Penalty Shot (7 page)

Jeff hopped out of the car, promising to make a goal for his mom. In the locker room, he dressed quickly, slipped on his skate
guards, and hurried out to the rink.

As usual, a feeling of anticipation hit him the minute his skates touched the ice. The thrill of competition ahead always
gave him a rush. He loved it all — the feel of the ice beneath him, the bright lights, the cold air on his face as he skated
on the shimmering surface. He had to control his impulse to pour on the speed. He knew it would be better to save his strength
for the game ahead.

And then he heard a familiar voice near the water jug.

“Are there any cups?” Kevin asked.

Within seconds, Jeff’s happy mood was replaced by uneasiness. How will Kevin and I do on the ice together today? he wondered.
We have to play better than we did this week.

But even as he thought it, he had a bad feeling that things weren’t going to go well.

Minutes later, the rink was filled with skaters from both teams warming up. The Fremont Penguins were in solid blue with white
numbers. They made a nice contrast to the Winston Blades’ yellow uniforms.

Finally, the whistle blew and the two teams separated to their respective benches.

“Okay, let me have your attention,” said Coach Wallace. “I want to see some heads-up hockey out there. Quick passes, sharp
and accurate. Keep your eye on your positions. Talk to one another and set up the plays we’ve been working on all week. We’re
only a good team when we play like a team.”

Jeff caught Kevin’s eye for a brief second. Then Kevin looked away.

I hear you, Coach, Jeff thought. I hope Kevin does, too.

Coach Wallace interrupted his thoughts by yelling that it was time to take to the ice. Jeff shook his head, determined to
stop puzzling over his problem until after the game. Instead, he skated onto the ice with the other Blades and prepared himself
for the face-off.

The whistle blew. The puck dropped and the two centers scrambled to get their sticks around it.

The puck skittered on its edge past Jeff, rolled onto its side, and slid across the ice toward a player in blue and white.
The Penguins took charge, dribbled it past the red middle line, and headed toward the Blades’ goal.

The action skipped from one side of the
net to the other. But the puck never went in. Kevin finally managed to grab it after two good saves by Michael Gillis.

“Kevin! Kevin!” Jeff shouted. He was near the blue line, ready for a pass.

Kevin ignored him. Instead, he passed the puck to Chad, who dribbled it across the blue line. Bucky caught a pass from Chad
and brought it across the midline into goal-scoring territory.

Jeff tried to get himself into a good scoring position. He waited for a pass, hoping that Bucky would put into action a play
he, Jeff, and Kevin had had good luck with in the past. Before the note, that was.

Darn that note! Jeff thought angrily. It really messed things up!

As he thought about it, he felt something hit his skate.

The puck! He had let his mind wander only for a moment, but that had been long
enough for him to miss out on making the play work. He tried to control the disk, but it ricocheted off his blade and slid
back to the blue line.

Luckily for the Blades, Kevin was there. He trapped it with his stick, dribbled it into position, and slammed it toward the
center. Bucky was right there. He caught the puck, spun around, and hit it with a forehand shot that went streaking at the
net — and in!

Goal!

The Blades cheered and waved their sticks in the air as they congratulated Bucky and Kevin. The Penguins called for a time-out.

Clustered around their own bench, the Blades gave Coach Wallace their full attention.

“That goal was deserved,” he said, “but it’s time to start setting up some plays out there. Keep moving that puck and then
take your best shot.” The referee blew the whistle.
“One second, Jeff. You, too, Shep. Hayes, I want you to go in for Jeff. Jordan, you go in for Shep. Boys, grab some pine here.”

Jeff’s heart sank. He’d been in the game just five minutes. He took a seat behind Sam Metcalf without a word. Shep plunked
down next to Sam.

Sam nudged Shep. “Hey, at least you’re wearing a uniform,” he said quietly. “I’d do just about anything to get on the squad.
I’m likely to be sitting here all season in plain clothes unless…”

Jeff’s ears perked up. He waited for Sam to finish his sentence. When Sam didn’t, Jeff silently finished it for him.

Unless someone on the team has to give up his uniform.

