Breakaway (21 page)

“How can you do that?” I ask her. “It’s gross.”

She shrugs.

“Have you tried to quit?” Kathy asks from the front seat.

Amy shakes her head.

“I heard the best way is to eat Milkbones,” Kathy says. “They kill your craving for nicotine.”

“Yuck. I think I’d rather chew.” I look at Mr. Parker outside, waving his cigarette around while he talks on his cellphone. “Everybody’s got their addiction, I suppose.”

“What’s yours?” Amy asks.

“Making bad decisions.”

“Why do you say that?” Amy says. “You play great D.”

“Thanks,” I reply, “but I was talking about life, not sports.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you all three outs in one inning in softball last season?” Kathy reminds me.

“Is that possible?” Amy asks.

“It is if Jessie strikes out twice, gets put in as a pinch runner, and gets picked off at first base.”

“Thanks for remembering.” I dig my phone out and pretend to check my messages.

“So how do you like your new D partner?” Amy asks. “The two of you looked all right in practice.”

Amy’s referring to Dayna. Bud’s decided to pair me with her, instead of Jennifer.

“And how about that power play unit, huh?” Kathy asks. “Did you ever think you’d be QB1, Jessie?”

“No.” The thought makes me a little queasy. Quarter-backing the power play is something I’ve dreamed of, but reality is something else.

“It’s gonna be a great weekend,” Kathy says. “I’m feeling a W. Two of them in fact.”

–

T
he North Battleford Sharks have a very talented centre who skates circles around us. When the puck is on Number 4’s stick, none of us can take it away from her.

On the other hand, anyone watching our first game would think Dayna and I are Dumb and Dumber. One time I’m behind the net getting the puck, and Dayna arrives a second later. I look at her, and she looks at me, and it’s like, “If you’re back here, and I’m back here, who’s watching Number 4?”

We end up losing the puck, and the Sharks’ star player scores on us again. Later on a PK, I try to clear the puck, but end up scooping it right into her stomach. It falls at her feet, and she rips a shot at Amy, scoring low blocker.

You’re welcome, Number 4.

On power plays, I suck at setting up behind our net. I’m having trouble predicting the right moment to start up the ice. The Sharks keep plugging up my passing lanes.

I end up minus three on Saturday afternoon.

The Oilers – minus Jodi – are incapable of getting the puck past the Sharks’ netminder. We lose 4–0.

The goose egg haunts us in Game 2 on Sunday afternoon. We lose by a narrower margin of 2–0.

But a loss is a loss. The failure to score even once on the weekend means there’s virtually nothing to celebrate.

Bud tells us not to worry. “You girls are playing good defence,” he says. “The goals will take care of themselves.”

“Maybe if Sue had been along, things would have been different,” Kathy says on the ride home.

“Maybe,” I concede.

But I know we’re all thinking the loss of Jodi hurt as much as Sue’s absence.

What if we never score another goal?

It’s nearly midnight when Mr. Parker drops me off at home. All I want to do is take my equipment downstairs to air out and go straight to bed. The house is dark, which suits me fine.

Everybody must be in bed already.

I use the garage entrance, which leads to the small entryway adjoining our kitchen. A strange smell greets me as I open the back door. When I flip on the light, I notice sections of newspaper scattered everywhere.

“What the heck?”

The doorway to the kitchen is barricaded with a baby gate, and there’s a small dog kennel in the corner. I bend down and peer inside. Two black eyes, beneath fluffy white bangs, peer back at me.

“Hello, little fella.” I fumble with the latch on the kennel. As soon as I open the door a white ball with black ears spills out and bounds onto my lap.

“Who are you?” I pick up the puppy and hold his squirming body against my chest. “Whoever you are, you’re cute.”

He licks my face.

The kitchen light turns on, and I see Mom standing there in her robe. “I thought I heard a car,” she says. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s adorable, except for his breath.” I turn my head away as a pink tongue tries to explore my ear. “When did he arrive?”

“Your dad picked him up from a breeder in Regina on Saturday. He’s a Coton-de-Tulear.”

“A what?”

“Just call him Rufus.”

“Sure thing, Rufus. You’re beautiful, did you know that? Beautiful.” I hold him closer. “He’s a pretty fine birthday present. I hope Courtney appreciates him.”

“She’s gaga over him,” Mom says.

“Good thing – because he’s such a big boy, isn’t he?”

“So how was North Battleford?” Mom leans against the doorway.

“A disaster. Without Jodi, we’re terrible.”

“Did both goalies play?”

“Actually Amy played both games. Apparently she’s not coming next weekend, so Miranda will start.” Reluctantly I put Rufus back into his kennel and close the door. “I’m not looking forward to it.”

Mom holds her fingers to her mouth to conceal a yawn. “The season’s barely underway. You girls will get better.”

“That’s the whole problem. I don’t know if we can.”

“If you don’t believe in your team, who’s going to?” Mom asks.

She may not know much about hockey, but every once in a while, she sets me straight.

She shuts off the light, and Rufus starts whimpering.

I hesitate in the doorway. His black nose is poking through the bars of the kennel door. “He could sleep with me tonight.”

“No, he can’t.” Mom gives me a gentle push. “If he smells weakness, we’re dead in the water.”

–
Chapter Thirty
–

R
ufus becomes the centre
of our universe. Mom comes home at lunch to keep him company. Dad falls asleep in front of the TV with the puppy tucked under his arm. On days when Courtney has volleyball, I slide home after school for a little Quality Rufus Time before hockey practice or dryland.

But it’s Courtney who spends the most time with him, taking him for walks, measuring out his dog food, playing with him for hours on end. Mom and Dad’s master plan seems to be working like a charm. Move over Gia. Make room for Rufus.

