Breakaway Page 8

  “You kind of gave him the brush-off,” Wendy said, from the kitchen door.

  I shrugged. “I didn’t really feel like hanging out.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “Want some yogurt?”

  “No way.”

  “I know where Mum hid the ice cream,” she said, with an evil smile.

  “I’m going to guess the freezer,” I told her.

  She nodded. “Not in here, though. It’s in the chest freezer in the garage under like, two tons of spaghetti sauce. You want some?”

  Ice cream actually sounded pretty good. “Sure.”

  Within a couple of minutes, we were sitting at the kitchen table together, each working on a bowl of Neapolitan. Well, the chocolate part of it, anyway.

  “Mum will be surprised when she opens it up and sees she’s only got strawberry and vanilla left in there,” I said, smiling.

  “Serves her right for hiding it,” Wendy said.

  “And for buying such a lame flavour,” I added, and my big sister actually giggled.

  I hadn’t heard that sound for a couple of years.

  “Are you really going to bail on your camp?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t sound like I’m allowed to, does it?”

  “Not really. Is it that bad?”

  “Yes,” I said right away, then realized it wasn’t totally true. “It stinks that I’m not on Holbrook’s team, but there’s nothing really wrong with Katie Gunnar.”

  “So why don’t you just make the most of it?”

  “I don’t know,” I sighed. “It’s the other guys. I watch them playing all day while we’re working hard, then they make fun of our team and the fact that I’m playing with girls, and —”

  “You weren’t too happy about the girls to start with,” she pointed out.

  “I’m still not happy about it, but …”

  “But what?”

  I shrugged. “They’re better than I thought they’d be.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. They keep up with us just fine.” I thought about Ashley and that speedy little Cara. “In fact, a couple of them are better than some of the Cougars.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

  “So am I.”

  At that moment, the back door opened and Mum came in loaded with bags. When she saw the two of us sitting at the table with empty bowls in front of us, I thought she’d be mad. But she smiled and I swear there were tears in her eyes.

  “I’ve dreamed of a moment like this,” she said.

  Wendy and I looked at each other, confused.

  “Like what?” my sister asked.

  “Seeing you two hanging out together, like friends.”

  Wendy frowned. “We’re not friends.” She pushed her chair back and carried her bowl over to the sink.

  “Don’t let me ruin it,” Mum said, not realizing it was too late.

  Wendy soaped and rinsed her bowl, then left it on the rack to dry. “I was just bored, okay?” she said, hurrying out of the room.

  Mum watched her go for a couple of seconds, then sighed. “Teenagers.”

  “Yup,” I sighed.

  “So can you help me bring in the groceries?”

  I followed Mum out to her van and we unloaded it in record time, thanks to a sudden rainstorm.

  When we’d put everything away, she handed me a plastic bag.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “A little something I picked up for you at the bookstore.”

  I knew it couldn’t be the next volume of Shoot because the last one had only been out for a month or so (long enough for me to read it from cover to cover three times already). First I was curious, then I got excited, hoping it was the new biography of Sidney Crosby.

  For the first time that day, I was grinning, but only until I pulled the book out of the bag. I was holding it upside down, but I could tell by the colours that it wasn’t the one about Crosby.

  When I turned it right way up, I saw that the cover was a photo of a bunch of girls in hockey uniforms, hugging each other.

  I couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

  “Uh … thanks.”

  “It’s the Olympic team,” Mum said.

  “Uh-huh,” I mumbled. The book was called Gold.

  “So?” Mum said, looking all excited. “Which one is Katie Gunnar?”

  I looked at all of the faces and spotted her on the left, looking even more excited than Mum. “That one.”

  She leaned in for a closer look. “Oh, she’s cute.”

  Cute?

  How had I ended up with a “cute” hockey coach? It was so wrong. Coaches were supposed to be “tough” or “brutal” or something. Not cute.

  “Well,” Mum said, “I just thought it the book might give you some inspiration, honey. Enjoy it.”

  She left my room and I put the book on my night stand. I had no interest in reading it. At all.

  * * *

  After the cabbage rolls that night, it was my turn to clear the table. I thought unloading the groceries might have counted for something, but that just wasn’t the kind of day I was having.

  When I was finished and the dishwasher was running, I wandered into the TV room, where Dad was watching the news.

  I’d heard the names of the people the anchors were talking about, and I knew a little a bit about some of the countries they showed on a map, but not enough to keep me interested.

  “We can switch to a game after this,” Dad said, seeing that I was bored.

  “There aren’t any on tonight,” I told him.

  “Well, we’ll find something to watch.”

  I leaned back on the couch, trying to ignore the sounds of my buddies heading up to Tulip for a night game.

  While my teammates tore up the asphalt, I ran a load of hockey stuff through the laundry and watched Wheel of Fortune, feeling like I’d landed on “Bankrupt.”

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, I had to seriously drag myself out of bed, like it was a school day.