J
eff tried to concentrate on the game. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Sam. If Sam thought breaking up a good combination
on the ice — a combination like Jeff and Kevin had been before the note turned up —would help his chances of getting on the
team, would he try to do it?

Sitting behind Sam and listening to him cheer on the Blades, Jeff just couldn’t believe he was capable of such a thing. He
couldn’t believe it, but couldn’t deny that such a motive could have led to the note.

With a sigh, he turned his attention fully on the game.

The Penguins had taken control of the puck after the face-off. This time they weren’t about to give up easily. The game got
a lot more physical. First a two-minute penalty for high-sticking was called on the Penguins. Then Bucky was caught elbowing
an opponent. Since the penalties left both teams short a man, neither converted them into a power-play advantage.

After several more minutes of back-and-forth shots on goal with no scoring, the first period ended. Coach Wallace had Jeff
go back in for Hayes, with a caution to keep his eyes open and let his teammates know his position at all times.

Jeff was rested from his time on the bench and ready to play hard. The face-off went to the Blades. Jeff worked to get free
for a pass. His first thought was to set up one of
the plays with Kevin that worked so well. But before he could make another move, someone crashed into him from the side.

A burly Penguin defenseman sent him reeling toward the boards. Frantically, Jeff struggled to regain his balance. But at the
last minute, his skates flew out from under him and he sprawled onto the ice.

As the referee’s whistle blew, Jeff felt a spray of ice in his face. A player had skidded to a stop just shy of his prone
body.

“Here!” a gruff voice said. It was Kevin, holding out a hand. “Come on! We’ve got just two minutes to put together a power
play!”

Jeff grabbed the hand and scrambled to his feet. “Thanks,” he said. But Kevin had skated off already.

For the next two minutes, the Blades tried to make the power play work. As the penalty time ticked down, it seemed they wouldn’t
be successful. Even though the Penguins
were down a man, they had everyone covered.

Then Kevin got control. With a quick glance up, he sent the puck skimming toward Jeff. Jeff stopped it. Seeing that he was
clear, he skated furiously in the direction of the Penguins’ goal.

Closer. Closer. He shuffled the puck back and forth with the tip of his stick. Chad raced parallel with him down the ice.
At the last possible second, Jeff flicked the disk across to the left wing. Chad simply let it ricochet off his stick toward
the goal.

The Penguins goalkeeper lunged for it. But he was too late. The puck hit the back of the net — and the Blades were up 2-0!

Jeff and Chad slapped high fives and cheered. Jeff looked for Kevin to thank him for feeding him the puck. But when he caught
his eye, Kevin just jerked his head up in acknowledgment and skated away.

Well, it’s not much, but at least he’s thawing a little, Jeff said to himself.

The Blades set up for the face-off. Jeff and the rest of the players tried their hardest to sweeten the lead. It was no use.
The Penguins played by the book, sticking to their men like sand on a wet foot, stealing the puck every chance they could,
and passing with finesse. By the end of the second period, they had inched up on the Blades with two goals of their own.

“You can take these guys,” Coach Wallace assured them at a break. “Let’s see some energy out there!”

But those two Penguin goals had dulled the Blades’ sharpness. There was no spark. There was no extra push. And most noticeably,
there were no words of encouragement on-ice. In fact, there was the exact opposite.

“C’mon, Chad, I’m way ahead of you!”
Bucky Ledbetter yelled after his left wing passed the puck too far behind him.

“Shep, where’s the backup? Where’s the backup?” Chad cried when Shep failed to pick up a pass that had skimmed under Chad’s
stick.

“Can’t see! Can’t see!” Michael Gillis called frantically when a pile of players landed in a heap near the goal.

Only Jeff and Kevin were silent.

When the buzzer ended the last period, Jeff had had it. He couldn’t have cared less that their first game had concluded in
a tie. All he wanted to do was shower up, walk home, and sit in the peace and quiet of his bedroom.

Most of all, he wanted to stop thinking about dogs, mean notes, and friendships gone sour.

