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  Copyright

  Copyright © 2003 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue

  New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  www.twitter.com/littlebrown

  First eBook Edition: December 2009

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-09376-7

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Matt Christopher®

  THE #1 SPORTS SERIES FOR KIDS: MATT CHRISTOPHER®

  1

  Brent Mullen looked closely at the blade of his left skate. He felt the edges with his thumb to see if it needed sharpening. He decided to ask his father or older brother to take him to the skate store that afternoon, or tomorrow at the latest.

  Brent was twelve and played right wing for his hockey team, the Badgers. Brent was tall and rangy and kept his brown hair trimmed short. He wished that he could put on some more weight — more muscle, anyway — but figured, if he did, he wouldn’t be as fast and shifty on the ice. Brent knew that his greatest asset as a hockey player was his skill at making quick turns and stops.

  That was why he made sure to get his blades sharpened weekly, at least. Like all skate blades, his had a slight hollow between the edges. Brent liked that hollow to be a little deeper than most because he thought it helped him maneuver better. He’d read that his idol, Mario Lemieux, did the same thing.

  As he began lacing up, someone poked him in the shoulder. A familiar, husky voice said, “Yo, dude, what’s happening?”

  His friend Cam Johanssen plopped himself down on the rinkside bench next to Brent. Cam was stocky, with powerful legs, and wore his light blond hair in a buzz cut. Cam was a defenseman. Unlike Brent, who preferred to stay out of the way, Cam enjoyed hitting. He wasn’t as good a skater as Brent, never scored, and rarely took a shot. But he was great at bodychecking.

  “Hey, it’s a contact sport,” he’d say.

  And since Brent didn’t like hitting or being hit by others, he was glad to have a guy like Cam on his team to back him up. Also, he knew that even though Cam could and did slam into opponents, he never played dirty.

  “You missed stretches today,” Brent said as he worked on his laces. Every Badger practice began and ended with stretching.

  “Yeah, our car wouldn’t start,” Cam said, putting on his skates. “I saw Coach in the dressing room. He really chewed me out.”

  Brent stared at his friend. “No kidding?”

  Cam snickered. “Sure, I’m kidding! Can you see Coach yelling at anyone? Ever?”

  Coach Maxwell, who’d been in charge of the Badgers for years, was an easygoing man. Brent had never seen him lose his temper. His seventeen-year-old brother, Lee, had been a Badger years before, and he had never seen the coach yell at anyone for any reason. But that was okay with Brent. He liked Coach Maxwell.

  Cam shook his head. “Maybe if the coach got mad once in a while we’d be a better team, you know?”

  Brent laughed. “That doesn’t make sense. How would we be better?”

  Cam yanked at his laces to make sure they were tight. “Sure it makes sense! A team is sort of like its coach. When the coach gets mad sometimes, the team will, too. Maybe we’d play harder, be tougher. Instead, we’re like Coach Maxwell. We’re… you know… nice. Nobody’s afraid of us. The coach doesn’t push us. So, we lose as many as we win. We did last year, and we will this year, too.”

  Brent started to argue, but then he stopped. Cam was probably right. So far this season, the Badgers were 1 and 1. They’d probably split the rest of the games as well.

  “You know what?” Brent said. “That’s okay with me. I like Coach Maxwell. Maybe he isn’t the kind of guy who yells and pushes all the time, but he knows the game. He’s a good teacher. My brother, Lee, says that Coach Maxwell made him a good hockey player, and now Lee’s one of the best high-school players in the county. If he can do the same thing for me, I don’t care if we aren’t league champs.”

  Cam shrugged. “Well, I like to win. I mean, why else keep score, you know? And where is the coach, anyway? Isn’t it time for practice to start?”

  “I think he’s coming now,” Brent said as the door from the locker room to the rink opened. Sure enough, Coach Maxwell came through the door, but he wasn’t alone. There were two strangers with him, another man and a boy about their age, who was wearing skates and pads.

  “You know those two?” he asked Cam.

  “Unh-unh.” Cam shook his head. The other Badgers, who had been chatting and getting ready to start practice, stopped talking and watched as the coach and the newcomers came toward them. Coach Maxwell raised his fingers to his lips and whistled.

  “Everyone, group up over here,” he called. The Badgers gathered around their coach, staring at the new boy, who stared back, not smiling. Brent figured he had to be nervous.

  “Guys, meet Mr. Seabrook and his son, Vic,” said the coach. The father waved and grinned. Vic nodded but still didn’t smile. “They’re new in town. Mr. Seabrook played a lot of hockey in his day, and he coached youth hockey where they used to live. Vic, here, played for his dad.

  “As you know, I’ve been looking for someone to work with me coaching the Badgers, so having Mr. Seabrook show up is a stroke of good luck, I think. He’s been nice enough to volunteer to work as my assistant. And Vic will join the Badgers as a player.”

  Coach Maxwell studied Vic for a moment. “You look to me like a defenseman, am I right?”

  Vic muttered, “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Well, good, fine,” said the coach. “That’s settled, then. Vic, you have all your pads and a stick?”

  The boy nodded again.

