“I can go.”

The Screech Owls had dressed without Muck, who was still changing with the Legends. The dressing room was silent but for the determined voice of Wayne Nishikawa, injured defenceman.

“I can go,” he repeated.

No one else spoke. Mr. Dillinger had gone off to fill his water bottles.

Travis figured, as captain, it was his duty to take control of the situation.

“You can’t,” Travis said gently. “Your wrist.”

But Nish was already almost dressed.

“I’ve got my new cast,” he said.

“What if you get hit?” Sarah asked. There was genuine concern in her voice.

Nish looked up, smiled. “I’ve got a secret weapon.”

No one asked what.

Nish dug into a side pocket of his equipment bag and pulled out a spray can–the same can Mr. Dillinger had sprayed on Muck’s bad leg.

Freezing.

“You can’t!” Sarah said.

“Mind your own business,” Nish said. “I’ve already sprayed my arm once. I’ll do it again between periods.”

“Where’d you get that?” Travis asked.

“It was on the Legends’ bench at the end of the game. Nobody was around, so I…borrowed it. I’ll put it back after our game.”

“You shouldn’t,” Sarah warned.

“Maybe not,” Nish smiled. “But I already did–so let’s get out there.”

Travis knew there was no use arguing.

Travis led the Owls out onto the fresh ice surface, stunned, as he stepped onto the ice, to realize that the huge crowd that had turned out for the big game had stayed! For an ordinary peewee regular-season game!

He checked the crowd as he waited for his turn to shoot. He could see his parents and grandparents. His grandmother gave him the thumbs-up. He wondered if she had guessed about the trap they had set for Mr. Dickens.

He scanned the seats on the other side and saw that a section had been set aside for some older men, some of them vaguely familiar. And then he realized:

That moustache could only belong to Lanny McDonald!

And there was Paul Henderson! And the rest of the Maple Leafs Legends! And the Flying Fathers!

They had all stayed to see the Owls play!

The puck came out to Travis and he kicked it easily up onto his stick blade. Suddenly, there was no noise, just the flick of his skates. He saw Jenny come out, her catching glove yapping at him, her pads skittering as she moved.

He deked once, moved to the outside, and shot high and hard.

Crossbar!

Travis turned and looked up into the crowd. Lanny McDonald pumped a fist at him. He knew! Lanny knew! An NHLer knew that there was nothing so sweet as the sound of a puck on the crossbar–so long as it wasn’t in a game!

The public-address system crackled. There would be a ceremonial face-off. Travis wondered who it would be to drop the puck. Maybe Paul Henderson himself. That was probably why all the hockey heroes had stayed. He stood by Sarah, waiting for a name.

But there was none. The public-address system was silent.

Then all around him the crowd began to rise. All through the arena there was the sound of people getting to their feet. And with it came the sound of applause. A few began clapping at first, and then dozens, then hundreds–the sound growing as loud as thunder.

Travis followed the direction of the crowd’s stares.

The Zamboni entrance was open. Muck was there, and Muck’s big hands were on a wheelchair.

And in the chair was Data!

The clapping became a roar as the crowd realized what was going on.

Muck pushed out and the chair rolled onto the ice. Data slowly raised the one arm he could move. He had his Screech Owls jacket on. He was smiling.

Travis turned to look at his teammates. Sarah was bawling, her glove uselessly wiping at the huge tears dropping off her cheek.

Muck rolled Data along the blueline, passing by each Owl, and Data reached out to tap the gloves of each player. Muck stopped, and stared hard at Nish before moving ahead down the line, shaking his head.

When they got to Travis, Data held his hand up for Muck to stop again.

Data looked up and smiled a bit crookedly. “I know what you did,” he said. “Thanks.”

Travis tried to speak, but he couldn’t. What could he say? It was his fault, after all, wasn’t it? It was his idea to go “hitching.” If he’d never done that, Data would be standing on the blueline instead of sitting in a wheelchair.

Muck pushed Data ahead, but not before taking one quick look at his captain. Muck’s eyes seemed to be begging an explanation. But he would never get one.

Sarah and the Orillia captain took the ceremonial face-off. Sarah picked up the puck and presented it to Data with a kiss on the cheek and a long hug. Travis could see that she was still crying. And she didn’t seem to care who knew.