  I’d had a rotten sleep, thinking about how things had been going at camp, and I spent a lot of time lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

  At about one in the morning, I thought of what Gunnar had said about kicking someone out of camp for a bad attitude. And that made me think about what Patrick said about me being no different from the guys who gave my Dad a hard time when he wanted us to do plyometrics at practice. Their bad attitudes had almost ruined the Cougars’ season and torn the team apart.

  Was I acting any different from them by wanting a different coach and having a bad attitude when it didn’t happen? Was complaining about days filled with drills any different from the guys complaining about Dad’s coaching?

  Probably not.

  And that gave me a lot more to think about.

  * * *

  I felt a little more awake after my shower, and was totally alert when I saw that Mum had made whole-wheat pancakes. They’re way better than they sound, at least if you soak them with syrup.

  “That’s enough,” Mum said, taking the half-empty bottle away from me.

  It wasn’t even close to enough, but I also knew I’d never win that battle.

  As I ate my breakfast, I watched her pack my lunch. She made me a tuna sandwich (which I liked, but the guys hated, mostly because of the smell), then added a couple of oatmeal raisin cookies (which rocked), some carrot sticks (which didn’t) and my favourite member of the apple family, Granny Smith.

  “Can I have an extra juice box?” I asked.

  “I’ve been putting three in there.”

  I needed something to trade, and obviously no one would go for the carrots. “Please?”

  “No more juice,” Mum said, adding a bottle of water to the mix. “You’ll rot your teeth out, one of these days.”

  Geez.

  I heard Mrs. Cavanaugh’s van pull up.

  “Have fun,” Mum called after me, as I hoisted my re-packed hockey bag onto my back.

&nb
sp; Yeah, right. Fun.

  I took a deep breath before climbing into the van.

  After all of my thinking during the night, I’d decided that a change in my attitude would probably go a long way. It was the kind of idea I never would have come up with even a couple of months ago. But when I’d thought about how I’d acted over the past couple of days, I was kind of embarrassed.

  I had been a whiner.

  And maybe it was time for me to man up.

  The only way to find out if a new attitude would help was to try it out.

  “How’d it go last night?” I asked Kenny, once I was buckled in.

  “Good.”

  “Cool,” I said, surprised that he didn’t have more to say.

  “We lost two balls in the woods and one went down the sewer pipe.”

  That explained it. “Too bad.”

  “And that was in the first ten minutes we were out there.”

  “Really too bad,” I said, chuckling. I guess I hadn’t missed out on much.

  “Yeah, we called it a night.” He turned around from the front seat to look at me. “Think you might play tonight?”

  “I’ll have to see how torn up I am by Gunnar’s camp.”

  “Cool,” he said, nodding. “It’s always better when you’re there, Nugget.”

  “Thanks, Kenny,” I said quietly. And I meant it.

  * * *

  After I got changed in the locker room, I headed out to the rink to see if I could catch Gunnar alone. But the only person I saw was Ashley Bosko. She was wearing all her gear, but sitting in the stands and digging around in a purple purse.

  Since we had a few minutes before camp got started, I climbed the stairs and sat down next to her.

  “Hey,” I said.

  She turned to look at me. “Wow, the beast can smile.”

  “Beast?” I asked, laughing. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. That’s the first time I’ve even seen your teeth. It’s good to know you’ve got more than gums in there.”

  “Uh, thanks?”

  She turned back to the purse and the digging. “I sense you’re in a better mood today.”

  “Yeah. I’m trying out a new attitude.”

  “It’s about time.”

  “Wow, you really are Bosko’s sister,” I said, shaking my head.

  She stopped digging to look at me. “You don’t think we’re alike?”

  “No way.” I laughed.

  “How are we not alike?” she asked.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No. Tell me.”

  “I don’t know. You’re not a …” I didn’t want to finish the sentence.

  “Gorilla?” she asked.

  “No!” I choked.

  She raised one eyebrow. “Oh, so you think I am a gorilla?”

  “No!” I said, again. Thug, yes. Gorilla, no. “I just meant you don’t look like Eddie and Shane at all.”

  “Well, I would hope not. Last time I checked, I was a girl.”

  “I know, but —” I could feel my face turning red. Everything I said was wrong! “Look, I —”

  Ashley laughed. “Relax, Nugget. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

  I shook my head and sighed. “Of course you are. You’re Bosko’s sister.”

  “One of Bosko’s sisters,” she corrected.

  “What?”

  “There are two girls and two boys. Our younger sister is Casey.”

  “Are you serious?” It was like the Bosko family was taking over the whole town. Or maybe even the planet.

  “Yeah. She’s living with my grandma in Victoria while she goes to UVic.”

  “Cool,” I said, then thought about that for a second. “Wait, you said younger sister.”

  “Yeah, she’s ten.”

  I practically choked. “Your ten-year-old sister goes to university?”

  “Only a couple of days a week,” she said. “You think Eddie and Shane are Math geniuses? They’ve got nothing on Casey and Biochemistry.”

  I didn’t even know what Biochemistry was.

  “So she’s a prodigy too?”

  “Duh. Did you listen to anything I just said?”

