The Screech Owls held another meeting in the unused health club. Travis was in charge. He was surprising himself the way he was starting to take command of things so easily. But since almost everything concerned Sarah, and Sarah was the captain, it seemed better that the assistant captain represent the team. And that was exactly what Travis was beginning to do.

“We almost blew it today,” Travis said. Everyone agreed.

“Muck was right about what he said. Most of us–me included–played like atom house-leaguers. We screw up tomorrow and we’ve lost the championship. We owe Muck better than that.”

“It’s hardly our fault,” Data protested. “You have to consider what they’ve been doing to Sarah.”

“That’s right,” agreed Gordie Griffith.

“We all know what’s been happening,” Travis countered. “What’s happening to Sarah doesn’t mean a thing on the scoreboard.”

“It’s true,” agreed Sarah.

“Besides, Derek’s been playing great hockey,” said Travis. “We have to make sure we’re all playing great tomorrow. So let’s smarten up.”

“What about Sarah?” Fahd asked.

“What about her?”

“What if they do something again?”

“The sticks are locked up in the van.”

“What if they cut her straps?”

“I brought my stuff back,” Sarah said. “It’s safe in my room.”

“You bring your skates, too?” Wilson asked.

Sarah shook her head. “They’re in with everyone else’s in the big footlocker, under lock and key.”

“What if somebody breaks into it?” Fahd asked.

“Who’d be able to tell my skates from anyone else’s?” Sarah asked.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” Fahd said suddenly. “Who’s to say they won’t try something else now?”

Travis didn’t follow: “Like what?”

“Like what if someone takes Derek’s sticks this time?”

“They’re all in the van.”

“Or Dmitri’s skates. Or slashes Guy’s pads. If they can’t get at Sarah, why wouldn’t they get us some other way if they’re already doing what they’ve been doing?”

As usual, Fahd’s points were dead on. If the Panthers’ purpose was to cripple the Screech Owls, and if stopping Sarah was no longer possible, then it stood to reason that they would have to be thinking of some other way. If Mr. Brown’s purpose–and Travis still couldn’t see that he had one–was to hurt Sarah, who had told on him, and Muck, who had humiliated him, then he would still want to get at Muck, and the only way left to him would be to go after Dmitri or Derek or Guy or Nish or, for that matter, Travis, who certainly wasn’t going to have two bad games in a row.

Travis sighed, nodding. “Well, what do we do, then?”

“Bring all the equipment down to the hotel,” Gordie Griffith suggested.

“Not enough room,” Travis said.

“Van’s already full of sticks,” Nish added.

“Set up a real guard,” Fahd said.

Travis didn’t follow. Nor, from the expression on the faces of the others, did anyone else.

Fahd explained: “We tried the camera. It didn’t work. Someone still got in. We need a real guard there.”

“You mean a player?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, someone who could stay in the room and make sure nothing happens.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Nish said.

Fahd considered a moment. “Maybe. But since the problem has always been equipment, all we’d need to do is know what they’d done. We’d have until 4:30 to get it repaired. If we’d known about Sarah’s sticks before the game, we would have had lots of time to get her new ones.”

“That’s true,” said Nish.

“All we need is someone to watch and see if anything’s going on. Then, in the morning, either we fix it or we get Mr. Dillinger to fix it.”

“We should tell our parents,” Data said.

“No way!” Nish argued. “You think they’d let us stay up all night in the arena?”

“Just one of us,” said Fahd.

“One?” Nish asked.

“We also want to find out who it is, don’t we?” Fahd asked. “We all go up there we’re just going to scare people off. Besides, if we want to win tomorrow, the rest of us are going to need our sleep.”

“Okay,” Nish countered. “You got all the answers, Fahd. What’re we going to do?”

“There’re two lockers in each one of those rooms we’re using to store the equipment, right?” Fahd asked.

Derek agreed. He would know. “One for sticks,” he said. “One for whatever.”

“We don’t have our sticks there any more,” Gordie said, as if settling the point Fahd was heading for.

“Exactly,” Fahd said. “It’s empty. It’s got air holes. It would hold a player.”

“Have to be awfully small, wouldn’t he?” a sceptical Nish pointed out.

“Exactly,” Fahd said.

He was staring directly at Travis.

“Too bad, sucker. You’re going to miss the show!”

