Maxed Out (3 page)

“Thanks, Ian.”

“No problem. Hey, a bunch of us are going to practice on the pond. Do you want to come?”

“Um, I'll see if I can. Call you back, okay?”

I head downstairs. Mom is washing dishes, and Duncan is eating a sandwich.

“Um, I'm sorry about the lightbulbs,” I mumble.

She turns to face me and sighs. “I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I'm just so…”

“It's okay. Um, I was wondering if I could go skate on the pond with Ian.”

“I want to come too,” Duncan says with his mouth full.

“No way, Duncan!” I say. “You'll be bored in two seconds.”

“You know, honey, that would be a big help. I do need to sleep, or I won't be able to function.” Mom wipes her hands on the dishtowel.

“Are you serious? I can't keep him busy while I'm skating!”

“I'm sure the puck leaves the pond every now and then. It certainly did when you and Daddy played. Duncan could collect them. I'll make some hot chocolate for him. What do you think?”

I don't know why she bothers asking. It's not like I have a choice. “Fine!” I shove the chair into the table and glare at Duncan.

Ian and the others are on the pond when we finally arrive. It took forever to get out the door. I couldn't find one of my hockey gloves. Duncan sat in the kitchen with his hat, mitts and winter coat on for a good twenty minutes while I searched the house.

“Took you long enough!” Ian yells.

He skates over and stops within inches of the edge of the pond.

“He skates fast,” Duncan says. Then he walks off to investigate something in the snow.

“Why is he here?” Ian whispers.

“Don't ask!” I say.

“What's he going to do?” Ian asks.

“Get the pucks for us.” I roll my eyes. “Mom's idea.”

Duncan comes back and sits down on the bench.

“So…I hear you're going to be the puck getter?” Ian says, leaning on his hockey stick.

“Yes, I am!” Duncan says in one of his deep voices. “Max, I'm going to be the puck getter.”

“I know.” I finish tying up my skates, pull the thermos out and hand it to him. “Here's your hot chocolate. Careful— it's hot.”

“I like hot chocolate,” Duncan says and then blows on it.

I glide onto the pond. I feel like I'm floating as my skates cut through the ice. I throw my boots on top of the boot pile that we use as a net and join the rest of the guys.

I skate around the pond a few times to warm up. The cold air stings my cheeks. I can't help but smile. It feels good to be skating. It's like Dad is right with me.

Duncan seems fine sitting on the bench drinking his hot chocolate. Maybe Mom was right.

“Can we play?” asks a familiar voice.

I whirl around. Oh, man! Twice in one day. Cody stands at the edge of the pond with four of his friends. I don't recognize any of them.

Ian looks at me. I shrug my shoulders. If I say no, I'll never hear the end of it. If I say yes, maybe he'll forget about the lineup today. I nod.

“Yeah, all right,” Ian says. “We can split up—five on five.” The puck flies off the ice and lands on the path.

“Duncan! Can you get that?” I yell over to him.

“Yes, I can.” He walks quickly, spilling his hot chocolate along the way. “I found it! I found it!”

“Who's that?” one of Cody's friends asks.

“My brother.” I don't look at the guy.

“Look at him go,” Cody says. He and his friends laugh. “What a dork.”

“Put your hot chocolate down and throw the puck,” I yell, pretending Cody's laughter isn't punching me in the stomach.

Duncan throws the puck, but it doesn't reach the pond. He retrieves it and throws it again. This time it lands near the edge.

“I'm a good puck getter!” Duncan says proudly.

I skate over and scoop it up.

“Can we get this game going?” Cody bellows.

Duncan paces by the side of the pond waiting for the next puck.

“Over here, Max!” Ian yells.

I pass Ian the puck and then skate toward the net.

“Hey, watch it!” Cody says, after I cut in front of him.

“
You
watch it!” I snap.

“Ian! Over here!” I yell. He passes me the puck, and I fly up the ice and slam it into the net. The boots fly all over the place.

“Nice one!” Ian yells. He skates over, and we smack our sticks together.

Ian and I take charge of the puck for the entire game, playing like we're on the Olympic team. We skate circles around Cody and his friends, which really ticks them off. During the second period, we're five goals ahead when Ian scores a goal and lands in the net with the puck, taking the goalie down with him. This is Ian's trademark move.