Courtney’s hockey team has more luck on the ice than mine. Our double-header in Prince Albert has nearly the same result as the one in North Battleford. We don’t score a single point, and Miranda gives up fourteen goals, six in one game and eight in the next. Morale on the Estevan McGillicky Oilers is at an all-time low.

After the second game, Bud says to me, “I’m counting on you to kick start this team, Jessie.”

“What do you want me to do?” I reply, frustrated. “If I step up on offence, who’s going to cover the blue line?”

“Have some faith in your teammates,” Bud says. “Jump into the play. Shake things up. Quit playing like you’re afraid.”

Courtney’s team travels to Weyburn and beats their bantam team 4–3. Courtney is walking on air all week, regaling us with stories of the dressing room, the Dairy Queen, Gia and the road trip home in the Beastie Bus.

Frankly, the success of her team is sickening. But it has at least one positive result. Dad takes Courtney shopping for new equipment. No more strapping on soggy elbow pads.

On Halloween I get a cold blast from my not too distant past. I have to pick up Mom after dryland that day because the Explorer’s getting a wheel alignment.

Evan is the first person I see when I walk through the door of the law office. He’s talking to the receptionist.

I can’t pretend I don’t see him because we instantly make eye contact.

“Hello, Jessie.” His voice is devoid of expression.

“Hello.” I feel like a fool. “How are you?”

“How do you think I am?” he counters.

This is going to be ugly.

“You didn’t try to go back, did you?” I ask.

“No.” He takes a sip from the water bottle he’s holding.

“Are you going to Bible college next fall?”

The receptionist’s head is swiveling back and forth between the two of us.

“I have no idea what I want to do,” Evan says.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sorry about everything.”

“Good for you,” he says.

“I never meant for this to happen. I never knew you’d be so serious,” I try to explain. “We weren’t even going out for that long. Don’t you think it’s strange that you threw it all away – just because of me? Maybe there were other stresses in your life. Maybe you should see a doctor or something.”

He lets me ramble, his eyes judging me. “Are you saying I need a psychiatrist?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re the one who could use some help,” he says, screwing the lid back on the plastic bottle. “I’m done talking about this.”

Mrs. Gedak and Breanne come down the hall right then. Breanne takes one look at me and starts crying. Mrs. Gedak doesn’t say a word. She grabs Breanne’s hand and pushes past me.

Evan turns and follows them both out of the office.

Oh yeah, going to hell for sure.

On the ride home I don’t tell Mom about it. I’m too embarrassed. I know things can’t be very good between her and Mrs. Gedak at work. It’s all my fault.

I spend Halloween night giving out candy to little kids while Courtney goes trick or treating with Gia. Dad bought Rufus a Zorro costume, and we manage to keep it on him for an hour. Bud brings by Zack and his other two grandchildren.

They are so sweet.

On the other hand, my little sister comes home two hours past her curfew, and Mom and Dad tie into her. Rufus and I hide in my room, where I cave on nutrition and consume a dozen mini chocolate bars.

When I go to bed, I stare at Liam’s phone number and wrestle down the urge to call him. I gaze at the ceiling for a long time, wondering when my high school years will magically metamorphose into the best time of my life.

–

T
he first week in November we have a home-and-home series with Melville Prairie Fire. We’ll host them on Thursday night, then travel to Melville on Saturday for an afternoon match-up. Bud has been working us hard in practice, but it’s obvious we could use a sport psychologist.

Evan’s right. I do need help. We’ve totally lost our confidence, and a few of the Rookies are already talking about playing for other teams next year. Not that I blame them.

Our team is attending the Notre Dame Showcase at the beginning of December. Some of the top Midget teams in Canada will be there, including the Pursuit of Excellence from Kelowna and Balmoral from Winnipeg. If we can’t score a goal in our league, how will we fare against teams of
that
caliber?

As I walk into Spectra Place on Thursday, my equipment bag feels like a lead weight. Where is the joy, I think to myself, when there’s such a slight chance we’re going to win another game this year.

I keep to myself during the pregame stuff, turning a deaf ear to the banter in the dressing room. I justify my behaviour in the name of mental preparation. But I’m not focused on the upcoming game, as much as I’m replaying moments from previous games. Times when I was zigging when I should have been zagging. Taking risks when I should have been conservative. Being cautious when I should have jumped into the play.

Sue enters long before she normally does and hovers on the fringe of the dressing room routine. Eventually she catches
my eye and jerks her head in the direction of the door.

A summons.

I follow her into the hallway.

“Leave your game face at home?” she asks.

That gets my back up right away. “I don’t know what you mean,” I tell her.

“It’s only a popularity contest until you
get
the C, Jessie,” she says. “After that, it’s lead by example every second, on or off the ice.”

“They voted in the wrong girl.”

“The hell they did.” Sue assures me. “Bud and I are counting on you. Don’t you give up on this team.”

“But how are we going to win if we can’t put the puck in the net?” I wipe away the tear welling in the corner of my eye. “I can’t stand losing like that here.”

“Are you forgetting everything we talked about the last three practices? Two – one – two. An aggressive forecheck to force turnovers. We’re a fast team, Jessie, and we have outstanding goaltending. This year isn’t over yet.”

–

L
iam and some of his football friends are waiting in the stands when we jump on the ice for our warm-up.
They’ve painted themselves orange, and they’re wearing hardhats that light up. They’ve brought all kinds of noisemakers – cowbells and pots and pans and an air horn hooked up to an air compressor. I can still hear the noise they’re making overtop the Motley Crue Mr. Parker is playing in the sound booth.