Arctic Thunder (12 page)

The teams finally stood one point apart in the standings, and the next time they met each other the gym was full. They played in the last twenty-minute slot, and Mike noticed even the teachers ventured from the sanctuary of the staff lunch room and were standing along the back wall, waiting for the highly anticipated match.

Donnie discussed strategy with Mike the night before and ventured that the teams were virtually equal in talent. He figured the one advantage Mike and the guys had was their team play and their ability to stay level-headed. Gwen, Billy, and Mark were all emotional players. Most of the time their emotion worked to their advantage. But if the game was close, there were little things that Mike's team could do to throw Gwen and her guys off. When the game got late and if the score was tight, Donnie figured that was their ace in the hole.

Mike was warmed up and watched Gwen and her teammates go through drills around the basket. She hit every shot she attempted and looked as if she was in a perfect rhythm. Turning under the basket to retrieve a ball going toward the stands, she caught Mike's eye. For an instant the old familiar smoulder locked Mike in her gaze, but then her eyes seemed to soften and the beginning of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. It only lasted an instant before she whirled away and finger-rolled a shot up and into the net. Mike felt heat rise in his cheeks and realized he was holding his breath. Releasing the air from his lungs, he let it audibly blow past his lips before he rose to collect his thoughts.

“Tweeeeeet!”
The referee blew his whistle. “Balls in! Let's go, guys!”

Mike's team huddled around Tommy and shouted, “One, two, three,
team
!”

Tommy hit the floor first, with Mike, Mitchell, Tyler, and David Elanik following.

The game was incredibly intense. At no point did either team have more than a two-basket lead. Gwen was guarding Mike so close that it was almost impossible to move. And for his part he returned the favour.

They matched each other move for move, stride for stride, shot for shot. And once again it came down to the last shift in the last minute of the game. This time the score was tied. Tyler made an incredible block on a drive to the net by Billy Greenland and turned the ball up the court, quickly passing off to David. David spotted Mike breaking for the net and lobbed a long, desperate pass. Mike turned back for the ball in full stride. He sensed Gwen beside him but focused on the ball as it arched over his head. Stretching for the ball in full stride, he watched as it cradled into his palms, while Gwen tried to slap it away. With one step Mike left his feet and flipped the ball at the net. Gwen rose at the same time, colliding with Mike as the ball left his hands. Mike and Gwen fell together as the ball circled the hoop and plunged through the net.

Stretching his arms forward, Mike cushioned his impact as much as possible, but still landed heavily on top of Gwen as they hit the floor. She gasped as the air was forced from her lungs. Lying still for an instant, Mike stared deeply into the two most incredibly beautiful brown almond-shaped eyes he had ever seen.

“Nice game, Gwen,” he managed to croak. Then, hesitating ever so slightly, he closed his eyes and kissed her full on the mouth.

When he opened his eyes again, he was on his back with Gwen glowering over him, almond eyes blazing. The room seemed to spin out of control, and a circle of faces danced around his head. He saw Donnie in the stands, eyes bulging from their sockets, hands covering his mouth. Tommy was beside Gwen, smiling from ear to ear. Mitchell, Tyler, David, and the other players were all laughing so hard they were doubled over at the waist. With an angry
“Arrrrgh!”
Gwen turned and bolted from the gym.

Tommy stepped forward and stuck his hand out to Mike, helping him up off the floor. “That, my southern friend, was the most incredible thing I've ever seen in my life!”

Mike shook his head. “Oh, my God! The basket or the kiss?”

“Both!” Billy Greenland bellowed.

“You should've seen her face!” Tyler chirped.

Mike rolled his eyes. It was almost too much to stomach. “Oh, man! I have no idea why I did that. She's going to kill me. I just know it.”

“Maybe. But I don't think so.” Donnie huffed as he pushed his way past the other boys, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. “When you kissed her, she closed her eyes, too. She got this really creepy smile on her face. Kind of like a zombie right before it takes a bite of human flesh. Then her face scrunched up like she bit into a chunk of muktuk left in the sun too long. And, man, was she ever mad. She smacked you across the face like Iron Man laying a licking on a super villain.”

