Rocket ran his finger down the page until he spotted his friend’s name: Tyler Hopkins, No. 9: 5ˊ10˝, 172 lbs; right wing/centre; shoots right; fast; good playmaker; physical player. It was hard to believe he was reading about Ty in a scouting report.
“In your binders, you’ll also see some basic breakouts and forechecking schemes we want to focus on in this game,” Gold said. “We’re going to start a new tradition this season. On road trips, before a game, you’re going to sit with your lines or your defence partners and review the game sheets, especially the scouting report. Guys who aren’t playing today can come up to the front.”
“Perfect,” Kyle laughed. “I don’t have to move.”
The veterans had taken over the seats in the back of the bus. The rookies took the front. No one had told them to: it was understood. Rocket didn’t mind. A guy had to pay his dues.
Except for Cash. He was hanging back there with Hoffer and Gruny.
“You’ll play at home against the Knights,” Rocket said to Kyle.
“If they suck enough, for sure,” Kyle said.
“I didn’t mean that … It’s probably a numbers thing. We have extra guys and …”
“I’m messing with ya.” Kyle grinned. “Take a hike, and say hi to my buds Bossy and Fryer — and Cash.”
“If I don’t make it back alive, you can have my sticks,” Rocket said.
“Too small for me, bro.”
“You really are messing with me.”
“Got to keep you humble.”
“Hurry up, boys,” Gold said. “This isn’t so hard. Find your linemates, sit with them and review the package. You’ve had these binders since the start of training camp. I bet most of you haven’t so much as cracked them open. There’ll be a test soon and you better have them memorized. I’m serious.”
Rocket had spent hours poring over his binder, so he wasn’t worried. He was worried about going to the back of the bus. He looked over the top of the seats. Bossy and Fryer were in the second-last row. He swallowed hard.
Cash noticed him first. He was in the back row with Hoffer and Gruny. He clapped his hands. “I got it, Bossy. The perfect name for your line — Two-and-a-Half Men.”
The guys roared.
“C’mon, Little Guy,” Fryer said. He reached across the aisle and patted the seat. “We got to talk strategy. Gold’s orders.”
Rocket gritted his teeth and sat down.
Hoffer waved his binder in the air. “Remember that number 14 from last season? Didn’t you have a tussle with him, Boss-Man?” he said.
“He was like, ‘Coach is making me fight. Don’t kill me, please,’” Bossy said in a high-pitched voice.
“Was he the guy who called you sir?” Gruny said.
“He called for his mommy, I remember that,” Bossy said.
“Is this hockey talk?” Gold stood in the aisle.
“They were telling me about the players to watch for — guys from last season,” Cash said.
Hoffer giggled and slunk behind a chair.
Gold looked around, uncertain. “Good idea. Experience is key. You younger guys need to listen up.” He eyed Rocket.
Rocket prayed he wouldn’t say something to him.
“Washington told me you used to play with that Tyler Hopkins kid,” Gold said. “He’s from your hometown, no?”
Rocket nodded.
“He’s a hotshot — huge rep,” Gold said. “We talked about drafting him.”
“Cash, I thought you were a hotshot,” Hoffer said.
“I’ll smoke him,” Cash said. “I played him in a tournament. He’s totally soft. Needs a map to find the corners.”
Rocket couldn’t keep it in. “Ty’s an awesome player. He doesn’t back down from anyone. You got to keep your head up when he’s on the ice.”
Rocket could feel Cash’s icy stare boring into him.
“Let’s not be so impressed with the opposing players, Rockwood. We’ve got enough talent in this bus to beat anyone. We’ll see how tough this Tyler Hopkins is after we rattle him against the boards a few times.” Gold slapped his binder with his hand. “We arrive in less than an hour. Get focused.” He whirled and went back to the front.
Rocket stared at the back of the seat and waited for it.
“You telling me how to play, Little Guy?” Cash said.
“I think he is,” Hoffer said. “I heard him say he should be the number one centre.”
Rocket didn’t take the bait.
Cash came over to his seat. “What do you think, boys? Would Little Guy look better without any hair?” He patted Rocket’s head. Rocket slapped his hand away.
“Little Guy is sensitive,” Cash sneered. “No touchies.”
“I was thinking of a tape job, but you might have something there,” Hoffer said.
“The shave it is,” Gruny declared, a gleeful tone in his voice.
Cash patted Rocket’s arm. “We’ll see you after the game,” he said. “Consider it a date.”
Bossy and Fryer were talking to each other, paying no attention. Cash sat back down.
Rocket’s eyes blurred, his head flooded with fear — and anger. He couldn’t fight them all off, but he also couldn’t back down. The bullying would never stop if they thought he was scared. He gripped the armrests and turned to face the back.
“My prediction is that Ty smokes you,” Rocket said in a loud voice. “You have no clue, and you’re not half as good as you think you are. You think he’s soft? I dare — no, make that double-dare — you to drop your gloves with Ty. I’d pay to see it. You’ll flop on the ice like you did with Nathan. So bite me.”
He tucked his binder under his arm. “We finished talking strategy?” he said to Bossy and Fryer.
Bossy glanced over, his lips in a slight smile. Fryer didn’t take his eyes off his binder.
Rocket went back to his seat. His chest was tight and he found it hard to breath. Akim was standing in the aisle talking to Kyle.
“You guys are good,” Kyle said to Rocket. “You memorized everything in three minutes? You must be ready for the advanced plays.”
“I guess.”
The smile left Kyle’s face. “You know Akim?” he said.
“Of course,” Rocket said.
“You must be stoked for the game,” Akim said.
“Absolutely — if we ever get there.” The game wasn’t exactly on his mind right now.
Kyle flipped to a page in his binder. “What’s your opinion of the D-to-D Drop Pass Breakout?”
Rocket turned to that play. One defenceman took it out from behind the net, while his partner trailed behind him. At the same time, the centre curled in the slot and the wingers broke for open ice.
“I like this play,” Akim said. “The puck carrier has choices: keep skating, drop it to his defence partner, pass to the left winger or centre or swing it cross ice.”
“The centre’s got to anticipate the drop pass and veer off the right way,” Kyle said.
“The first defenceman doesn’t have to drop pass,” Rocket said. “Tons of variations off this.”
“Check this one out,” Kyle said, pointing to the diagram at the bottom of his page — The Breakaway. “I need to get me some of that action.”
Rocket turned to it. It was a play off a draw in their own end. The centre drew it back to a defenceman. The centre then peeled off and set up beside the net. The defenceman gave it back to the centre. The centre then looked to his winger, who was cutting off the wall into the middle of the ice, and sent him a breakaway pass.
Rocket figured he may as well focus on the game. For an instant he thought about telling Kyle about what had happened. He looked back. Better not. If the coaches got word of it, everyone would think Rocket had squealed, and he’d become the team punching bag. He could tough it out. They were bluffing, anyway. The league had made a big deal about stopping hazing, and there was even a section in their binders about it. Cash and his friends would get in huge trouble.
“You can run that with either winger,” Rocket said, “depending where their defence is positioned.”
Rocket pointed to the left winger in the diagram. His finger shook slightly as he showed them what he meant.