Rocket closed the trunk and hopped into the back seat with his sticks. “Thanks for the lift, Griffen. Sorry it took so long.” Rocket grinned at Maddy and she turned to look out the window so Griffen wouldn’t see her laugh.
“Eight-thirty already,” Griffen growled. “Complete waste of a night, and I knew the traffic was going to be brutal.”
He’d been fuming about the time and the traffic since they left the rink. It was cool of him to drive, obviously, but it was hard to be thankful when the guy was such a jerk about it. Still, Rocket had to be nice because his mom would need to borrow the car for hockey sometimes — maybe lots of times. He sure hoped he could hook into a carpool, or it would be a long, long season.
“Hey, Mads. You want to come over and watch TV?”
“She’s got homework,” Griffen said.
“No, I don’t,” Maddy said. “I did it at the rink.”
“You watch too much TV.”
“Just for an hour, to relax. No big deal.”
Griffen snorted. Then, after a long pause, said, “I need you to clean the kitchen before you go. There are dishes in the sink and the floor’s dirty. Don’t stay too long, either. I’ll probably be going out with Risa, and I want you home first.”
Rocket bit his lower lip and squeezed his stick. He really hated when his mom went out with Griffen, whatever “going out” meant. She was probably only going because Griffen had given him a ride. Now he felt guilty. But how else was he supposed to get to hockey? They drove the rest of the way in silence, forced to listen to Griffen’s favourite radio station.
Griffen parked the car in the underground lot.
“I have to throw my equipment in the storage locker,” Rocket told Maddy.
Griffen wrinkled his nose. “You ever wash your stuff? Smells like someone died in there. I don’t want your stinky bag smelling up my vehicle, okay? You get it cleaned. I’m no taxi.”
“Okay, Griffen. I’ll get it dry-cleaned,” Rocket said. As if!
Maddy stifled a giggle.
Rocket took his bag by the handle and waved his stick. “Thanks again, Griffen. See ya later, Maddy.”
Griffen marched off. Behind him, Maddy giggled outright, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Hurry up,” Griffen shouted back to her. “You’re going nowhere until that kitchen shines.”
“I’ll be over in five minutes,” she whispered, before running to catch up with Griffen.
Rocket wheeled his bag to the locker, undid the lock and put his stuff up on the shelf. He ran to the elevator, hoping to catch them, but they’d left and he had to wait a long time for the next one.
Poor Maddy. One night with Griffen felt like a lifetime. What was it like for her? He hoped his mom got out of meeting him tonight. She usually came up with some excuse.
When the elevator doors opened, he could hear the old couple in 1203 arguing, as usual. It hadn’t been too bad lately, not like two months ago when the cops were called. And 1207’s TV was about normal — absolutely blaring.
His mom was reading on the couch when he came in. She nodded toward her bedroom. “I think they’ve figured out a way to attach the television to their stereo,” she said.
“1203 is going at it, too,” he said.
“I asked the super again for an apartment on another floor. As usual, he just smiled and nodded. Yesterday a new family moved into 606 and he never offered it to me. I know he wants me to bribe him, but someone told me the going rate is a thousand. Where am I going to get that?”
“It’s not so bad here.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve been looking at some other buildings, but the rent in this city is atrocious. How can anyone afford to live here? I know we can’t. If your dad actually paid his child support, then maybe …”
He knew she’d mention that as soon as the topic of money came up.
“Maddy’s coming over to watch TV for a bit. Is that okay?”
“Do you have any homework this weekend?”
“Nah.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“Honest. I don’t.”
“Fine. What happened at the tryout? How’d it go?”
“Good, I guess. Maybe more like weird. I ran into someone during a drill — my fault for not keeping my head up — and the coach freaked out about a concussion.”
His mother sat up, her face white as a sheet. “Bryan! You got a concussion? Oh, my goodness. That’s it for hockey. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? It can affect you later in life: headaches, forgetfulness, mood swings, depression …”
“Mom! I’m fine. I don’t have a concussion. The coach told me she was just being super cautious. Relax. You’ve told me a hundred times about concussions. I’m not dizzy, tired, nauseous — nothing.”
