Travis went out into the parking lot with the other kids. The parents went off down the hotel halls in smaller groups, buzzing with concern. Mr. Brown was talking too loudly, swearing. Mr. Boucher seemed to be the one they were listening to.

Travis couldn’t figure out how he felt. He had liked Mr. Dillinger so much. In a crazy way he still liked Mr. Dillinger. He felt sorry for him. Sorry that Mr. Dillinger had wanted so badly for Derek to shine that he had worked it so Derek would get a chance to shine. He felt sorriest for Derek.

“You’re the hero!” Nish said, slapping Travis’s back.

He didn’t feel like a hero. He felt horrible. He felt as if he had ruined someone’s life, for Mr. Dillinger’s life was the team, the driving, the joking, the working. He was a good manager, darn it, and how could something like this ruin it?

“You can see how it happened, kind of,” said Data. Data, always analyzing, always looking for explanations.

“How?” Nish laughed. “He shafted Sarah for his own kid’s sake. Get a life, Data.”

“He never would have done it if he hadn’t known Sarah was going anyway,” Data said. “It was kind of like he figured she’d understand.”

“Yeah, right!” ridiculed Nish.

“Like she’d understand being kept awake all night, so long as it helped Derek,” said Data.

“Derek’s got nothing to do with this!” said Gordie Griffith sharply.

“Besides,” added Data, “Mr. Dillinger had nothing to do with that first night. He said that was what gave him the idea.”

“Who kept sending the pizzas then?” Nish asked.

“Maybe no one. Maybe it was a mistake.”

“Mr. Dillinger admitted he’d made a mistake,” Travis said.

“And that makes it all right?” Nish said with heavy sarcasm.

“No, it doesn’t,” said Travis. “But at least he had the guts to go in there and apologize.”

“He had no choice,” Nish argued. “Muck made him.”

“I doubt it,” Travis said. Muck would never force anyone to do anything.

Muck was coming out the door into the bright light, shading his eyes from the sun, searching. He was looking for the players. He saw the group talking and walked over.

“We have a centre to find,” he said when he got there. “Any ideas?”

He was looking straight at Travis. It seemed that Travis had somehow become the team leader, the one who spoke for them all. But he had no idea what to say this time. “I don’t know. Maybe down by the water.”

 

Travis’s hunch had been right. They had all started walking down the hill toward the lake, but Muck had stopped them in their tracks and sent every one of the kids back–except for Travis. He wanted Travis with him when they found Derek.

Derek was sitting on the end of the old wooden toboggan run by the park and the beach. He had climbed the fence and was sitting well out of sight, but Travis had seen a stone plunk into the water as he and Muck came walking down, and he knew immediately where it had come from and who had thrown it.

Muck seemed so casual about it all. He came and stood by the water, his hands in his pants pockets, looking out over the lake, giving not even the slightest hint that he knew Derek was sitting above him on the end of an ancient toboggan run.

“How’re you doing?” Muck finally said.

Travis, who had come and stood beside his coach, knew Muck wasn’t speaking to him. He said nothing himself, only waited.

Finally, Derek’s voice broke. “Go away,” he said. He was obviously crying.

Muck never turned to look. So Travis did not look. If Derek was crying it would be his business alone. They would not embarrass him.

“You’ll want to get some lunch in you,” Muck said. “You’ll need energy for the game.”

Derek bit off his words: “I’m not playing.”

“We’re on at 4:30,” Muck said. “Your teammates will need you there.”

Derek sniffed hard. “They won’t want to see me.”

“And why would that be?” Muck asked.

“After what happened,” Derek snapped. As if he couldn’t believe Muck’s stupidity.

“And what was that?” Muck asked.

“Give me a break,” Derek said angrily.

“You’re not the one who needs the break, son.”

No one spoke for some time. There was only the sound of sniffing and the distant gurgle of a small stream heading into the lake.

Finally, Derek spoke again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your father apologized to the team,” Muck said. “And to the parents. And to the players.”

“Big deal.”

“It’s neither a big deal nor a small deal with me, son. It’s just a fact. I happen to think it took some courage to do that.”

“He shouldn’t have done what he did,” Derek snapped, angry.

“That’s exactly what he said, son.”

“He had no right.”

“He knows that. He said that, too.”

Muck said nothing after that. Derek sat and sniffled, and a couple of times choked with new crying. Travis felt terrible being there, as if he was witness to something he had no right to see. He could only wait.

Finally, Muck broke the moment with a small, short laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Derek demanded.

“Nothing,” Muck said. “Just that I’m beginning to wonder if anything I say to you guys ever sinks in.”

“I don’t follow,” Derek said. Neither did Travis.

“What is it I say to you more than anything else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. What is it I say at every practice and before every game and between every period. One phrase. Always the same thing.”

Derek said nothing. He was sniffing again. Travis knew.

“What is it, Travis?” Muck finally asked.

“‘Hockey is a game of mistakes.’”

“You got it.”

Muck said nothing more after that. He stood staring out over the water and, after a while, a sniffling, red-faced Derek Dillinger climbed over the fence and dropped down onto the sand beside them. He had said nothing either. Yet it seemed to Travis as if they had somehow talked it all out, that now they could get on with the game.

“Sarah’ll need her new skates sharpened soon as she gets here,” Muck said. “And I’m afraid we’re missing the key to the skates box.”

Derek sniffed once more, then sort of giggled. “I threw it in the lake.”

Muck turned and stared at Derek. But it was not the stare he had used on Mr. Brown. It was the stare he used when a play had gone particularly well. “I’d have done it myself,” Muck said.

Muck then sat down in the sand and removed his shoes and socks and rolled up his pants. They could see the scar on his bad leg, red and stretching practically from knee to ankle. It must have been a terrible break.

“How far out and how deep?” he asked.

“Not far,” Derek said. “Over this way, toward the dock.”

“Am I all alone?” Muck asked.

Immediately, Derek and Travis started taking off their socks and rolling up their pants to join in the search. Their track pants wouldn’t hold in a roll, though, so they both yanked them off and tossed them up on the sand. They were in their underwear now, their skinny legs shaking in the cold.

Muck was already headed straight out in the water, his white, white legs growing pink, and then purple, as he calmly limped back and forth, looking.

The two boys followed, the water cold as the ice bucket Mr. Dillinger always kept handy at the back of the bench. Who would keep it today? Muck had them all join hands and they began working back and forth on a grid, the three of them shivering and shaking as they felt across the bottom with their toes for the missing keys.

“Anybody comes along and sees us,” said Muck, “I don’t know you two.”

Shivering, their teeth chattering, Derek and Travis began laughing at the crazy situation they were in and Muck’s silly idea that they could somehow all be strangers, two of them half-dressed, all holding hands as they waded back and forth in ice-cold water.

“Got ’em!” Derek shouted. He pulled the keys up on the end of his toes.

“Thank heavens!” snorted Muck. “I can’t feel my legs any more.”

“Me neither,” said Derek.

Muck smiled at him: “And you’re going to need yours today–mine don’t matter.”