Rebel Power Play (9 page)

Charlie picked up his board and went inside the arena. Next to the concession stand he spotted a sign —
Gus’s Place
. The door was closed. Charlie knocked, and when Gus didn’t answer he pushed it open gingerly.

The office was like nothing he’d ever seen. It was part snack bar, part registration centre, and part hockey museum. Equipment from past eras was stuffed into every nook and cranny — old skates under shelves, goalie pads piled up between filing cabinets, gloves hanging from hooks — along with an assortment of coffee cups, yellowed piles of paper, and forms impaled on a spike. A tornado could not have created a more chaotic scene.

Charlie spotted an old hockey stick leaning against a wall.

He flexed it a few times. It was incredibly stiff and heavy. The composite sticks Dunn had given them were like feathers compared to this.

“Easy does it with the stick, son. That’s a collector’s item.”

Charlie whirled around. Gus stood in the doorway with a kind smile. “Signed by every member of the ’67 Toronto Maple Leafs.”

“Sorry,” Charlie said. “I’ve never held a stick like this.”

“Not too many around. Dave Keon gave me that. I knew him from junior hockey, back when he was not much older than you. Look, here’s his signature.”

Gus took the stick and started to read the names of the players — George Armstrong, Terry Sawchuk, Johnny Bower, Frank Mahovlich — all Hall-of-Famers.

“So what can I do for you?” he said.

“I play for, or played for … It doesn’t matter, really. I was on the Terrence Falls Hawks, a bantam team. The sponsor pulled out and now …”

“I thought Dunn was sponsoring that team,” Gus said.

“He folded the Hawks,” Charlie said.

Gus spat into a nearby garbage can. “Nice of him to call and tell me. He rented a ton of ice. Don’t surprise me none, come to think of it. Never liked that fellow. Don’t much like his stores either.”

“There’s still going to be a team,” Charlie said. “Some of the players have taken over — the team, that is.”

“Who’s coaching?”

“We don’t exactly have a coach. We’re going to coach ourselves. That’s why we named the team the Rebels. My grandfather’s going to be the manager. We wanted to talk to you about practice. We were wondering about the ice time Dunn rented? Is it already paid for?”

“Here’s the thing,” Gus said. “That Dunn fellow put down a deposit for the season — ten percent. Supposed to pay the rest every month. He took prime time too. Now I gotta fill that or the rink will lose money. Never did trust that fellow.”

“Only ten percent,” Charlie said. “How much would
it cost for the rest?”

Gus reached under a pile of papers on his desk and pulled out a binder, flipping through the pages. He stabbed a page with his finger and held it up for him to see.

“Like I said, Dunn took prime time, either four-thirty or five o’clock on weekends and seven o’clock on weekdays. Since he took so much ice, I gave him a deal — two hundred dollars an hour. There’s cheaper, of course, but you guys got school, so it don’t help you none.”

“That might be a bit expensive for us,” Charlie said.

He did his best to hide his disappointment. They’d never be able to afford that, not even with Dunn’s deposit. Maybe they were fooling themselves about the whole thing. They had to practice.

“There is another possibility,” Gus said. He stroked his chin slowly. “I want to help you out. I admire your spirit. How does free ice sound?”

“Sounds awesome,” Charlie said.

“We only rent the ice starting at seven in the morning. Before that we’re empty, but I’m always here early. You could practise from six to seven, before school or on the weekends before house league starts, and I’ll just run the Zamboni over it. Dunn’s deposit will cover the cost.”

Charlie smiled weakly. Six o’clock in the morning! The guys wouldn’t be too stoked about that. “That’s very nice of you to offer,” he said. “Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

“Nope. We’re booked solid. Only other thing is the prime time ice Dunn rented.”

No real choice, he considered. It might even help
him get to school on time. “We accept the offer,” he said, extending his hand.

Gus took it. Charlie underestimated the man’s strength. He looked to be over seventy years old, but Charlie had to force himself not to wince as Gus squeezed tight. Gus took no notice and continued with the bone-crusher. He then reached into a desk drawer, removed two elbow pads, a magic marker, a box of elastics and three Styrofoam cups, and pulled out a form.

“Fill this out — I need your contact information. Use any dressing room you want. Only one rule — off the ice before seven so I can run the Zamboni.”

“That’s awesome, Gus,” Charlie said. “We’ll let you know in a couple of days when we’ll start.”

