Breakaway (2 page)

“Depends on who comes to our camp next weekend,” I say.

“And Sue’s coaching?” he persists. “How’s she going to manage that and her engineering job?”

“She says she can’t do it full time. Marty can’t help her either because he’s a vice-principal now. Minor Hockey’s trying to find us a head coach.”

“Still?”

The word hangs in the air.

And then the dreaded question.

“You girls have any plans for after graduation?”

“I don’t have a clue,” Kathy says.

“What about you, Jessie?” Bud asks.

“I wish I knew.”

Kathy’s cellphone plinks, and she stares at the screen. “It’s Brett,” she says. “Jessie, you sure you don’t want to hang out with us tonight?”

“I don’t have fake ID, remember?”

She turns away and starts texting.

“Are you going to try for a hockey scholarship?” Bud asks.

I look into his pale blue eyes. “Kathy and I are going to the U of S camp on Labour Day weekend. Do you think we have a shot at playing there next year?”

“Course you do. I could see that the first year you played Midget.”

Thirty thousand fans boo as the Edmonton team is introduced, then rise collectively and roar as the Riders take the field.

“Talk to you later!” I shout at Bud.

Kathy and I get caught up in the pregame festivities and the opening kickoff. Miranda, Teneil and Zack come back with the fries. I give Teneil her beer when she asks for it, but Miranda never touches hers again. Kathy provides a running commentary about what’s going on at field level. Good thing she knows football because I don’t. By the end of the first quarter, the Riders are leading by a touchdown, and we are dancing, cheering and chanting with the rest of the fans.

“I have to take a leak,” Kathy says. “Come with me!”

After we use the washroom, we try to wash off the watermelon juice in the communal sink. The green Kool-Aid in Kathy’s hair starts leaking down her neck.

“You’re bleeding green,” I say, wringing out the collar of my jersey.

Kathy laughs and squeezes the excess moisture out of her pigtails. “I’m also hungry,” she says. “Want a hot dog?”

“Sue says we’re supposed to be in training,” I argue. “There’s no nutritional value in a wiener.”

“Live a little, McIntyre,” Kathy says.

I push the bathroom door open. “You think Sue will stick around if Minor Hockey finds us a head coach?”

“Sue loves us,” Kathy replies.

“Maybe she loves
you,”
I reply. “I never know where I stand with her.”

Even after two years of coaching, Sue Hannah seems to have her guard up. Not like Bud.

“You just stand there and think about how far playing it safe gets you while I go load up a hot dog with Rider mix,” Kathy says.

“I’m wearing a watermelon,” I reply. “For me, that’s living on the edge.”

Kathy snickers and heads towards the concession while I contemplate tossing my melon in the garbage. Then again, what will my hair look like without it?

“Now that’s what I call dedication,” a voice says behind me.

I turn around. The speaker is a tall, dark-haired girl wearing a green cowboy hat and a short white skirt. Something about her laugh is familiar, but I can’t place her.

“You actually like wearing that?” she asks.

I try to fake it. “What are you up to nowadays?”

She seems to enjoy my discomfort. “You have no idea who I am.”

“No,” I admit. “Give me a hint.”

Her grin broadens, and a diamond sparkles in one of her teeth. “You still play hockey?”

“Yes.” Something clicks, and I look for the rose tattoo on her ankle. “Brittni Wade.”

“You honestly didn’t recognize me?” Brittni asks.

“Your hair’s a different colour. And you’re thinner.”

“Thanks.” She adjusts the brim of her cowboy hat.

“Didn’t you go to hairdressing school?” I ask.

Brittni opens the purse slung over her shoulder and removes a business card. “I’m at a salon on Rochdale. Come see me next time you’re in town. I’ve always wanted to do something with this.” She lifts a crunchy strand of my hair.

I change the subject. “What’s Cory up to?”

“Cory’s a slut. I haven’t seen her since she slept with my ex.”

A tall guy holding two beer cans comes up behind Brittni and touches one to her bare shoulder.

She starts. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself,” he says.

“Jessie, this is Jamie, my fiancé.”

My eyes dart from the rock on Brittni’s left hand to the guy. His broken nose and reddish hair look familiar too.

“Hi, Jamie,” I say.

“I’d shake your hand, but as you can see...” Jamie gestures with the two beer cans.

“So when’s the big day?”

“Night,” Brittni corrects me. “We’re getting married on New Year’s Eve.”

“Can you believe it?” Jamie scowls. “I’ll miss watching Canada in the World Juniors, and so will my buds. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Brittni’s face darkens, but for me, a light flips on.

“You played in Humboldt with Mark Taylor,” I say.

He nods while taking a sip of beer.

“So what do you do now?” I ask.

He wipes his mouth. “Plumber’s apprentice.”

“I used to play hockey with Jessie,” Brittni interrupts. “Back in Estevan. Good times. Right, Jessie?”

“Right.” Apparently she’s forgotten about calling me an f’ing do-gooder.

“That dyke still coaching?”

I pretend not to hear her question. “So Mark’s playing with Calgary again?” I ask Jamie.

He salutes me with a beer can, then drains it and belches loudly. “Go Hitmen.” He offers me the other can.

“I don’t drink beer,” I say quickly.

“Jessie doesn’t drink at
all,”
Brittni explains. “At least she doesn’t any more. Isn’t that right, Jessie?”

I hate it when people know your dirt.

“Look me up on Mainpage.” Brittni hands me her business card. “Remember what I said about your hair.”

As they walk away, I think about Jamie’s metamorphosis from hockey player to plumber. When did he give up the Dream?

For guys, it’s the NHL. For girls, it’s the National Team.

If you want them badly enough, your dreams will all come true, adults are always telling us. Very few of us don’t succumb to
that
myth. Sometimes wanting isn’t enough.

