Nish was again a driven player in the second period. He blocked shots, cut off rushes, and twice tried the sneak pass over centre, but the first time the Selects were waiting on it and beat Dmitri to the puck.

The second time it worked. Andy stepped in front of one Selects defenceman, “accidentally” blocking his route, and little Simon squirted out of the pack to take the lead in the rush for the puck Nish had sent flying over centre.

“Go, Simon!” Sarah screamed from the bench.

Simon was so nervous he almost lost his footing as he picked up the wobbling puck. He came in over the blueline, wound up for a slapshot, faked it, and moved to the far side of the net before sliding the puck in between the goaltender’s outstretched legs.

Selects 2, Owls 1.

“Five hole!” shouted Dmitri. “Told you so!”

The Owls’ bench went wild. Even Muck and Mr. Dillinger high-fived each other.

Nish, hurrying up behind Simon, caught him in a bear hold as he stepped off the ice and almost twisted his helmet off.

 

Simon’s goal gave the Owls new life. They played far better in the second period, not once letting the Selects trap them on a breakout play. Their opponents were getting frustrated, particularly with Sarah’s close checking, which was keeping the Selects’ big centre under control.

With less than a minute to go in the second, Data picked up a loose puck in the Owls’ corner and clipped it off the boards to Travis, who saw Nish shooting up into the play. Nish took the puck and charged over centre, the backchecking Selects winger unable to stay with him.

Nish flipped the puck again. Not high toward the clock this time, but a gentle little flick that sent the puck between the two defencemen who were beginning to squeeze toward him. Both defence decided to play the man and went for Nish, but Nish jumped high, right between them. He was home free, until he lost his grip and fell.

Nish spun toward the corner, the puck still on his stick. Flat on his stomach, he managed to look up and see Sarah coming in along the near side. He swept the puck to her just before crashing into the boards, and Sarah fired a pass hard across the crease to Dmitri, who had the whole open side of the net to tap the puck into.

Selects 2, Owls 2.

When the second period was up, the Owls skated off to a huge ovation for their comeback. Even Agent Morris of the FBI was on his feet. And all the Disney people.

“Delay Nish for a bit,” Sarah said to Travis.

Travis nodded. He waited at the boards, slapping each teammate as the player left the ice, and then grabbed Nish as he was coming off.

“Spanish radio wants to interview you,” Travis told him.

Nish stopped dead in his tracks. “I can’t speak Spanish!” he said.

“Doesn’t matter–they’ll translate.”

“Where do I go?” Nish asked. He didn’t seem surprised that they would want to interview him.

“You just wait here,” Travis said. “They’ll come down to you.”

Travis hurried into the dressing room, giggling at his own trick. Sarah was already at work. She had taken the scissors Mr. Dillinger used to cut away tape and was chopping up the Polaroid of Nish into dozens of little pieces, which she then piled carefully on his locker seat.

“Is he coming?” she asked.

“He thinks he’s about to be interviewed on Spanish radio,” Travis said.

The rest of the Owls looked up, realized the trick that had been played, and roared with laughter.

The door banged open and Nish roared in, furious, throwing his stick and turning on Travis.

“There was no one there to interview me!”

Nish was beet red, his face contorted with anger. Travis knew he’d have to do some fancy talking to save this one.

“I guess I got the periods wrong,” Travis said. “They must have meant the end of the game. The guy didn’t speak English that well.”

Nish considered this to make great sense.

“Okay,” he said. “But don’t waste my time like that again.”

Nish wandered over to his seat, dropping his gloves and helmet.

“What’s this?” he asked.

He brushed away the pieces of the incriminating photograph. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said to no one in particular.

“You’re playing great hockey,” said a familiar voice from the back of the room.

It was Muck.

“Thank you,” said Nish again. He thought Muck was speaking directly to him.

“All of you,” said Muck. “I have nothing more to tell you.”

And with that, Muck walked out of the dressing room, smiling.