“Good luck to you,” he said.

Charlie had mixed feelings as he headed back home to meet Pudge. Six o’clock in the morning — killer! He could barely get to school on time, and that started at nine. On the other hand, thanks to Dunn, it was free ice, which was another lucky break. If it meant playing hockey this year he’d just have to suck it up and do it. He just hoped the rest of the guys felt the same way.

* * *

Charlie followed Pudge as they sped along the main street on their boards. They rode past Dunn’s and turned left onto a small side street. After a few blocks, Charlie saw a bright red sign —
The Hockey Shop
. A mannequin with goalie equipment and a Detroit Red Wings sweater stood in the window, framed by two large stacks of skate boxes.

“This whole place could fit into the stick section at
Dunn’s,” Charlie said.

“I know, but it’s a classic, old-time hockey store. No clothing or yoga stuff — just hockey. You’ll love it. I never go to Dunn’s. This place is totally cool. The owner’s name is Mr. Sanderson, and like I said he’s getting a bit old, so speak loud or he won’t hear you.”

Charlie understood why Pudge liked it so much the second he went in. Every square inch was crammed with equipment. Not necessarily the most expensive or trendiest stuff, but good quality. He saw a sign:
The Used Equipment Paradise
. He went over.

“Hey, Pudge. Check out these gloves. Mint condition and only twenty-five bucks. I think he just re-palmed them.”

“He always has good deals,” Pudge said.

Charlie needed a new pair now that Dunn had taken his equipment back. His old ones were falling apart. He put them on and flexed his fingers. “Perfect,” he murmured.

“Gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

A man smiled at Charlie from behind a row of sticks. Charlie didn’t think he looked very old.

“Can we speak to the owner?” Pudge said.

“You’re looking at him.”

Charlie could have cried. A new owner! He wouldn’t know Pudge. Now what would they do?

“Is there another owner … someone’s who is not … so … tall?” Pudge asked.

“Are you referring to a silver-haired man, perhaps? That’s my dad. He’s finally retired. I’ve taken over. My dad was eighty-two years old and he still wanted to work every day. I finally convinced him to relax. He’s taking
his first holiday in thirty years, maybe more. He’s off to Florida — I sent him.”

“I’ve been coming here forever,” Pudge said. “And this is my friend, Charlie — his first visit.”

“An old customer and a new one — good combo. Let’s make it official.” He walked around and shook their hands. “Name’s Brent Sanderson.”

“Nice store you got, Mr. Sanderson,” Charlie said.

“Mr. Sanderson’s my father. Call me Brent, or you’ll have to leave.” He laughed heartily. “Thanks for the kind words, Charlie, but I know this place is a dump.” He silenced their protests with a wave. “Just compare this to Dunn’s Sportsmart. He gets fifty customers to my one. I’ve been after my dad to modernize for years. We’ll always focus on hockey. But we need to expand, be better organized, and display the merchandise more professionally. Who can find anything in here? And I gotta change the name. In the future I want to sell more than just hockey equipment.”

“I’ll miss this store when it changes,” Pudge said.

“I will too,” Brent said. “Everything has to change at some point, though. So, can I help you find something?”

“We’re in a slightly weird situation,” Charlie said. “Our hockey team folded a few days ago.”

“What happened?”

“The sponsor pulled out.”

“That’s not that bantam team — the one Dunn is sponsoring?”

Charlie nodded.

He looked at him intently. “Are you Charlie Joyce?”

He nodded again.

Brent clapped his hands. “One of my cousins knows
you — Dylan.”

“I live down the street from him.”

“I was just over there for dinner last night. Small world or what?”

“Dylan’s a good guy,” Charlie said. “Good player too. Plays for the Tigers.”

“He told me about the Hawks; and I know all about Dunn.”

Charlie and Pudge exchanged glances.

“That’s sort of why we’re here. We’re putting together a new team. We have a game in two days and don’t have sweaters or socks,” Charlie explained.

“What’s the budget?” Brent said.

Charlie dreaded that question. “Not good, I’m afraid. We were hoping for something in the bargain-basement range.”

Brent put his hands on the end of a stick and rested his chin on top. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll provide the sweaters and socks, as long as I can put the store’s name on the back. I can’t afford to sponsor the team like Dunn, but I can do that much.”