“Hey! What are you doing?” yells Cody.

I turn to see what Cody is complaining about.

“He's got my boots!” Cody yells.

Duncan has a pair of boots in his arms. The other team's net is gone. All the boots are in one big straight line across the pond.

Chapter Five

I zoom toward the line of boots. “Duncan! What are you
doing
?”

He looks at me like I'm from Mars.

“It's our net, Duncan!” I grab the boots from his arms and throw them onto the ice. “They're
supposed
to be in a pile!”

“Oh, your net.” Duncan's face falls.

“Can we get this game going? This isn't friggin'
Sesame Street
,” Cody yells. He and his friends lean on their sticks, laughing. Why did I agree to let them play?

“Duncan, grab some boots and throw them into the middle.” I start whacking boots with my stick.

I just want to play hockey.

Duncan picks the boots up one at a time and carefully places them onto the pile. I know it's killing him to leave the boots in a mess. As he grabs the last one, he slips on the ice.

Smack!
The sound echoes across the pond. A small crack appears in the ice where Duncan lands.

I race over and kneel next to him. Duncan looks up with tears in his eyes. “It hurts, it hurts!” He's holding his right arm.

“Okay, I won't touch it.”

Ian skates over. “Is he okay?”

“His arm hurts. Can you help me get him up?”

“Sure.” Ian drops his stick.

Duncan doesn't make it easy for us. He sits there like deadweight.

Ian and I are on either side of him, trying to grab hold of him without touching his sore arm.

“Okay—you got him, Ian?”

“Yup. We're going to get you up there, Puck Getter,” Ian says.

“I'm not Puck Getter
,
I'm Spider-Man.”

“Okay, Spider-Man…on the count of three, we're going to lift you. One— two—three! Oh, man,” Ian groans. “You're heavy!”

Duncan wails, “My arm, my arm!”

“You're not going to die, okay?” I say. Once we have him standing, I brush snow off his jacket.

“This is a waste of time!” Cody hollers. “When are we going to get this game going?”

“My arm hurts,” says Duncan.

“Yeah. I know, Duncan.” I'm so mad inside, I could scream. “I gotta go.” I can't look at Ian when I say the words. I grab my boots from the pile and make my way to the side of the pond.

“What are you doing?” Cody yells.

“We're going home,” I bark. “What's it
look
like?”

“Losers!”

“What is his problem?” I mutter under my breath.

“He's mean,” Duncan answers.

It always amazes me how in some ways Duncan can be completely clueless, and in others so smart.

“
Pst…Pst…
”

“Duncan, knock it off, would ya?”

“
Pst…Pst…
” He completely ignores me.

It becomes obvious why he's making the noises. With his good hand, he's got his fingers spread far apart as he directs his spiderweb toward Cody.

“I'm going to wrap him in my web. He's a bad guy.”

Before I can say another word, Duncan bolts from the bench and heads onto the ice.

The guys have started passing the puck around, but Duncan doesn't seem to care. He gets right in front of Cody.

“Duncan, stop!” I yell as I scramble after him, wearing one boot and one skate.

“I've got you!” Duncan yells. He flings his good arm toward Cody.

“Get him away from me,” Cody yells as he pushes his hands out in front of his face.

“Ian,
grab
him!” I yell.

Ian skates toward Duncan.

Cody drops his stick. He looks like he's ready to punch Duncan. His thick brain doesn't have the sense to skate away. He could do laps around Duncan. All he has to do is skate away. Cody's friends stand watching like a bunch of doorknobs.

“Leave him alone,” I scream. “He's not going to hurt you!”

“Get this
freak
away from me!” Cody yells.

Ian tries to pull Duncan away, but Duncan yanks free and plows into Cody, pushing him onto the ice. Cody's friends laugh.

Cody scrambles to his feet with his fists punching the air. I can barely keep my balance as I hobble and slide over to Duncan. I manage to get there in time to intercept Cody's fist.

Smack!

He hits me so hard, I fall backward and land butt-first on the ice. I sit there for a few seconds. My head pounds, and my right eye feels like it's going to pop out.

