Change of Heart (5 page)

“What do you think that's about?” I asked Morgan.

“It looks like Sean and Jon disagree about something—again.”

“Jon Czerny?”

Morgan nodded. “Sean calls him an enforcer.”

“A what?”

“Muscle on ice. He keeps other players out of the way so that Sean can score. He gets into fights all the time. Guys have been injured because of him. Some players are afraid of him. I'm glad he's on Sean's team, because if he was on the other team, I'd be worried about Sean.”

I saw what she meant during the second period. The opposing team scored one goal early on. Then Sean got control of the puck. He was skating for the opposing team's net when someone cut him off. Bang! Jon slammed that player into the boards. The guy collapsed on the ice.

“Good thing they wear all that gear,” I said. “Shouldn't Sean tighten his chinstrap?” It was dangling in a loose loop from his helmet under his chin.

“They're supposed to wear them nice and tight. But a lot of guys in the NHL don't, so a lot of younger players think it's cool to wear them loose like that.”

It looked like Jon wasn't finished with the guy who had collapsed. He raised an arm. He was going to hit the guy. Sean appeared and grabbed Jon's hand. Jon whirled around and shoved Sean—hard.

“Did you see that?” I said to Morgan.

“Sean says Jon plays too rough sometimes,” Morgan said. “Sean doesn't like it, but he can't get Jon to stop.”

Jon turned back to the player on the ice, but by then some of the guy's teammates had clustered around him and brought him to his feet. He looked shaken. As the ref checked the guy out, Sean was waved over to the side of the ice. His coach was holding something in his hands.

“It looks like they found Sean's helmet,” Colin said. “Maybe now he won't be so distracted.”

Sean took the helmet from the coach and jammed it onto his head. He fastened the chinstrap, but it hung loosely below his chin, just like it had on the other helmet.

Play resumed. A few seconds later, a player from the other team fell face-first onto the ice and a roar of disapproval filled the arena.

“What just happened?” I said, confused.

“Czerny tripped that guy,” Colin said. “For no reason. What a dumb move. He's going to get a penalty.”

Sean skated over to Jon. He looked angry. Then the ref signaled and, sure enough, Jon was sent off the ice.

When play got underway again, the game got rough. The players on the opposite team were one man up on Sean's team. I guess they didn't like what Jon had done. But he was sitting in the penalty box, so they took their anger out on Sean. They blocked him at every turn. Whenever he got control of the puck, three guys from the other team came at him to stop him from passing. The fans were going crazy. Morgan was sitting on the edge of her seat. I jumped up every time everyone else did, cheering Sean on and booing the other team.

Then it happened.

One of the players on the opposing team slammed into Sean. Sean shoved him. The other player pushed back and then dropped a glove and slammed his fist into Sean. Sean struck back. The other player grabbed at Sean's helmet. Then, I wasn't sure, maybe the other player pushed Sean or maybe Sean lost his balance. He flew backward toward the ice. I watched in horror as his unprotected head hit the ice.

Morgan leapt to her feet.

Every player on Sean's team sped over to where Sean was lying motionless.

Colin and Kevin Sloane rushed onto the ice.

Morgan pressed her hands against the Plexiglas that protected the spectators from wild pucks. Colin and Kevin knelt down next to Sean.

“He's not moving,” Morgan said. Her voice was high and panicky.

“How did that happen? Why did his helmet come off like that?” I said.

“I don't know. It's not supposed to,” Morgan said. “Robyn, he isn't moving.”

Paramedics arrived. A hush fell over the arena.

One of the referees picked up the helmet and looked at it. Kevin stood up and took the helmet from the ref. Then he peered around the arena as if he were looking for someone.

I glanced at Morgan. She had tears in her eyes.

The paramedics were loading Sean onto a gurney. They wheeled him off the ice. For a moment it was completely silent in the arena, as if all the spectators were holding their breath. My eyes went to Jon Czerny in the penalty box. He hadn't moved. He just sat there, leaning forward, chewing gum with his mouth half open, as if he'd found the whole drama mildly amusing.

“I'm going to go and see how Sean is,” Morgan said. She hurried away.

The referees cleared the ice. Someone made an announcement over the PA system: Sean Sloane, number 7, would not return to the ice tonight.

When the game resumed, the other team quickly scored another goal, which tied the game. Tension mounted in the arena. The other team kept attacking the net. Then Jon Czerny came out of the penalty box and everything changed again. He was all over the ice. He always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. His teammates kept passing to him the way they had passed to Sean. With ten seconds left to play, Jon scored the winning goal. The roar that went up was deafening. Jon pumped his arms as he glided around the rink.

As soon as the game was over, I went to look for Morgan. There was a knot of people outside the room adjacent to the team locker room. Most of them were reporters, including Tamara Sanders and her cameraman. The preppy-looking guy was there, too. They were all waiting to see how Sean was and, if possible, to get a comment from him. If Sean was in that room, I was pretty sure that Morgan would be there, too. So I waited with everyone else.