Charlie couldn’t believe his luck. Free practice time and now free sweaters! The Rebels were on a roll.

“When did you say you needed them?” Brent asked.

“Monday night.”

“That’s pushing it, but I have a few contacts that might help. Worst-case scenario, I have some practice jerseys, and can have the real ones ready for the next game.”

“Awesome. I don’t know what to say,” Charlie said.

“What’s the team name?”

“The Rebels,” Charlie and Pudge proclaimed
together.

He nodded approvingly. “Good name. I like it. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to make some calls. Leave everything to me.”

The boys thanked him and left. Only when he got outside did Charlie realize he was still wearing the hockey gloves. With a cockeyed grin he held them up.

“Nice move — steal from the sponsor,” Pudge said.

“Next time I should try on a pair of skates,” Charlie joked.

He went back in. Brent was sorting some paperwork.

“Brent, I wanted to ask you about these gloves. I forgot I had them on and walked out.” He waved his hand.

“On the house, Charlie. Enjoy.”

“Are you sure?” he said uncertainly.

“No worries.”

“Thanks a lot. And thanks again for the sponsorship.”

“Happy to do it,” he said, turning back to his paperwork.

“You won’t believe it,” he said to Pudge when he got outside. “He gave them to me.”

Pudge looked at the gloves. “Next time, remind me to put on some hockey pants. I gave mine away because of Dunn’s equipment. The only pair I got is like two sizes too small. They fit like cycling shorts.”

Charlie dropped his board to the ground. “Now that I have my racing gloves, the first one to my mom’s café is the winner.”

He pushed off and tore down the street.

Pudge had organized all the guys to come to Charlie’s house at five o’clock. Charlie and his grandfather were waiting in the dining room for them to arrive. He’d asked his grandfather about being the manager after his meeting with Steve Roberts. Even though he barely knew anything about hockey, he agreed immediately.

The problem of finding a trainer was solved almost as easily. Shirley, his mom’s assistant manager and pastry chef, had been by on Friday night, and burst out laughing when she heard what he needed.

“Talk to my son, Jeffrey. He’s in his first year of college in physiotherapy, and needs some practical training hours. He’s been looking for something. I’ll call him right now.”

A minute later, Charlie had lined up a trainer!

After the crazy few days he’d had, he could barely contain his excitement to tell the boys about the new team.

“Can you come into the kitchen?” his mom called. She pointed to two large trays filled with sandwiches and cookies. “You can carry these downstairs. I have to run to the café for half an hour. Do you need anything else?”

“No, we’re cool — and you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I did. Now have fun, good luck, and I’ll see you soon.”

Charlie ran the food downstairs. As he came back up he heard a loud noise outside, followed by cheering. He went to check it out. Zachary was lying on the ground at the bottom of the steps, his skateboard off to the side. One shoe was off.

“Try again,” Scott said. “I’m sure you’ll nail it this time.”

“What happened?” Charlie said.

“Zachary rode his board down the steps,” Nick said.

Zachary sat up, reaching for the board. “I almost made it, too,” he said.

“You almost broke your neck,” Pudge said.

Zachary got up, holding the errant shoe. He brushed off his pants, which were ripped at the knee. “My shoe got dirty, dudes,” he said, pretending to be angry. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I’d try again,” Scott said.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Zachary said.

“How about you do that later?” Charlie said. Zachary was the type who
would
try again. “My mom put out some grub downstairs. Go get some nourishment. Pudge and I have some big news and you’ll want to hear it on a full stomach, especially Scott.”

“What are you up to already?” Nick demanded.

“The rest of the guys will be here soon and all will be revealed,” Charlie replied. “Now, be good little boys and head on in.”

“Are you sure we don’t have time to see Zachary wipe out again?” Scott asked.

“Maybe after,” Charlie said.

“How about we just throw him down the stairs?” Scott offered.

A well-aimed shoe hit Scott in the chest.

“A hostage,” Scott declared, grabbing the shoe. “To the toilet with you.”

He opened the door and bounded down the hall, yelling, “Attack! Attack!” Zachary gave chase, with Nick close behind. Charlie had half a mind to join in the fun, but decided he should wait outside for the others.

His grandfather poked his head out.

“Based on the herd of elephants that just charged downstairs, I assume the team has arrived.”

“Some of them, Grandpa,” Charlie said. “The rest should be here soon.”