“Oh, crap!” Mike sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

Tommy slapped Mike on the back. “Look on the bright side, buddy. We're in first place, and I don't think you need to worry about Gwen guarding you that close ever again.”

All of the boys laughed as they rumpled Mike's hair.

Word of the “kissing” incident spread like wildfire. Considering practically every student and teacher had witnessed the event, it didn't take much. Mike was beside himself. Now he was confused about every part of his life in Inuvik.

At school he dodged from class to class with his head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone. For their part the guys didn't let up. Every once in a while he'd hear a loud kissing sound in the hall. When he glanced up, Tommy, Mitchell, Tyler, or another one of the gang would be giggling and grinning from ear to ear. Thankfully, he didn't run into Gwen.

One day when he went to the store for his mom, he imagined everyone was whispering behind his back and that every smile was at his expense. He was scrunched down in one of the grocery aisles at the Northern Store searching for dill pickles when a firm hand gripped his shoulder. When he looked up, Victor was smiling down at him.

“Hey, Victor,” he said.

“Considering all the use they're getting, your lips don't look chapped at all,” Victor said.

Mike groaned. “Oh, no! Not you, too!”

Victor laughed and put his arm around Mike's shoulders as he stood up. “She's a pretty girl, and you're a handsome young man. I don't blame you. If I was a hundred years younger, I'd try to kiss her, too.” He ruffled Mike's hair.

“It's not like that, Victor,” Mike protested. “I don't know what came over me.”

“So you don't think she's cute?”

“No!” Mike replied all too quickly. Victor raised an eyebrow, and Mike looked down sheepishly. “Okay. Yeah, I guess she's cute. Actually, I think she's beautiful. Beautiful but mean … and she hates me! And she plays basketball like a boy. Why am I telling you this? And how do you know about it?”

“I have my sources, Mike. And don't be so sure she hates you. I bet she went home and kissed herself in the mirror just to pretend it was you all over again.” Victor laughed so hard at his own joke that he began to cough. “I have to run, Mike, so take care of yourself. And don't get into any more trouble.” He tapped Mike on the shoulder and began to walk away.

“Don't worry, Victor. I'll be careful.”

The biggest surprise came when Donnie called Mike one day after school. “Mike you gotta get over here quick!”

“Over where, Donnie? Slow down.”

“Back at school, man. Go to the gym. You're not gonna believe this.”

“Believe what?”

“Look, I can't explain. Just get over here.”

“Donnie, I have homework and —” The phone clicked dead on the other end.

Hurriedly, Mike pulled on his boots and threw on his parka as he ran out the door. Bolting down the steps, he turned and ran up the street to the light. As usual it was red, but he timed his stride to race across between trucks as they passed on the street. Out of breath, he reached the school doors and pushed through. The halls were deserted, and after pulling off his boots, he scampered down the slippery tiles as fast as his stocking feet would let him.

As he approached the big double doors to the gym, he didn't hear a sound. Usually, there were muffled shouts, the squeak of runners, or the thud of balls bouncing on the floor if anything was happening inside. Slowing to a walk, Mike pushed open the doors and quickly stepped inside.

He spotted Donnie alone under the basketball hoop at one end of the gym. The big kid was smiling ear to ear, eyes huge behind his glasses. He was standing in front of something and hiding his hands behind his back. As Mike got closer, Donnie held up two identical objects.

The lacrosse net behind Donnie was a homemade version someone had put together in a welding shop. All the same it looked sturdy and perfect in dimension. Mike recognized the lacrosse sticks Donnie held proudly in the air. They were both his. When Mike reached the net, he placed a hand on its crossbar and asked, “Donnie, what's all this?”

“Well, I kind of got talking to your dad after your thing with Gwen.” Donnie paused as Mike rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It wasn't about that!” His eyes grew large and serious. “It was about you being confused, and how the whole thing with Gwen made stuff even worse. I asked him what you did in St. Albert to make yourself feel better when you were upset or what you did to relax. He said you always went to the garage or outside and shot the lacrosse ball at the net. He said it always helped you think and made you feel better.

