they’ll all have to sign a waiver. Are any of your players from the Hawks?”

“Most of the players will be,” Charlie said. “A bunch of guys were playing, like me, but we stopped, or were told to stop, and now will start again, so I don’t quite know …”

Steve stared at him.

“I’ll bring the list tomorrow,” Charlie said. “What time?”

“Any time after one o’clock.”

“I’ll be here,” Charlie said.

“Charlie, you’ve taken a tremendous load off my mind. Made my day, in fact. By the way, when’s the Hawks’ next game?”

“Monday against the Hornets,” Charlie said. “It’s the start of the regular season. We’ll be there.”

“That’s in only three days. You can really get it together for Monday?”

“Guaranteed,” Charlie said.

“Amazing. I’m lovin’ this. I’ll call the Hornets’ manager and tell him the game’s back on. I’ll see you soon.”

He was just out the door when Steve called out, “Who’s your coach?”

“We’ll have all that information tomorrow,” Charlie said.

He closed the door, his heart beating so fast he thought his chest would burst. It was incredible — the team was theirs for the taking. He began planning his next step on the way down in the elevator. His grandfather was the obvious choice to be the manager. As for a sponsor, a trainer and practice time, he was at a loss for the moment. But he’d work it out. He had to. But he would also need some help, and Pudge was his man — he knew Terrence Falls inside and out.

So the plan was coming together. He’d got the team. Next, he’d get Grandpa on side, and then Pudge. After that … well, he’d just have to hope and pray everything would work out.

Charlie pushed back up his driveway on his skateboard for what seemed like the hundredth time. Pudge was supposed to meet him at his house, but something must have happened because he was really late. Every second today was precious. This was a huge day for the new team, a make-or-break day, and he desperately needed Pudge’s help.

As he glided back down the driveway, Pudge was making his way downhill on his longboard, weaving along the sidewalk to pick up speed. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. He turned the corner and pushed hard to meet him.

Pudge slowed with a heel grind. “I probably would have made it to your house,” he said with a grin, “considering I’m going down a hill.”

“Way too stoked to wait the two seconds,” Charlie replied. “I had a crazy idea yesterday, and now I could use your help. Sorry for bugging you on a Saturday morning, but it’s kind of important.”

Pudge held his arms out. “You got my attention. Sorry I didn’t call back last night. We were out late for dinner. What’s this crazy idea?”

“I was talking to … someone … and realized that Dunn probably had to pay all his league fees before the season started. I went to speak to the guy that runs the league — his name’s Steve, or Stevie, which is what his mom calls him …” Charlie waved a hand in the air. “I’m losing it. His name’s not important. What’s important is he told me that the Hawks are all paid up, and he’s not giving Dunn his money back.”

Pudge’s eyes got wider.

“So I told him that we would put a team together in the Hawks’ place — and the guy said okay.”

“How can we do that? We don’t have a sponsor, a coach, a manager, a trainer — we don’t even have a team.”

Charlie kicked his skateboard up to his hand. “That’s what I need you for. First off, you know this place better than I do. There must be a business or a store that would want to sponsor a local team. We don’t need a big spender like Dunn. Sweaters and socks would be cool. As for a manager, the league said we only need an adult to sign the forms. My grandfather agreed to do it, and we’ll do all the real work. We’ll need a trainer, according to league rules, and that may be a problem, but I bet we can find one. Maybe Steve can help. As for a coach, that’s taken care of.”

“Who’s the coach?”

“Us! We’ll run the team. We know the game. We can do it ourselves. Let’s put a team together and kick some butt on the ice … but we have to get it all done by Monday when we play the Hornets.”

Pudge looked almost dazed. He folded his arms across his chest. “Joyce, you really are losing it. I knew
you were crazy, but I didn’t think you were this far gone.” He winked. “When do we get started?”

Charlie let out a war cry and he and Pudge high-fived. “I knew I could count on you. I knew it. It’ll be perfect. Trust me. It’ll be totally cool to play together on the same team, and do things the way we want. Anyway, last night I counted about ten players to start with, which means the first rule is no one gets hurt.”

Pudge was counting on his fingers. “I have you, me, Scott, Nick and Zachary. Where’d you get ten?”

“We might have to do some recruiting. I’m also counting on Matt, the twins, Jonathon, and Martin as goalie.” He laughed. “As long as Mike Dunn’s not on the team, who cares?”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Here’s the plan I came up with. I’m going to see the rink manager right now about practices. The guy who runs the league said Dunn may have rented all his practice time already and maybe we can use that. Could you call the guys and ask them to come to my house tonight? Don’t tell them why. We’ll spring it on them when we have everything worked out.”

“I can do that. No problem.”

“Awesome. Then we have to figure out something for sweaters and socks.”

“I’ve got it!” Pudge yelled.

“Give it to me,” Charlie yelled back.

“The Hockey Shop. The owner might help out. It’s a store downtown. I think he sponsored my house league team when I was like seven or eight. We’ve been going there for years. Not upscale like Dunn’s, but it’s totally about hockey and the old guy that runs it is friends with
my dad. It’s worth a shot, anyway.”

“Pudge, you’re a genius. Let’s meet back here in two hours, and we’ll go over and beg for the team.”

“Speaking of the team. We could use a name. Team doesn’t quite cut it.”

“I know. I’ve been racking my brain and nothing sounds right — the Terrence Falls Warriors, the Flyers, the Penguins … the Chiefs … the Ravens … the Pirates … the Mermaids … the Pathetic Team Without a Name. I can’t think of anything.”

“Let’s not worry about it,” Pudge said. “We’ll figure something out.”

“It’s gotta be a name about us — the Shooters, the Titans, the Attack, the Blades, the … the …”

“Give it up, Joyce.”

He grabbed Pudge by the shoulders. “I’ve got it!” he practically screamed. “The players will run the team, and we’ll show Dunn how it’s done, show the league for that matter. How about the Rebels?”

Finally, Pudge seemed as stoked as Charlie. “You deserve your own NHL franchise. It’s awesome. I love it.”

“Remember, you call the boys and I’ll arrange the practice time. Meet back here and we’ll go get a sponsor.” He dropped his board to the ground and was about to race off to the rink when Pudge called his name.

“Do you really think we can do this? I mean, really do it?”

Charlie spun around. “We have no choice. We’ve got to. Otherwise, hockey’s done this year, and that’s not an option.”

He waved and set off down the hill. He’d never been
so excited about anything in his life. He felt as if he could fly to the rink, and as he gained speed he imagined that’s what he was doing, soaring above the houses on his board. Any time the tiniest doubt crept into his head, he pushed it aside. This had to work. He’d let his friends down big time by getting them involved with the Hawks in the first place. It was up to him to fix it.