Cody spits at me. His goober lands with a big
splat
beside my feet. “If that freak comes near me again, he'll get it good.” Then he kicks my skate to get his point across.

If my head wasn't spinning so badly, I'd punch him back. Instead I pull myself to my feet and stagger off the ice.

Ian is sitting on the bench with Duncan by the time I make if off the pond.

“My arm hurts,” Duncan whimpers.

“Well, if you hadn't gone after Cody, you'd be fine!” I hiss. I drop down beside him and take off my other skate. Cody messes around with the puck as if nothing happened.

I can tell Ian feels bad, but he doesn't know what to say. What is there to say? Sorry your brother messed things up again? Sorry you have no life? He says, “I'll come over afterward.”

I sling my skates over my shoulder. “Let's go, Duncan.”

I lead the way through the path. Every now and then, Duncan whispers to himself.

“You're strong, Spider-Man. You can fix this,” followed by, “Ohhhh, my arm hurts!”

My eye throbs. I try to ignore it.

When we arrive home, our back door is locked. Mom has a habit of bolting it shut when we leave, even if she's home. I reach into my pocket for the key. It's not there. I drop my hockey gear and search all my pockets—nothing. Sighing, I ring the doorbell and wait. Nothing.

I ring it again. And we wait.

Nothing—a big fat nothing.

Chapter Six

“Stay here, Duncan. I'll go check Dad's workshop for the spare. I'll be right back.” I trudge through the snow in the backyard. I haven't been in Dad's little shed for a while. The smell of wood and sawdust tickles my nose and reminds me of Dad. I used to love hanging out with him. I used to watch for hours as he built things out of wood. It was our special thing, that and playing hockey. My fingers fumble on the ledge where the key used to be.

Zippo—not a thing.

I shut the door and glance up at Mom's window. The curtains are closed. I start yelling, “Mom! Open up. We're locked out!” I stare at the curtains, hoping to see her open them. I grab a snowball and toss it near her window. It splats on the side of the house. But it doesn't do any good—the curtains don't move.

“How can she not hear us?” I mutter.

“She's not home,” Duncan says.

“Maybe you're right. Come on, let's go over to Mr. Cooper's.”

Duncan follows me, complaining how hungry he is. We cut through the rosebushes and ring the back doorbell.

“We're locked out,” I announce when Mr. Cooper opens the door.

“My arm hurts,” Duncan adds.

“Your arm hurts, and you're locked out. Not a good combination. Come on in.”

The warmth from Mr. Cooper's woodstove makes my face tingle. I take off my mitts.

“Looks like you two were in a bit of a wrestling match. Your eye looks mighty sore there, Max.”

“I was fighting,” Duncan says in a deep voice.

“You were not!” I roll my eyes. “We both fell on the pond.” I don't want to tell Mr. Cooper what happened. He might tell Mom.

“Sounds like you ran into a patch of bad luck.” Mr. Cooper rummages around in a kitchen drawer. “Here we go. I knew I had one.” He dangles a spare set of keys.

“Thanks,” I say. I take them and turn toward the back door.

“My arm hurts,” Duncan complains.

“Why don't I have a look at it?” Mr. Cooper says as he pulls out a chair. “Come have a seat, Duncan, or are you Spider-Man today?”

“I'm Spider-Man,” he answers quietly.

Mr. Cooper tries to touch his arm.

“Oweeee!” Duncan yells.

“Okay there. Let's not get our knickers in a knot, Spider-Man.” Mr. Cooper gets up and pulls a first-aid kit out of a cupboard. “I reckon I have a Spider-Man sling for you.”

“You do?” Duncan's eyes light up.

“I sure do.” He unwraps a beige triangle bandage. “I'm going to have to touch your arm, but I promise I'll be as gentle as possible.”

Duncan sits still while Mr. Cooper slips the sling on his arm. “I like you,” Duncan whispers.

“Well, I like you too. That should do the trick until your mom gets home.”

“I'm hungry,” Duncan says.

“Well, there's nothing like telling a feller how it really is.” Mr. Cooper chuckles. “What would you like to eat?”

“That's okay, Mr. Cooper. I'll make him something when we get home. Come on, let's go, Duncan. Thanks for the key.”