She came over and looked into his eyes. “Can you focus? Any blurry vision? Do you remember where you hit your head?”
“I said I was fine. I didn’t hit my head.”
She put him through a series of tests, making him touch his nose rapidly with his index fingers, balance on one foot, repeat number sequences. He didn’t complain. He knew it would be over faster if he just did it.
She hugged him. “You seem to check out. Play your silly hockey.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“So you got hit and left the ice. Where did that leave things?”
“That’s the weird part. Coach came into the dressing room and offered me a spot, even though I was literally on the ice for seven minutes. I’m officially a Bowmont Blue, or I will be when you sign the contract. Here are some forms to fill out.” He handed them over sheepishly, because they were all folded and one page was ripped.
His mom rolled her eyes and took the forms. “Typical Bryan condition. But, anyway, congrats! Do you know where they practise?”
“I think there’s a letter explaining all that.” He pointed to the forms.
“I’m proud of you, Bryan. Did you meet any of the boys on the team? Are they a good group?”
“Not really sure. I got there kind of late and then, like I said, I wasn’t on the ice long.”
She shook her head angrily. “Did Griffen get the time wrong again? I told him to come at six.”
“He said he was held up at work and there was traffic. I got on the ice when the tryout started, but barely.”
“That guy …” She rolled her eyes.
“He said you were going out with him tonight?”
Her face fell. “I said I might, but I’m tired. Don’t feel like it.”
“So don’t. Me and Maddy don’t have to watch TV.”
She smiled. “Thanks, dear. But … he did drive you and … Anyway, no matter. I might go out for a bit just to get away from that TV blasting in my ear.”
“We can switch bedrooms if you want. The noise doesn’t bother me.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “I’m going to get ready. You take a shower first.”
“I only played for a few minutes.”
“Whatever. You put on that equipment and the stink transfers onto you. Besides, you have a lady friend coming over.”
“It’s just Maddy.”
“Go!”
He went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water felt good, and he closed his eyes and let it bounce off his head and shoulders. The Bowmont Blues. Was he making a stupid mistake? Should he wait? Spots did open in September sometimes, although not really at AAA. He was kind of fooling himself there. But drop down? Would he ever get back? What was this coach like? Did she know her hockey?
With so many questions racing through his head, it was hard to enjoy the shower.
He got out and ran a hand over the mirror to wipe away the mist. The face of a little kid looked back. Some boys in grade seven had hairy legs and a bit of a moustache already, and then there was him. He could pass for a grade four. He turned away in disgust and got dressed.
Wandering back to the living room, he saw his mom and Maddy sitting on the couch together.
“That was fast,” he said to Maddy.
“I … There wasn’t much to do.” Her eyes looked a little red and puffy. “I’ve been here for a few minutes.”
“I was taking a shower, even though I didn’t need one,” Rocket joked.
His mom slapped Maddy’s knee and got up. “We’ll pick this up another day,” she said to her. “Bryan, I had a quick look through the forms. I hope we can find other parents to give you a lift. Otherwise, I don’t know what we’ll do. The home rink is far, like an hour away, without traffic. A seven o’clock game would be a nightmare.”
“We’ll figure it out. I’m sure there’s someone. I think the first practice is this Wednesday.”
She stared wide-eyed out the window. “I have a shift Wednesday. I’ll ask Griffen if he can help out. Anyway … excuse me.” She went to her bedroom.
“What were you guys talking about?” he said.
Maddy crossed her legs. “Nothing. Just stuff. How was the shower?”
He sat on the other side of the couch. “The shower was hot and soapy. Very unusual.”
“At least you took one — that’s a first.”
“Hey, I’m a new man.” He waited for a sec. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Bryan,” she said forcefully.
“Cool. Anyway, it was nice of Griffen to drive me, even with the complaining.”
“Yeah. He’s awesome.”