  I had a feeling I’d regret asking the next question, but I was too curious to hold back. “So, if all three of them are prodigies … what, uh … what happened to you?”

  She gave me a long look before saying, “I got lucky, I guess.”

  “Lucky?”

  “Aha! There it is,” she said, pointing at me.

  “What?”

  “The face Eddie told me you make when you’re confused. He said your mouth hangs open, like a flounder.”

  I closed my mouth, feeling my whole face turn red.

  She laughed. “Anyway, my point is that I wouldn’t want to be a prodigy. In fact, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “No it isn’t. My brothers and sister are totally obsessed. They eat drink and breathe their subjects.”

  “Yeah, but they’re geniuses.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know what prodigy means, Nugget.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said, shaking my head.

  “What can I say? I’d way rather have a bunch of interests than one total obsession.”

  I thought about that for a second. “But Eddie has hockey and Shane has rugby. Their whole lives don’t revolve around math.”

  She rolled her eyes again. “Okay, so my brothers are both half brainiac, half maniac. It’s still pretty obsessive.”

  “But if they’re geniuses —”

  “Do you know what Eddie’s going to be doing next summer, while you guys are all out playing street hockey?”

  “Playing with us?” At least, I hoped so.

  “Nope. He’ll be at Polytechnique.”

  “That doesn’t even sound like English.”

  “Duh. It’s French, Nugget. Polytechnique Montreal. It’s a university where he’s going to a math and engineering camp.”

  “Instead of playing street hockey?”

  She nodded. “Now, try to tell me that being a genius sounds fun.”

  “I never said it sounded fun, I just —”

  “I think it’s a drag. I’m totally happy being normal.”

  “Well, normal might be pushing it,” I joked.

  She gave me a warning look, so I left it at that. Normal or not, she was still a Bosko and could probably pin me if I ticked her off.

  She dug around in her purse again for a second or two, looking annoyed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for my stupid cell phone.”

  “You have your own cell phone?”

  She stared at me. “What did I just say?”

  “How old are you?”

  “Why, do I need a licence to use it?”

  “No, it’s just —”

  “Thirteen.”

  “And you have your own cell phone?”

  “Are you really asking me again?”

  “Sorry. I’m just … surprised.”

  She looked me over. “Well, going by what Eddie says, you’re surprised a lot.” She smirked. “Flounder.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”

  “I’d rather you helped me find my stupid phone.”

  I sighed and started hunting around the stands. “What does it look like?”

  “It has a little screen on it and lots of buttons,” she said, sounding almost as sarcastic as my sister.

  Almost.

  “I know what a phone looks like. I meant colour or whatever.”

  “It has a green case.”

  Just then, Katie Gunnar blew her whistle, letting us know it was time to get out on the ice.

  And that’s when I saw them.

  I didn’t recognize the three boys as the Watsons right away because they all looked totally different (well, their hair did, anyway).

  “Warren,” the one with the new buzz cut and the Holbrook jersey said, pointing to himsel
f. “I’m Warren.”

  The next brother had kept his dark curly hair the same as it had always been. “I’m Quinn.”

  “And I,” said the last one, who had bleached his hair so blond it was almost white, “am Simon.”

  “Everybody clear, now?” Quinn asked.

  We were all too stunned to say anything, so we just nodded.

  The Watsons were putting an end to the confusion, once and for all.

  * * *

  We did the usual drills all morning, which drove me nuts.

  But not as nuts as Cara turned out to be.

  “Hey, Gunnar?” she asked, when we were taking a break. “Do you think we could play against Holbrook’s team?”

  What?

  They had twice the guys that we did and only three girls! It would be a disaster, and I’d never hear the end of it if they beat us.

  “I don’t think so,” Gunnar said.

  For once, we were on the same page.

  “Why not?” Patrick asked.

  “Because I asked him about it yesterday and he turned me down.”

  “Why?”

  Gunnar shook her head. “He …” she paused for a few seconds, like she was looking for the right words. “He has a bit of an issue with me coaching.”

  “Why?” Patrick asked.

  “I don’t know. He thought he was being paired up with another NHL player. A guy.”

  “So?”

  Gunnar shook her head again. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Let’s get back to work.”

  * * *

  I was sweating like crazy by the time we took our lunch break. Me and the Cougars climbed up to our usual place in the stands and sat down.

  To my surprise, Gunnar and the rest of her team joined us.

  I traded one of my apple juices for a Twinkie (and could practically hear Mum screaming from miles away). Patrick swapped some Doritos for a banana and everybody plugged their noses when I unwrapped my tuna sandwich.

  It was like Mum was psychic and knew I’d make the Twinkie trade. The tuna stink was her revenge.

  “Hey, Gunnar?” Cara said. “How did you get to play in the Olympics?”

  “By plane,” she said, smiling.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Well,” she answered, taking a sip of water. “I played hockey as a kid, then all through high school. I grew up in a really small town in Manitoba, so I had to play on a boys’ team most of the time. Then, I played at McGill University, in Quebec, and when the time came, I tried out for the Olympic team.”