A few minutes later, the door opened and the reporters surged forward. A couple of cameras swung around, flooding the corridor with light. Sean emerged from the room with his coach on one side and Morgan on the other. His two brothers stood behind him.

Sean's face was pale. From where I'd been sitting, it looked like his head had hit the ice pretty hard. But he managed a shaky smile and told the reporters, “I'm fine. Really.”

“What happened to your helmet, Sean?” someone called out.

“We'll be looking into that,” Sean's coach said. “It's possible it was an equipment malfunction. But first we're going to get Sean to the hospital and have him checked over. I'll be issuing a statement about his condition first thing in the morning.”

A dozen more questions were shouted out, but the coach held up his hands to signal that they would not be answered. He guided Sean through the crowd. Sean's brothers and the two paramedics followed closely behind him. I trailed after them, wondering what Morgan was going to do. I got my answer when they reached the ambulance. Sean kissed Morgan before getting inside.

“I'll call you,” he said.

Sean's brothers got into a car and followed the ambulance out of the parking lot.

Morgan waited until the reporters had gone before she said, “They want to make sure that Sean didn't get a concussion.”

“Talk about bad luck,” I said. “First he had to play with a helmet he didn't like. Then his own helmet malfunctions. How can that even happen?”

Morgan's expression was grim. “The coach told the reporters that the helmet malfunctioned,” she said. “But that's not what he thinks. He told Sean that it looks like someone tampered with it.”

“Tampered with it?”

“With the strap that holds it on. It was cut almost all the way through. But whoever did it, did it really carefully, so that Sean wouldn't notice. Sean says the helmet was fine the last time he wore it. He always checks. But sometime between this morning and game time, his helmet went missing. He looked for it everywhere, but he couldn't find it. That's why he had to wear that other one for the first part of the game. But it wasn't comfortable, so he made them look for his helmet again. Now it looks like someone deliberately tampered with it.”

“Who found the helmet?” I said.

“One of the assistant coaches. He went to the locker room to look one more time. He found it and brought it right out to Sean.”

“And Sean didn't check it before putting it on,” I said.

“It's his helmet. It was fine this morning. He assumed it was still fine. Besides, he was pumped for the game. He wanted to get back on the ice.”

“So you think Kevin was right?” I said. “You think someone wanted to sabotage the game?”

Morgan shook her head. “I think someone wanted to hurt Sean.”

“Who?” I said. “Why?”

She gave me a look that sent a chill through me and said, “You have to ask?”

“You can't mean Billy.” But that was exactly what she meant. “Come on, Morgan. Isn't it more likely that someone from the other team did it? After all, it's the playoffs.”

“League players aren't like that, Robyn. They may fight out on the ice, but they don't play dirty tricks—especially not dangerous ones like that.”

“Maybe,” I said. I didn't know much about hockey. I knew even less about hockey players. But I did know Billy. “You don't seriously think Billy would do something so dangerous ...”

“Why not? He attacked Sean. He destroyed everything in his locker. He spied on us last night, Robyn.” So Sean had told her. “Billy hates Sean. And he knows all about hockey equipment—he played into middle school.”

“But to deliberately hurt someone—”

“You're seeing only what you want to see,” Morgan said. “You're not seeing what's really going on. Someone tampered with that helmet, and I'll bet you anything that it was Billy.” She reached for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my coat. I'm going to the hospital. I want to see how Sean is.”

She didn't ask me to go with her, and I didn't offer. She disappeared inside for a moment and then strode to the bus stop. I started to shiver and zipped up my jacket. That's when I realized that my scarf was missing. I must have dropped it in the stands. I went back in through the team entrance and found the scarf under my seat. When I pushed open the door to go outside again, I heard angry voices coming from the parking lot.

“... double-cross,” someone said. “I should report you.”

“And say what?” another voice said.

I held the door open just a crack so that I could hear what the voices were saying without anyone seeing me.

“You there!” A sharp voice behind me made me jump. “What do you think you're doing?”

I spun around and found myself face-to-face with the grizzled old man who had been guarding the team entrance before the game started. He was standing in a doorway to my left. I saw a battered desk behind him, along with a phone, an old computer, and a board on the wall that held dozens of keys. His office.

“You shouldn't be in here,” he said gruffly. “I'm closing up.”

“I forgot my scarf,” I said. “I was just leaving.”

I shoved the door open all the way and stepped out into the parking lot. It was deserted. Whoever had been out there was gone. I started for the street and ... eeeew! I had stepped on something squishy. I lifted my foot. There was a huge, obviously fresh wad of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Perfect.

I called Billy's house on my way home. No one answered. Billy didn't answer his cell phone either. I didn't talk to him again for a few days, and then it was under the worst possible circumstances.

S

ean didn't show up at school the next day, so right after the final bell, Morgan rushed over to his house to check on him. I went home. My mom called to say that she was working late and that I'd have to fix my own supper. After I'd eaten and put my dishes into the dishwasher, I called my dad. It was Thursday night. He and Nick were supposed to be doing something together. I'm not too proud to admit it: I was dying to know what it was.

He answered on the third ring.

“Robbie,” he said. “What's up?”