  Cam poked Brent. “He sure talks a lot.”

  Brent started to laugh but managed to turn it into a cough.

  “Great,” said the coach. “You can work out with us today.”

  “If it’s all right with you, Coach Maxwell,” said Mr. Seabrook, “I’d like to watch today. Just get a look at the team.”

  “Very good,” said the coach. “We’ll talk later on.” He turned to the players. “Okay, let’s get going. Vic, if you have any questions, ask me or one of the other guys. But I think you’ll find most of what we do is a lot like what you were used to with your old team. We’ll start with our usual skatearound, then some end-to-ends.”

  The Badger players skated onto the rink and began circling it. Cam came up alongside Brent. “Maybe this new coach will fire our team up a little more.” He spoke just loud enough so that only Brent could hear him.

  Brent kept his own voice down, too. “Maybe. And it won’t hurt to have another defenseman, either. You guys could use a little more backup.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Cam said. “Seems to me that our defense is fine… if only we could score a couple more goals now and then.”
Brent looked at Cam and both boys grinned to show that they were only joking.

  After the team had taken several laps around the rink to warm up, Coach Maxwell set two orange traffic cones near one end of the rink, about fifteen feet apart. “Split into two groups and form two lines down at that end of the ice,” he called.

  When the team had divided into equal groups he said, “Okay, this is a speed drill in the form of a relay race. Vic, since you’re new today, I’ll explain: the first guy in each group skates full-speed to this end of the ice, around this cone, and back to the starting point. When he touches the board at that end, the next guy in line takes off. Questions? Okay. This is about speed and control. First two ready? Set? And… go!”

  Brent, one of the fastest skaters, was the anchor skater of his group. He yelled encouragement to the skaters before him, including Cam. Cam pumped hard but wasn’t fast, and he lost ground to his opponent when he slowed down to make the turn around the cone. So Brent’s side was a few yards behind when the next two, including Vic on the other side, took off.

  Watching Vic, Brent winced. The new guy was seriously slow. Maybe his skates needed sharpening, because he slipped and almost stumbled at the turn. By the time he finished, he had not only lost the lead but was trailing by a few feet.

  When Brent got going, the two sides were even. Brent got into a forward lean, swinging his arms freely, noting in the corner of his eye that his opponent was right with him. As he neared the cone, Brent decided to use a fast, slightly risky crossover turn. Moving to the right of the cone, he leaned his body left with his inside, left leg bent at the knee. He pushed off hard with his right leg and quickly swung it across his left leg, pivoting his body so that he was ready to head the other way. It gave him a three-foot lead on the player in the other lane, and he was able to hold that lead as he streaked to the finish.

  “Way to go,” Cam shouted, wrapping Brent in a bear hug. “You can motor, dude!”

  Shortly afterward, the coach and a couple of players moved some cones into a “slalom” course for players to work on turns. For Brent, this was easy. Cam had trouble.

  “Cam, shorten your stride a little and you get better control,” called the coach. Cam did as he’d been told. “See? Much better!”

  Vic had a lot of trouble making the turns at all. “Hang in there, big fella!” his father called out, clapping his hands.

  As Vic finished the course, looking embarrassed, Coach Maxwell came up, put his arm around the boy’s shoulders, and spoke quietly to him. Vic nodded several times.

  Brent leaned toward Cam. “Bet he’s telling Vic that his blades are too dull.”

  Cam snorted. “That’s the least of his problems. But you’re right. You’d think he would have known to do that.”

  The coach whistled for attention. “Right, let’s go through the slalom again — backwards this time.”

  Hockey players must skate backward as well as forward, and defensemen like Cam were more comfortable with this drill. Even Vic got through the backward exercise without serious problems, though he was still slow.

  A little later, Coach Maxwell said they’d work on passing. He looked at Mr. Seabrook. “Any passing drills you like?”

  The other man held up his hands. “Today I’m just an observer.”

  The coach had pairs of players skate up and down the rink, passing the puck back and forth. He had them work on backhand passes and drop passes, where a player “drops” the puck for a player coming from behind or alongside. The coach stopped the action now and then to give suggestions. Mr. Seabrook stood just off the rink, clapping his hands a lot and shouting out things like “All right,” “Way to go!” or “That’s the old hustle!” Brent wasn’t very impressed by him and said so to Cam during a break in practice. Cam waved it off.

  “The guy is new. Cut him a little slack.”

  After the break, the coach organized a passing-and-defense game called Monkey in the Middle. Three players went to each of the five face-off circles painted on the ice. The circles were ten yards across, with face-off spots in the middle. Two passers stood outside each circle and the third — the defender — stood at the face-off spot. The passers hit the puck to each other, going around the circle, and the defender tried to intercept. When a defender got the puck, he became a passer, and the player whose pass was picked off went into the middle. Coach Maxwell roamed among the groups, watching each in turn.

  Brent’s group included a center named Ted and Vic as defender. Brent and Ted passed the puck between themselves for a while, and Vic seemed unable to do anything to stop them. Brent began to feel weird, as if he and Ted were being unfair. Vic looked helpless.