T
wo days later, a dark cloud still hung over Jeff’s head. He struggled through his morning classes. At lunchtime, he sat with
the rest of the hockey team but didn’t say a word. When he was through eating, he mumbled something about having to go to
the library at free time afterward.

This day just can’t get any worse, he thought as he crouched among the racks of books, pretending to read a biography on a
famous hockey player.

But it did. Ms. Collins was back in class — and she wasn’t happy. She handed him his
make-up composition with a shake of her head.

As soon as he looked at it, he knew why she was upset. It was covered with green correction marks. There was no way he could
have received a passing grade.

She must think I didn’t even try! Jeff thought dismally.

Then the full magnitude of the situation hit him. If he didn’t get a passing grade, he could kiss his place on the hockey
team good-bye.

His heart started thudding. Desperately, he scanned the paper again. This time, he saw something he hadn’t seen before. He
looked more closely to be sure he wasn’t mistaken. Hp saw he was right.

The places he remembered correcting were wrong again. But more than that,
new errors had appeared!

This isn’t the paper I left with the substitute, he realized. It’s been changed.

Yet the handwriting looked like his. How could he explain that away?

It’s not the first time you’ve seen something in your handwriting that you knew you didn’t write, a little voice inside his
head said. The saboteur has struck again. Whoever wrote the note to Kevin also tampered with this paper.

But how was he supposed to convince Ms. Collins of that? And what was she supposed to do even if she did believe him? He still
owed her a composition.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. It was his only chance. It would make him a little late — maybe a lot late — for practice, but
there was no other possible way.

After class he tried to explain the situation to his teacher.

“Uh, Ms. Collins,” he began. He told her how hard he had been working with Beth Ledbetter, how he had written the composition
and given it to Beth to look over before handing it in, and how he had his suspicions that someone had messed with it while
Ms. Collins had been away. “It’s just not what I wrote,” he finished.

“I must say I was surprised when I saw it,” Ms. Collins admitted. “And disappointed. Beth Ledbetter is far too good a tutor
for you to do
worse
after working with her. But Jeff,” she added, “that handwriting is so much like yours. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Jeff cleared his throat. “Well, what if we just pretend it doesn’t exist? If you can spare a little time, what if I come back
here after school today and write a new composition in front of you? That way you’ll be able to see for yourself how I’ve
improved.”

Ms. Collins lifted an eyebrow. “But Jeffrey, won’t staying after school interfere with hockey?”

Jeff returned her grin. “As someone once told me, sometimes you have to train your mind as well as your body. So what do you
say?”

“It’s a deal. Be back here at two-thirty sharp.”

Jeff nodded, gathered up his books, and rushed to his next class.

Well, that’s one problem taken care of, he thought. That leaves two to go: getting Kevin to believe me, and finding out who’s
trying to do me in!

When the bell rang signaling the end of his last class, Jeff hurried back to Ms. Collins’s room. As he turned a corner, he
bumped right into Kevin.

Kevin frowned and started to move around him.

“Kevin, wait! I know you’re still mad at me, but I really need your help.” When he saw Kevin hesitate, he blundered on. “Can
you tell Coach I’m going to be a little late to practice? I — I have to meet with my English teacher.”

Kevin grimaced. “Your English teacher? Are you in trouble in that class again?”

“I don’t know for sure. That’s what I have to go find out. Please help me?”

Kevin sighed loudly. “Yeah, sure, I’ll tell him. While I’m at it, should I let Sam Metcalf know his chances of suiting up
next game are looking pretty good?”

“Just deliver the message to the coach, okay? And Kevin,” he added, “I’m going to find out who wrote that note.”

But Kevin was already walking away.

Shaking his head, Jeff hurried the rest of the way to Ms. Collins’s room. While she sat at her desk correcting papers, he
took a seat,
pulled a fresh sheet of notebook paper out of his three-ring binder, and began to write. The clock on the wall behind his
teacher’s desk ticked away the minutes, one by one. But Jeff barely heard it.

He quickly filled the page, then put his pencil down.

Now I have to remember what Beth taught me. I have to go back over it and make sure that I’ve done everything right.
All the clues are there.