That’s all he needed to hear. They must have had a fight, which they did all the time. He didn’t understand Griffen. Maddy was as close to a perfect kid as you could get. She was a genius at school, got all A’s and never got in trouble. He got that Griffen hadn’t signed up to be her dad, and it wasn’t his fault Maddy’s mom took off like that. But it wasn’t Maddy’s fault, either.
“I think my mom’s going out with him tonight.” He followed her eyes to his mom’s bedroom. “They’re not …”
“I doubt it, but how freaky would that be?”
They both fell quiet and then burst out laughing.
“Hey, sis! Are you stoked about our family camping trip?” he said in an excited, happy voice.
“Sure am, bro. Let’s have a family game of crazy eights.”
“Not until we have our family pillow fight.”
As quickly as it started, the joke stopped being funny.
“Would TV solve your problems?” he said.
“Absolutely every single one of them,” she said.
He flicked the set on and punched in a number. “Perfect. The game’s not over.” He dropped to the floor and began to do sit-ups.
“Are you serious?” she said.
“About?”
“I’m supposed to sit here and watch hockey, which I don’t really like, while you do sit-ups, which I don’t really get.”
“I didn’t do my sit-ups this morning,” he said. At thirty, he switched to side crunches.
She dropped to the floor and leaned forward. “I know you love hockey. Trust me. I get it. But don’t you think you’re a bit obsessed? Like, you just had a tryout, it’s nine-thirty, and you’re doing sit-ups and watching more hockey.”
He sat up. “Weren’t you the one who told me not to quit?”
“I’m not saying quit. Play. But, Bryan, come on. It’s fun to think about the NHL and all that, and I guess all guys do when they’re young. You’re not a little kid anymore, and maybe you need to be more realistic.”
“Realistic? Because I’m a shrimp, you mean? Too tiny to play with the big boys? Thanks. I’ll prove you wrong, and Kinger and Adam and Ty and Barker, too — all of you.”
Eyelids half-shut, Maddy let out a sigh and said, “It’s not easy being your sister.”
Rocket began his crunches on the other side. “I’ll get you box seats, sis, but not all the time. I have important friends.”
Maddy hopped back on the couch and tucked her legs under her. “I want front row, behind your bench, so I can tell you what to do.”
Rocket’s stomach was beginning to ache. He reached forty and lay down to catch his breath.
“Can you explain it?” she said quietly. “Just once, and I promise not to ask again.”
He sat up and stared at the TV. He’d never tried to put it in words before, why he was only really happy on the ice, where everything made sense — or at least it had until he got cut from the Huskies. He turned the game off, the only sound coming from the neighbour’s television.
“You’re so smart, Maddy, and you have tons of friends. You’ll be a doctor or a lawyer or something awesome. What am I going to do? I’m no brainiac like you. How am I going to get away from this place? I don’t want to live in this stupid, smelly building all my life, and I want to help my mom so she doesn’t have to work all the time. Hockey is all I’ve got — it’s the only thing I’m good at. And when I’m skating and playing, I feel like I don’t have any problems. It’s like life is better on the ice. Plus, it’s my only shot. I’m sure of it. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck in this neighbourhood forever — a total loser — another Grady,” he finished bitterly.
“You’re not going to turn out like Grady.”
“Why not?” he said. “He had a chance to make the NHL, to be rich and respected, but instead he got hurt and has nothing.”
“I think it’s more complicated than that,” Maddy said. “It’s not like you become a street person if you don’t make the NHL.”
“No kidding — I’m not that stupid. And I don’t think everyone who lives here is a loser, but you know what I mean: the gangs, the garbage, the street people — Grady!” He looked her in the eye. “I’m good, Maddy. Really good. I know it’s a long shot, but why not? I want it and I can play the game. I was the league’s lead scorer last year — in AAA — the lead scorer. But one idiot coach decided I was too small and no one else wanted me. I’m not going to be washed up at thirteen.” He slapped the floor with his fist.
“You’re not just a hockey player, Bryan.”
He began to do more sit-ups.
She was wrong. Dead wrong.
Without hockey, he was nobody — a nobody going nowhere.