  Then, just after Ted had gathered in a pass from Brent, Vic lunged forward in his direction. Ted looked startled as Vic charged at him, and he froze for a second. Brent couldn’t see exactly what happened next, since Vic’s body blocked his view. But the next thing he knew, Ted had fallen to the ice, and Vic had the puck on his stick and was grinning triumphantly.

  Coach Maxwell, who had been watching another group, hurriedly skated over to see if Ted was hurt. Brent stared at Vic, who paid no attention to the fallen player.

  Instead, Vic and his father looked at each other for a second.

  Quickly — so quickly that Brent wasn’t sure what he had seen — the man nodded to his son. And the son’s grin got even wider.

  2

  Ted slowly got to his feet. He shook his head, as if he had been a little stunned, and looked at Coach Maxwell. “I’m okay,” he said.

  “Go to the bench and sit a minute,” said the coach. “Let’s make sure you’re all right.”

  As Ted slowly skated to the side of the rink, Brent asked him, “You sure you’re okay?”

  Ted nodded. “I just slipped, that’s all.”

  “How’d it happen?” Brent asked. “It looked to me like Vic ran into you.”

  “Maybe we got tangled up a little bit,” said Ted as he left the ice. He looked to make sure that Vic wasn’t too close by. “I mean, the guy isn’t the most coordinated athlete, is he?”

  “So it was an accident?” Brent asked. Vic still hadn’t come to see if Ted was okay.

  Ted sat on the bench and rubbed his arm. “Huh? Sure it was an accident. I mean, what else could it have been?”

  Brent, who had seen the look that passed between Vic and Mr. Seabrook, wasn’t so sure. But he didn’t say anything else.

  Once it was clear that Ted hadn’t been injured, practice continued. Later on, the coach set up a three-on-two drill, where a center and two wings tried to get a shot on goal against two defenders. Brent, playing right wing on one squad, thought he might be able to get in behind Cam, who was defending. But Cam saw Brent try to move in on the goal and made a quick recovery, getting his stick on the center’s pass and poking it away.

  “Good move,” Brent admitted. “Thought I had you there.”

  “Good anticipation, Cam,” called Coach Maxwell. “Nice poke check!”

  Mr. Seabrook clapped his hands. “Way to hustle, fella!”

  A little later, Vic was in another group, as a defender. Barry, a speedy wing, got past Vic and looked like he might have a breakaway goal opportunity. Vic lunged for him, and Coach Maxwell stopped the action with a whistle.

  “That’s what we call hooking, Vic,” he said calmly. “In a game, you’d have gone to the penalty box for two minutes, and the other team would have a power-play opportunity.”

  “Aw, come on!” Vic said. He was going to say more, but his father broke in, sharply.

  “Vic! Never argue with your coach.”

  Vic looked at the ice and muttered, “Yeah.” He didn’t look happy.

  “We’ll talk about this later,” said Mr. Seabrook, glaring at his son. He looked at Coach Maxwell. “Sorry, Coach.”

  The coach nodded. “Play on,” he said.

  Brent went over to Cam, watching from the sideline. “What did you think of that?”

  “Think of what?�
�� asked Cam.

  “What just happened.” Brent leaned in closer and kept his voice to a whisper.

  Cam shook his head. “Huh? Vic was out of position, and when he tried to recover, his stick caught Barry’s leg. You never saw anyone called for hooking before?”

  “I don’t know. First he knocks Ted down, and then he hooks Barry. And did you hear Mr. Seabrook? He wasn’t angry at the hooking, just that Vic talked back to the coach!”

  Cam stared at Brent. “The guy’s a bad skater. He probably ran into Ted by accident. Then, he didn’t play his position right and made it worse by doing something stupid. He’s a bad hockey player, is all. I bet Vic won’t get much ice time in games.”

  Brent said, “I think what happened to Ted wasn’t an accident. Also, I think Mr. Seabrook saw it and liked what he saw.”

  Cam let a second go by. Then he said, “That’s pretty heavy. You tell anyone else?”

  “Unh-unh,” answered Brent, “just you.”

  “Good. If you’re smart, you won’t say anything to anyone else. I think you’re totally out of line.”

  Brent asked, “Really?”

  “Yeah,” Cam replied. “You’re saying Vic’s a goon and Mr. Seabrook is worse, and you don’t have much to go on. Do you?”

  “Well… maybe not.”

  Cam nodded. “We know Vic’s clumsy, that he’s a bad skater. He bumped Ted by accident. Hooking Barry was just bad hockey.”

  “I guess,” Brent admitted.

  “And nothing Mr. Seabrook said or did proves he’s a creep. Right?”

  Brent sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I’m not being fair.”

  Cam smiled at his friend. “If it was me coming into a new place, I’d hope nobody did to me what you’re doing to these two. Give them a chance.”

  “All right,” Brent agreed. “I will.”

  Coach Maxwell often used the end of practice to work on power plays and penalty killing. When a player is called for a foul and sent to the penalty box, usually for two minutes, the opponents have a one-player advantage. In that case, they’ll go to a power play. The team with the penalized player will try to “kill” the penalty and not give up a goal while they’re down a player.