Like Mark and me. I want him back something fierce, but I’m not any closer to that dream than I was two years ago.

When I was going out with him, he said he wouldn’t play hockey after high school. He said he wanted to be an engineer – not an ex-hockey player with bad knees and an identity crisis.

That was
before
he broke up with me, started dating Holly, and moved to Humboldt to play with the Broncos. From there he stepped up to the Calgary Hitmen. Apparently the dream caught hold of him too.

And then Mark’s dad was diagnosed with stomach cancer. Poor Mark. What good are your dreams when you’re worried about losing one of your parents?

Kathy approaches, balancing a coke and two hot dogs. “You wouldn’t believe the lineup. Help me out, will ya?”

I take one of the hot dogs off her hands. “Parker, you should lay off the pop.”

“And you should get off my case.”

I follow her out of the concourse. At the top of the exit, we wait in the stairwell for a stoppage in play. I tell Kathy about seeing Brittni Wade, and Kathy nearly chokes on a mouthful of her drink. I pound her back.

“Brittni was
nice
to you?” she coughs. “Good thing I wasn’t around. She called me an f’ing puckhog, remember?”

“I remember.”

I fill her in on Brittni and Jamie’s career paths and wedding plans.

“Never mind that,” Kathy says impatiently. “What else did you and
Bud
talk about?”

This question is definitely
not
rhetorical.

“Not much.”

“Jessie, the SHA can make or break us if we need to get releases for players from other teams. You didn’t tell him about Whitney’s dad recruiting the Weyburn girls, did you?”

“I didn’t say anything,” I assure her. “Let’s go up to our seats already. I’m missing part of my first football game.”

She winces at me, then turns and heads up the stairs.

Speaking of firsts. If we don’t find a head coach soon, our midget season will be over before we have our first practice.

Maybe moving up to AAA wasn’t worth the risk.

–
Chapter Two
–

J
essie, will you give
Courtney a ride to the pool?” Mom calls from upstairs.

I’m in the basement, packing my hockey equipment for tryouts. I’ve had everything laid out for weeks.

“Sure!” I stuff a roll of sock tape in my helmet. “But I’m leaving right away!”

Mom comes down the stairs. “Do you have time to pick up Pam?”

“As long as she’s ready when I get there.”

“Thanks, Jessie,” Mom says, heading back up.

As I finish wrapping my skates inside my old black and gold Xtreme socks, I ignore the butterflies tickling my stomach, and the nagging concern about where we’ll get a new head coach. I try to focus on something else...like team colours. I hear we’re going to wear black and orange.

“I’m taking my equipment out right now!” I heave my bag onto my shoulder and pick up the stick I just finished retaping.

When I got my steering papers, Mom bought Sunny, my green Sunfire, from one of my old teammates. At first Dad wasn’t thrilled to have me driving, but once I started chauffeuring Courtney to figure skating, picking up groceries and getting myself to school and hockey practice, he saw the light.

Courtney’s already in Sunny. My little sister has shot up this summer, making her nearly as tall as I am, even though she’s only going into Grade Six.

“You called Pam?” I ask.

Courtney nods and tucks her long, blonde hair behind her ears. She stares out the side window as we head west down Valley Street and turn right on Souris Avenue. I plug in my iPod and we sing along to Justin Bieber. Mom took us to see his concert in Saskatoon last year, and even though I said I wouldn’t like it, I found myself in the mosh pit, screaming along with Courtney and the rest of the tweenies.

“I’m going to Regina next Saturday to buy back-to-school clothes,” I tell her as we pull into Pam’s driveway. “Want to come along?”

“Can Pam come too?” she asks.

“Sure.”

Courtney gets out, so Pam can climb in the back. Pam’s had a growth spurt too, though she’s not nearly as tall as Courtney.
She has long dark hair and an upturned, freckled nose.

“Thanks for picking me up, Jessie,” Pam says.

On the way to the Leisure Centre, Pam and Courtney chatter about figure skating, which is how they met. When the topic shifts to school, Courtney slips into silence. Pam goes to a different elementary school, and she’s excited about going back because she’s got lots of friends in her grade.

Lucky Pam.

Courtney’s classmates fluctuate between ignoring and tormenting her, and now that the junior high has closed, she has three more years of catfights to look forward to.

“Pam, are you playing volleyball this year?” I ask.

“For sure,” Pam says. “What about you, Court?”

Courtney rolls and unrolls the towel in her lap. “None of the Grade Six girls like it, so there won’t be enough to make a team.” Her voice wavers. “It’ll be like that every year until I get to the Comp, and by then, I won’t be good enough to make an Elecs team.”

“Maybe it’ll turn out okay,” I assure her.

“Yeah, wait and see,” Pam says.

I park near the main entrance to the Leisure Centre.

“I’ll pick you up in two hours,” I tell the girls as we get out of the car. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”

“Just text me when you want to go,” Pam says. “We’ll be ready.”

“Wish I had a phone,” Courtney says.

Inside the building, they turn right and walk towards the pool while I stare at the entrance to Spectra Place. The butterflies I’ve been trying to ignore are beating like crazy. It was great to start out last year with Sue and Marty as coaches. We hardly cared that Sue has no sense of ha-ha. We knew what to expect from them, and we had a great season. But Sue
won’t
coach a AAA team by herself.

“If I could give up my day job and coach full-time, I’d do it,” Sue told us last June, “but coaching AAA won’t pay my bills.”

Then there’s the matter of having enough talent to field a decent team. We’d be competitive if we still had Tara and Shauna. Shauna’s playing AAA in Notre Dame, and Tara’s doing the same at Balmoral in Winnipeg. Jodi Palmer’s not well enough to play AAA, so it’ll be Senior Ladies for her. The thought makes me feel suddenly old.