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me. By the way, what’s with the shoe? One of your friends was punching it,” he said. The corners of his eyes wrinkled, and he chuckled.

Only Scott could take it to that level, Charlie thought. Robert and Christopher came next, arriving together as always. He and Pudge went down the steps to greet them.

“How’s the defence pair doing?” Charlie said. Charlie knew how quiet they were, so he wasn’t insulted when they merely nodded in reply. “Thanks for coming over. Some of the guys are already here, so head on downstairs. There’s lots of food. My mom’s a cook and it’s good stuff.”

“Pudge said you have some info about hockey. What’s up?” Robert asked.

“We’ll fill you in once everyone gets here,” Pudge replied.

Jonathon and Martin arrived.

“Couple more guys and we got ourselves a road hockey game,” Jonathon said.

“Sounds good to me,” Charlie said. “Greatest game on earth.”

“I’d love to pound a few tennis balls past Martin,” Jonathon said.

“No chance,” Martin said. “I play out in road hockey. I’m a goal scoring machine off the ice.”

“I love playing net,” Charlie said. “We’ll switch positions.”

“I thought we were here for ice hockey,” Robert said, uncertain if they were serious.

“Did I hear you say road hockey? I’ll get my stick.”

“Dylan! Are you coming to join our little meeting?” Charlie said. “Or is this just a tease?”

Dylan feigned indifference. “I didn’t have much to do tonight. Pudge called me today and, since I was out for a walk anyway — well, I thought I’d come over and check things out.”

He winked and followed the twins, Jonathon and Martin inside.

“Looks like everyone’s here, except for Matt,” Charlie said to Pudge. “Let’s do this thing.”

Zachary and Scott were engaged in an intense air-hockey game — last year’s Christmas present from his grandparents.

“Sorry to bother you guys,” Charlie said. “You can get back to your homework later.”

“I gotta teach Zachary some respect for his elders,” Scott said.

“I’m older than you,” Zachary said.

“I’ll just teach you some respect then.”

They stopped their game and sat down. This was Charlie’s favourite room. It had two large couches and he could just hang out and watch TV or play video games.

“First off, I want to thank everyone for coming,” Charlie said.

“Sounds like a marriage speech,” Scott said.

“Couldn’t be. Julia’s not here,” Nick said.

Charlie ignored them. He continued in a serious tone. “We all had different reasons for joining the Hawks. Some wanted the challenge of triple-A, some were just looking for a team, and some didn’t want to play for the Hawks at all.” He pointed accusingly at Dylan, who bowed back.

“Pudge and I had an idea, and we wanted to get your opinion.”

“It was Charlie’s idea,” Pudge piped in.

“Maybe at first, but Pudge helped to make it happen.”

“What happened, already? What’s the deal?” Nick cried.

“The Hawks are dead — Long live the Rebels!” Charlie declared.

The guys stared at him.

“I guess I should start at the beginning. I spoke to the guy who runs the league. We can take over the Hawks and put our own team in. Dunn paid for the league registration. We have a sponsor — the Hockey Shop; a name — the Rebels; a manager, a trainer …”

“We’ve got your mom’s cookies,” Scott said, holding one up.

“True,” Charlie agreed, laughing along with the
others. “And since we’ve all played tons of hockey, I figure we also have a coach — us! We can coach ourselves.”

There was silence for a few moments.

Then absolute mayhem broke out. Soon they were all chanting, “Re-bels! Re-bels! Re-bels!”

Scott held his arms over his head to quiet things down. “I got a question,” he repeated a few times. “Be quiet, you animals.” He lowered his arms. “We do need one more thing — a captain.”

“I nominate Charlie,” Pudge said.

“I second it,” Scott said.

“I third it,” Nick followed.

“I fourth it,” Scott said.

“You already seconded it,” Nick chastised. “Now we have to do it again.”

“Come on, guys,” Charlie said. “We should do this properly. I’ll hand out ballots and we can nominate a few people.”

“I think you’re captain,” Christopher said.

That surprised Charlie. Christopher rarely said anything, especially in a crowd. Charlie looked around the room. His eyes met Pudge’s.

“Move on, captain,” Pudge said.

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, a bit overwhelmed. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it,” he said finally. “Now stop interrupting me, Scott, and let me finish for once.”

“The guy’s captain for less than a second and he turns into a dictator,” Scott said.

