Chapter Two

POND SCUM

Later that afternoon, I met Milo and a few friends at the park. Ever since the temperatures dropped, we’d been facing off against each other in boot hockey on the local pond.

Boot hockey is exactly what it sounds like. It’s hockey but with BOOTS instead of SKATES. And I used my boots to kick some serious butt!

Too bad boot hockey isn’t an actual sport, because I’d be an all-star.

So why was I worried about joining the school’s hockey team?

Well, it’s not my FOOTwork I’m worried about. It’s my SKATEwork! Put me in a pair of skates, and I’m like a fish out of water — I mean, ice.

“Pass me the puck, Jim!” I suddenly heard Milo shout. I looked up and spotted Milo shuffling across the pond toward a goal made of milk crates.

We had twenty-eight seconds left in a two-on-two matchup. We’d played every night that week, and the series was tied two games apiece.

It was Friday, and this was the deciding game. Whoever won would take home the ultimate prize: a triple-chocolate doughnut with multi-colored sprinkles from Milo’s lunch box.

The doughnut seemed like a much better prize on Monday, but victory would still taste pretty sweet (even if the doughnut probably wouldn’t).

“Heads up, Milo!” I shouted.

I jammed my hockey stick behind the puck and flicked my wrists. The puck skittered across the ice, connecting with Milo’s stick on the other side of the pond.

“Nice pass!” Milo shouted back.

Milo shuffled toward the goal, controlling the tiny puck with his stick. Our opponents, the Ted-and-Ned twins, slid after him in their boots.

But Milo was too quick. As he approached the goal, Milo raised his stick for his famous slapshot.

THWACK!! He slapped the puck toward the goal. The puck spun end over end and then BONK! It bounced off one of the milk crates and back toward Ted and Ned.

“Uh-oh!” Milo exclaimed.

“Got it!” I said, zipping between everyone and rebounding the puck right in front of the goal.

I poked my hockey stick forward and gently nudged the puck. It slid right between the milk crates for the game-winning shot! The timer on Milo’s cell phone sounded.

Milo tore off his stocking cap and threw it onto the ice. “Way to go, Jim!” he shouted. “That’s a hat trick!”

“Huh?” I asked, puzzled.

“A hat trick,” Milo repeated. “That’s what they call it when a player scores three goals in one game. It’s a hockey tradition to throw your hat on the ice when it happens.”

I threw my hat on the ice.

“Feels great, doesn’t it?” Milo asked.

“Feels cold,” I replied, picking up my stocking cap and quickly tugging it back on.

“Good game, guys,” said the Ted-and-Ned twins in unison.

Ted reached down, picked up Milo’s lunch box off of the ice, and opened it. “To the winners . . .” he began.

“Go the spoils,” Ned finished.

“You got that right,” I said, peeking into the lunch box.

At the bottom sat a graying, week-old doughnut — at least I think it was a doughnut! This looked more like a mushy mush of a brain, with fuzzy caterpillar-like sprinkles on top.

“Yuck!” I exclaimed. “It’s all yours, buddy.” I gave Milo a pat on the back.

Milo licked his lips and then grabbed the spoiled treat. “Mmm.” He drooled. “Doughnut mind if I do.”

“Not so fast,” said Bobby Studwell, skating up and snatching the doughnut from Milo’s hand.

“Hey!” shouted the Ted-and-Ned twins together.

“Well, if it isn’t the Pond Scum,” Milo joked as Tommy Strong joined us on the ice, too.

“And to think I was about to share this tasty treat with you all,” said Bobby, about to bite the doughnut.

“Bobby, don’t eat that,” I warned.

“Don’t worry, Nasium,” Bobby replied. “I’ll save you the center.” He placed a finger through the doughnut hole and laughed.

“HAHAHA! Good one, Bobby,” Tommy exclaimed.

“But that doughnut is —” I started.

“What, Nasium? WHAT?” Bobby interrupted.

I thought for a moment and smiled. “Never mind. It’s all yours, Bobby.”

“Finally something we agree on,” said Bobby, shoving the whole doughnut into his big mouth.