I zoom toward the line of boots. “Duncan! What are you doing?”
He looks at me like I’m from Mars.
“It’s our net, Duncan!” I grab the boots from his arms and throw them onto the ice. “They’re supposed to be in a pile!”
“Oh, your net.” Duncan’s face falls.
“Can we get this game going? This isn’t friggin’ Sesame Street,” Cody yells. He and his friends lean on their sticks, laughing. Why did I agree to let them play?
“Duncan, grab some boots and throw them into the middle.” I start whacking boots with my stick.
I just want to play hockey.
Duncan picks the boots up one at a time and carefully places them onto the pile. I know it’s killing him to leave the boots in a mess. As he grabs the last one, he slips on the ice.
Smack! The sound echoes across the pond. A small crack appears in the ice where Duncan lands.
I race over and kneel next to him. Duncan looks up with tears in his eyes. “It hurts, it hurts!” He’s holding his right arm.
“Okay, I won’t touch it.”
Ian skates over. “Is he okay?”
“His arm hurts. Can you help me get him up?”
“Sure.” Ian drops his stick.
Duncan doesn’t make it easy for us. He sits there like deadweight.
Ian and I are on either side of him, trying to grab hold of him without touching his sore arm.
“Okay—you got him, Ian?”
“Yup. We’re going to get you up there, Puck Getter,” Ian says.
“I’m not Puck Getter, I’m Spider-Man.”
“Okay, Spider-Man…on the count of three, we’re going to lift you. One— two—three! Oh, man,” Ian groans. “You’re heavy!”
Duncan wails, “My arm, my arm!”
“You’re not going to die, okay?” I say. Once we have him standing, I brush snow off his jacket.
“This is a waste of time!” Cody hollers. “When are we going to get this game going?”
“My arm hurts,” says Duncan.
“Yeah. I know, Duncan.” I’m so mad inside, I could scream. “I gotta go.” I can’t look at Ian when I say the words. I grab my boots from the pile and make my way to the side of the pond.
“What are you doing?” Cody yells.
“We’re going home,” I bark. “What’s it look like?”
“Losers!”
“What is his problem?” I mutter under my breath.
“He’s mean,” Duncan answers.
It always amazes me how in some ways Duncan can be completely clueless, and in others so smart.
“Pst…Pst…”
“Duncan, knock it off, would ya?”
“Pst…Pst…” He completely ignores me.
It becomes obvious why he’s making the noises. With his good hand, he’s got his fingers spread far apart as he directs his spiderweb toward Cody.
“I’m going to wrap him in my web. He’s a bad guy.”
Before I can say another word, Duncan bolts from the bench and heads onto the ice.
The guys have started passing the puck around, but Duncan doesn’t seem to care. He gets right in front of Cody.
“Duncan, stop!” I yell as I scramble after him, wearing one boot and one skate.
“I’ve got you!” Duncan yells. He flings his good arm toward Cody.
“Get him away from me,” Cody yells as he pushes his hands out in front of his face.
“Ian, grab him!” I yell.
Ian skates toward Duncan.
Cody drops his stick. He looks like he’s ready to punch Duncan. His thick brain doesn’t have the sense to skate away. He could do laps around Duncan. All he has to do is skate away. Cody’s friends stand watching like a bunch of doorknobs.
“Leave him alone,” I scream. “He’s not going to hurt you!”
“Get this freak away from me!” Cody yells.
Ian tries to pull Duncan away, but Duncan yanks free and plows into Cody, pushing him onto the ice. Cody’s friends laugh.
Cody scrambles to his feet with his fists punching the air. I can barely keep my balance as I hobble and slide over to Duncan. I manage to get there in time to intercept Cody’s fist.
Smack!
He hits me so hard, I fall backward and land butt-first on the ice. I sit there for a few seconds. My head pounds, and my right eye feels like it’s going to pop out.
Cody spits at me. His goober lands with a big splat beside my feet. “If that freak comes near me again, he’ll get it good.” Then he kicks my skate to get his point across.
If my head wasn’t spinning so badly, I’d punch him back. Instead I pull myself to my feet and stagger off the ice.
Ian is sitting on the bench with Duncan by the time I make if off the pond.
“My arm hurts,” Duncan whimpers.
“Well, if you hadn’t gone after Cody, you’d be fine!” I hiss. I drop down beside him and take off my other skate. Cody messes around with the puck as if nothing happened.
I can tell Ian feels bad, but he doesn’t know what to say. What is there to say? Sorry your brother messed things up again? Sorry you have no life? He says, “I’ll come over afterward.”
I sling my skates over my shoulder. “Let’s go, Duncan.”
I lead the way through the path. Every now and then, Duncan whispers to himself.
“You’re strong, Spider-Man. You can fix this,” followed by, “Ohhhh, my arm hurts!”
My eye throbs. I try to ignore it.
When we arrive home, our back door is locked. Mom has a habit of bolting it shut when we leave, even if she’s home. I reach into my pocket for the key. It’s not there. I drop my hockey gear and search all my pockets—nothing. Sighing, I ring the doorbell and wait. Nothing.
I ring it again. And we wait.
Nothing—a big fat nothing.