Sarah was first in the Big Hat dressing room. When Travis made his way in, he could tell at once that she was pumped for the championship game against the Lake Placid Olympians. Her eyes seemed on fire.

“One for each of you,” she said as she handed each arriving player a small plastic package.

“Hide them until I give the signal.”

Nish, as always, was last into the room, dragging and pushing and half kicking his hockey bag. He dropped his sticks against the wall, letting them fall against the others that had been set there so carefully and sending them crashing to the floor like falling dominoes.

No one said a word. Nish looked around at them, seemingly disappointed that no one had noticed him.

He had an open can of Sweat and took a huge slug of it before he sat down, burping loudly as the gas backed up in his throat.

Even with your eyes shut, Travis thought to himself, you would know when Nish had arrived in a hockey dressing room. The crashing sticks. The dragging bag on the floor. The burping. The long, lazy zip of the hockey bag, and the terrible sweaty odour that rose up from inside. The rest of the Owls had given up asking him to wash his equipment. “Sweat is my good-luck charm,” he said. “Smell bad, play good.”

Nish took off his jacket and shirt, stood up, burped again, and walked to the end of the dressing room, where he slammed the washroom door: part of his hockey ritual, as certain as fresh tape on his stick, as sure as the drop of the puck.

“Now!” Sarah hissed.

Everyone dipped into the little packages she had handed out. Some began giggling when they saw what it was that Sarah had brought for them. They had to move quickly.

The toilet flushed, and from behind the closed door Nish groaned with the exaggerated satisfaction he always displayed at this moment.

The door banged open, Nish pumping a fist in the air–and then he saw the Owls.

Sarah had issued each team member a face mask, the kind the Japanese wore to keep out pollution. They were all wearing them, all sitting in their stalls, staring at Nish over the white gauze that covered their noses and mouths.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nish said.

“Think about it,” Sarah said, her voice muffled.

 

Muck came in pushing Data. Data started giggling when he saw the masks, but Muck said nothing. Nothing ever seemed to surprise Muck, thought Travis. Not even Nish.

Mr. Dillinger came in and did a double take at the kids in their masks, but he, too, said nothing. He went about his business, filling the water bottles, getting the tape ready, making sure there were pucks for the warm-up.

Sarah removed her mask and the others followed. Muck waited until everyone was ready, their minds back on the game.

“The rink is full,” said Muck. “The whole town came out to cheer Data–that’s what I think–but they deserve to see some good North American hockey, too. If hockey’s going to take off in this country, they’re going to have to see what a great game it can be.

“I want a clean game. I want a good game. I want these people to know how much we appreciate them coming out to watch.”

The door opened again and Mr. Imoo popped his head in. He was grinning ear to ear, the gap in his teeth almost exactly the width of a puck.

“Good show today, Owls,” he said.

Mr. Imoo turned to his prize pupil, Nish, who was beaming.

“Nish,” he said. “I think you’re ready.”

Travis looked at Muck, who cocked an eyebrow. What did Muck think? Travis wondered. That Mr. Imoo thought Nish was “ready” to play goal? Not likely, not against the Lake Placid Olympians, that was for sure.

Travis glanced over at Nish, who seemed to have assumed a new, calm look. It was no longer the Nish who was always desperate to be the centre of attention. It was a Nish filled with poise and confidence.

Travis couldn’t help it: he wished Nish wasn’t playing goal. They would need him on defence, and even if Muck never put him in, Nish wouldn’t be much use to the Owls sitting at the end of the bench.

But he also knew there was no choice. Tournament rules were rules: they had to have a second goalie. If only Jeremy had been able to come. He hoped Jenny was going to have a good game.

“Okay?” Muck said. He was staring at Travis.

Travis understood the signal. As captain, he was to lead them out onto the ice.

“Let’s go!” Travis shouted, standing up and yanking on his helmet.

“Screech Owls!” Sarah called as she stood.

“Let’s do it!” called Lars.

“Owls!”

“Owls!”

“Owls!”