“So your dad went to Pete's Welding and had this net made up. It kind of looks weird if you ask me with the point at the back instead of round like a hockey net, but your dad says it's the right way, and I'm no expert. I went on the Internet, and sure enough, this is the way it should be. I didn't have time to paint it red or anything, but the grey metal doesn't look too bad.”

When Mike remained silent, Donnie nervously continued. “Then I went to Mr. Koe to see if he'd let us come in here after hours. He said, sure, as long as it isn't scheduled for anyone else. So today it wasn't scheduled for someone else. Your dad brought the net over in his truck, and we lugged it in.” Donnie shrugged, raising his hands above his head. “As you know, the sticks, well, they're your sticks. Man, they've gotta be the strangest things I've ever seen. And this ball is hard as a rock.” Donnie held out a white Indian rubber lacrosse ball.

Mike reached out and gently took one of the sticks from Donnie. He fondly looked it up and down as he balanced it in his hands. “Donnie, you've got to be just about the best friend I've ever had. And I've had a lot of friends.”

Donnie's chubby cheeks turned pinkish-brown. “You
are
the best friend I've ever had, Mike. But I haven't had many friends, really.”

Mike took the ball from Donnie's hand and placed it in the basket at the end of the composite stick. “Donnie, you'd have a lot of friends, but you scare people with that big brain of yours. If people took their time and got to know you, they'd see you're just about one of the coolest guys around. And one of the funniest, too.”

Donnie looked up and smiled. “Really?”

“Really, Donnie. And you watch. More and more people are going to realize that and someday you're going to have more friends than you'll know what to do with.” Mike cradled the ball in the basket of the stick. “Now let's stop all this male bonding crap and shoot the ball around.”

Mike jogged in a circle away from the net as Donnie backed off. Stopping, Mike drew the stick back, took a step forward, and whipped the ball into the top corner of the net.

“Holy crap!” Donnie cried. “Does that ball ever fly!”

“I was taking it easy on that one because I haven't held a stick in months. The ball can rocket over a hundred and sixty kilometres per hour easy. It's the fastest game on two feet.”

Mike scooped the ball out of the net, jogged away once again, stopped, whirled, and this time fired a shot underhanded with the same result.
Whooosh!
Into the other top corner.

Donnie gasped. “Man, I wouldn't want to be a goalie. That ball could kill a guy!”

“I wouldn't want to be a goalie, either.” Mike retrieved the ball once more. “The ball can come at you from almost any angle. In hockey the shots all come up off the ice for the most part. In lacrosse they can come overhand, underhand, sideways, or as bounce shots. The net's smaller than a hockey net, but that doesn't keep a heap of goals from getting scored. In lacrosse an average game is likely, oh, I don't know, maybe 13–12. Here, you take a turn.”

Mike tossed the ball to Donnie. He awkwardly batted at the ball with the lacrosse stick, sending it bouncing and skidding off to the side of the gym. Laughing, Mike chased after it and deftly scooped it into the basket of his stick.

“You can't fight the ball, Donnie. You don't need to swat at it. Hold the stick out with the head and mesh facing me. I'm going to bounce the ball over. Just move the stick in front of the ball and let it hit the mesh. When you feel it hit the mesh and go into the pocket, just turn the stick sideways. Okay?”

Donnie nodded and stood with his legs wide apart, arms stiffly holding the stick off to the side and slightly in front. Mike bounced the ball in Donnie's direction. Given their distance apart, the ball took a second bounce and shot at Donnie with unexpected velocity. He cried and jumped out of the way. Mike burst out laughing, bending over with his stick across his thighs.

“Holy crap, what was that?” Donnie said. “It bounced normal and then shot out like a rocket.”

Mike couldn't answer right away. He was laughing too hard. Wiping his eyes, he straightened. “That always catches people, Donnie. The ball is Indian rubber, no pun intended. When it bounces, every second bounce takes off like that. Watch this.”

Backing farther away, Mike bounced the ball toward the net. Sure enough, the bounces were interspersed. One bounce ahead, the next bounce slower, one bounce ahead, the next bounce slower, and so on.