“We got lucky with uniforms,” Charlie said. “The owner of The Hockey Store is giving us sweaters and
socks for free.”

The guys all cheered.

“Before you get too stoked, wait till you hear about practices. Sir Thomas Dunn, our former sponsor, put down a small deposit at the Ice Palace. But that’s for prime time and we can’t afford that. So I spoke to Gus Wilson, the rink manager, and he’ll let us practise in the morning for free, thanks to Dunn’s deposit. We just have to promise to be off the ice before the next group so he can run the Zamboni.”

“What time are we talking?” Zachary asked.

“Believe me when I say that this will hurt me as much as it hurts you … We can practise at six o’clock in the morning — that’s 6 a.m.”

“Ouch,” Scott said. “Mega-ouch.”

“It’s a killer,” Charlie said, “but it’s all we can get. We’ll only practise one or two times a week to keep the pain to a minimum. We need to commit to it, though. We have to practise, or this whole thing will be a waste. We can’t just play games and expect to compete.”

He looked around the room again. “Is everyone still in?”

They all nodded or flashed a thumbs-up.

“We’re also short a few bodies. Right now, we have four defencemen and six forwards, which is okay but it’s an injury away from being seriously undermanned. As it is, most teams will have an extra line and another pair of defencemen — we’re going to have to really be in shape or teams will wear us down by the third period.”

Matt walked in. “Did you count me in that number?” Charlie held out his first and Matt gave it a punch.

“You ever played hockey before?” Scott said.

“Don’t tell me
you’re
on the team,” Matt said.

“I’m probably the best player.”

“Then I’ve played before.”

They laughed, and Matt flopped down on the floor.

Charlie hadn’t seen Matt in such good spirits in a long time. He hoped it meant things were better at home.

“Don’t get too excited, Matt,” Zachary said. “We practise at six in the morning.”

“That’s great,” Matt said. “It won’t interfere with school or work.”

“This guy’s too upbeat for me,” Scott said. “I say we kill him.”

Scott leapt onto Matt, and they started to wrestle.

Everyone had a good laugh as Scott and Matt pretended to knock each other around, WWE-style.

“One last thing,” Charlie said when it was over. He could tell the guys were restless. “The game against the Hornets on Monday starts at seven o’clock at the Ice Palace. Let’s show up an hour early. We all need to sign medical release forms, organize sweaters, and handle a few other administrative details. That about covers it — no need to clear out, by the way. Feel free to hang out.”

Scott jumped up on the couch. “I need to apologize to all of you in advance,” he said. “I am about to crush each and every one of you at air hockey. No tears, please. Simply accept that I am the greatest player to ever hold an air hockey paddle.”

He hopped over the back of the couch and grabbed a paddle, holding it to his heart. Nick took the other paddle, and held it to his.

“I feel a tournament coming on,” Nick said. “First to
three wins. Champion plays on. Last man standing is declared champion of all time.”

Scott nudged Charlie with his paddle. “You should warm up. You’ll be playing me in two minutes, after I destroy this pathetic air-hockey impostor.”

They all crowded around the table, trading jokes and laughing at Scott’s antics. Charlie noticed Matt standing off to the side near the couch. He wandered over to him.

“How’s it going?” Charlie said.

“I’m beat. The restaurant is crazy on Saturdays. I was running from the second I got there. Pudge makes it look easy. I’m always on the brink of disaster.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” he said. “Anyway, good to see you back.”

“I missed it more than I thought. I’m lucky to be working for Pudge’s dad. He’s given me flexible hours, so I can make all the games.” He lowered his voice. “Thanks for helping my dad out … I … um … appreciate the help … and for taking on Jake and those jerks, and …”

“I didn’t do anything,” Charlie said. “Just mentioned that your dad was available. You should see the work he did at the café — amazing. As for Jake,” he shrugged, “I somehow doubt that’ll be the last time we tangle with his crew.”

Scott let loose a huge scream. “How is this possible?” he wailed.

He tossed his paddle to Charlie, his head lowered. “Gentlemen, we all know Nick’s a cheater. That’s the main thing. Now excuse me while I have a good long cry.”

Charlie faced Nick across the table. “Nick, I’m afraid your championship run is about to end. Maybe it’s best
if you just quit now and spare yourself the humiliation.”

Nick rapped the disk at his net in reply. Charlie blocked it, and the game was on, with most of the onlookers calling next game.