All the way back to the village, and even after they’d arrived, Nish kept repeating, “I can’t believe it. I can not believe it.”

Travis was amazed at the reception when they got back, the way the entire village once again turned out to greet them, including, this time, the rest of the Screech Owls, their parents, and the coaches.

The first figure they saw when they came within sight of Waskaganish was Muck. Growing impatient, he had walked out to meet them. He hugged them all, even Nish, and Muck never hugged anyone. Not even when they won the championship at Lake Placid.

Data and Andy and Chantal and Derek and Dmitri and Cherry and Gordie and all the rest of the Owls had been standing high on the snowbanks so they would see the snowmobiles come into view, and most of them ran down and out over the frozen bay to meet the lost Screech Owls as soon as they appeared, jogging alongside and cheering their return.

Nish sat like Santa Claus on the last float of the parade, waving to each side. Travis wondered if it had occurred to Nish that this whole thing was taking place because of him.

“We’re in the final!” Derek called as Travis’s ride passed by him.

The Screech Owls had won their game against the Northern Lights, even without their best defenceman, their captain, and Jesse Highboy. And after all the wins and losses had been added up, and all the goals for and against accounted for, it was announced that the First Nations Pee Wee Hockey Tournament final would be played that evening: Screech Owls versus the Waskaganish Wolverines.

“We made the final!” Rachel shouted when she got the news. She pointed at Travis and Nish. “We’re going to play you for the championship!”

“You won’t have a prayer,” Nish said.

“Why not?”

“Shovels are illegal.”

Travis was out of sorts. He had dressed carefully for the final game, but he still didn’t feel right. Mr. Dillinger had sharpened his skates perfectly. “Good gosh,” he’d said when he looked along one of the blades, “what on earth were you doing with these, whittling wood?” Travis told Mr. Dillinger about the hard ice of the bay, and Mr. Dillinger had just shaken his head and gone to work. Now the skates were back the way Travis liked them, even at his most fussy.

He hadn’t cut any corners. He had his lucky underwear on. He had tied his right skate first, and then his left. He had wrapped his ankles in shinpad tape. He had kissed the inside of his sweater as he yanked it over his head. He had placed his hand on the “C” stitched over his heart. “C” for captain.

But it still wasn’t right. He had only one stick. He liked to have two, minimum, each one as new as possible. Each with the same curve–a “Russian curve,” he called it, with a slight flick at the end–and each freshly taped with black tape on the blade and white tape on the handle. Muck had taught him that. “Black tape will rot out the palms of your gloves,” he had said, “white tape won’t.”

But one stick–he had only one stick. He had brought three up, all brand-new. One he’d given to the captain of the Mighty Geese, the first team they had played. The other he had taken to the camp and stupidly left there. Now he was down to one stick, and if something happened to that one, then he didn’t know what he would do.

Muck seemed happy. He had no plays to go over, no hockey to discuss, but he did insist on making a speech.

“This is the icing on the cake,” he told them. “You kids have had one of the greatest experiences of your lives up here, and you should be thinking about that when you’re out there on the ice.

“We’re playing our hosts. If not for them, you wouldn’t be here. That doesn’t mean you give them the victory–a win that comes that way is really a defeat–but it does mean you play with courtesy. No cheap stuff. No showing off. Listening, Nishikawa? Nothing but a mature approach and good hockey. Understand?”

No one said a word. No one ever had to say a word after Muck had spoken.

Travis was captain. He knew his job. This was his cue. He leapt to his feet.

“Let’s go, Screech Owls!”

Nish jumped up after him.

“Screech Owls, Screech Owls…GO, SCREECH OWLS!”