CHAPTER 4
Dylan skated backward across the ice. It felt smooth under the sharp blades of his skates. Nick and Tommy were beside him.
“Okay, guys,” Coach Erickson shouted. “Let’s do some warm-up drills.”
“Feeling good, Dylan?” Nick asked.
“I feel great,” said Dylan. “Like nothing ever happened.”
“The three amigos are back!” said Nick.
“Enough talking, boys. Line up for the give-and-go drill!” shouted Coach Erickson.
The players took their places for the drill. Dylan and Nick lined up behind the goal, and Tommy skated out to the right circle. Another player lined up in the left circle, and two went out to the blue line. The Rangers goalie crouched in the net.
Coach Erickson blew his whistle. As Dylan watched, Nick passed the puck out to his teammate near the blue line. Nick skated hard toward the middle of the ice and received the pass back. Then he fired the puck quickly over to Tommy, in the circle, who immediately passed it back to Nick.
The puck hit the curve of Nick’s stick as he skated toward the goal. He shot it hard past the goalie and into the net.
“Nice work, Nick!” Coach Erickson shouted. “Dylan, you’re up.”
Dylan’s heart pumped. He couldn’t wait to get the puck and blast it into the net. But he was nervous, too, and worried about his arm.
Coach Erickson blew the whistle.
Dylan quickly passed the puck to his teammate at the blue line. As he shot, a dull pain crept into his arm. He grimaced as he skated to the middle of the ice.
He passed the puck off to another teammate, and again, he felt an achy pain. “Ouch,” he muttered.
Dylan pushed his skates hard off the ice and headed for the goal. He received the puck and flicked a hard wrist shot. Pain shot up his arm.
The goalie easily knocked Dylan’s shot away from the net.
Shaking his head, Dylan took his spot back in the corner. I have to get it together, he thought. We’ll never beat the Scouts if I keep shooting like that.
The team continued working on the give-and-go drill for several minutes. Each time Dylan tried the wrist shot, it was slow.
“Shoot it with power, Dylan!” shouted Coach Erickson from across the ice. “Let’s see some speed!”
Dylan tried to shoot with the power he usually had. But his arm wouldn’t cooperate.
Coach Erickson shook his head. Then he blew his whistle and called, “Slap shots! Line up for one-timers!”
Dylan skated across the blue line and over to the far boards. Coach Erickson stood on the blue line, near the center of the ice. He had a pile of pucks in front of him.
Coach Erickson flicked the puck across the ice. Dylan waited for it, raising his stick high into the air behind his body. As the puck cruised to him, Dylan pulled his stick down toward the ice.
Dylan’s stick collided with the puck, sending it airborne toward the goal. It sailed smoothly into the back of the net. As his stick connected with the puck, Dylan felt the collision all the way up his arm. He closed his eyes briefly as pain shot from his wrist to his shoulder.
“Good one, Dylan,” said Coach Erickson. He passed Dylan another puck.
Coach Erickson continued to pass him pucks, and Dylan fired shot after shot at the net. But each time he shot, the pain in his arm felt worse.
After several minutes of shooting, Coach Erickson held up his hand. “Nick!” he yelled. “Take over for me!”
Nick skated over and took Coach Erickson’s spot in the center of the ice.
“Let’s talk for a minute, Dylan,” Coach Erickson said.
Dylan followed the coach over to the bench. Dylan took off his helmet and sat down next to his coach.
“I can tell your arm is still bothering you,” Coach Erickson said.
“It’s okay,” said Dylan. “I’m fine.”
“It’s not okay if you can’t play at full strength,” said Coach Erickson. “Every player on the ice needs to give me a hundred percent.”
“I can play,” Dylan said. “I’ll try harder. I’ll keep practicing at home.”
“I don’t think so,” Coach Erickson said, shaking his head. “I can’t risk it. You could injure your arm more. And it wouldn’t be fair to the team. I’m sorry. But I have to bench you for the tournament.”
Coach Erickson stood and skated back to the center of the ice.
Dylan sighed in frustration and rubbed his arm. Great, he thought. Now I won’t help win the tournament.