Nish was in his element: giggling, surrounded by wires, the back of the television in front of him. He was teasing Travis. They had to wait for Mr. Dillinger to come back from the rink so Derek could “borrow” the keys again and, in the meantime, several of the players had come up to Nish’s room to see the promised spectacle: adult movies.

Nish had the protective coupler off again and was reconnecting the cable wires. Satisfied, he swung the television around and began playing with the channel switch.

There was a light knock at the door. The boys all jumped: had the motel figured out what Nish was doing?

“It’s Sarah,” a voice called. “And Sareen.”

Nish began to glow like a goal light. Travis immediately jumped up to let the girls in. Some of the other boys began giggling.

“Come on, Nish,” Wilson teased. “You promised.”

“Promised what?” Sarah wanted to know.

“Nothing,” Nish said, a bit too quickly.

“Nothing?” Wilson said with astonishment.

Sarah and Sareen looked at each other, then suspiciously at Nish.

“What’s going on here?” Sareen asked.

“You keeping secrets from us, Nish?” Sarah added.

Nish gave up. “I’m trying to fix the TV so we can get free movies,” he admitted.

“Come on, Nish, it’s more than that,” Wilson said.

Nish turned on him, scowling. “Thanks a lot.”

Sarah giggled. “You’re trying to see a dirty movie, aren’t you, Nish?”

Nish was crimson now, shaking his head. “I just wanted to see if it works,” he protested.

“And does it?” Sareen asked.

Nish turned, startled. “What?”

“Can you get them?” Sarah asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Sareen said, “why don’t you show us?”

Nish seemed completely baffled. “Not with you here!”

“Why not?” Sarah wanted to know.

“You’re a girl!” Nish practically shouted, pointing out the obvious.

“Why, so I am!” Sarah exclaimed, faking shock. She looked at Sareen, pretending to jump back with surprise. “Why, look, you’re one, too, Sareen!”

Sareen stared, surprised, at herself. “I am? I am! How does Nish manage to pick up these things?”

For once, Nish hated being centred out. “It’s not funny!” he protested.

“It is, too,” Sarah scolded. “You want to watch men and women but you don’t think it’s right for women to watch, too. Isn’t that it?”

“I just want to check. I don’t really want to watch.” This statement threw the rest of the room into howls of laughter.

“Put it on,” Sareen told Nish. “We want to see, too.”

“We’re on the team, aren’t we?” Sarah said, teasing Nish.

Nish seemed surprised. “You really want to watch?”

“‘Check,’” Sarah corrected him.

Nish looked around the room for support. He was getting none. “Go ahead,” Data said. “Everybody here but Nish already knows how we got here. He may as well finally find out.” Everyone laughed. Nish shrugged his shoulders and went back to fiddling with the television, his colour fading from bright red to pink.

He flew through the channels on the manual selector, some of the regular television channels coming in instantly, some of the pay movies as well. Data tried to get them to stick with a “Star Trek” re-run, but no one else was interested. A Western flicked on. And a thriller that some of the players recognized and wanted to watch again. But Nish was determined.

His hands fiddled and, suddenly, he came upon a channel with no picture, but sound. The sound was grunting.

“That’s it!” shouted Data. “Hljol!” (“Beam me aboard!”)

Everyone laughed, Nish included, delighted that the focus was shifting off of him.

“Bring in the picture,” Sarah said.

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” Nish said. His chubby hands flew as they worked on the horizontal and vertical hold. He had the adjustment box open and was working every possible dial, desperately trying to pull in the picture to go with the alarming sound.

An image caught and flew by, too quick to catch. “That’s it!” shouted Wilson. “Go back!”

Frantically, Nish fiddled the dial back. The picture flickered twice and then came into full, glorious colour.

A wagon train was stuck in the mud. A team of mules was braying as they pulled, hopelessly. Two young cowboys were behind the wagon, up to their waists in mud, pushing and grunting. It was another Western.

“So that’s how you make babies, Nish,” teased Sarah. “Now you know the big secret.”

Nish’s colour went back to goal-light red.

There was another quick rap on the door. Nish punched off the set, panicking.

“Who is it?” Travis called.

“Me–Derek.”

He had the keys. It was time to go. Travis could feel his heart stop dead, then start up again twice as fast.