Wingman On Ice Page 2

  For Tod, from Mom and Dad.

  It was it! He just knew it was!

  He tore the beautiful wrapping paper off and there it was. A hockey stick!

  He tested its weight. Perfect! He laid the blade against the floor to test its lie. Perfect! He ran his hands up and down its smooth polished surface. Perfect! Everything about it was just perfect.

  Jane turned from her bicycle and ran toward the door. Mom and Dad were standing just in front of the doorway, wearing their bathrobes and smiling joyfully.

  Jane flung her arms around them, and they bent forward and kissed her. Then Tod walked over to them, carrying his hockey stick.

  “Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom,” he said, and gave them both a tight hug. He wasn’t able to say anything else. Something in his throat felt ready to burst.

  It was a long while later—after they had opened all their presents and given Mom and Dad theirs—when Tod said, “Can I put some tape on it, Dad, and take it to the pond this afternoon?”

  “Of course,” said Dad. “That’s what it’s for.”

  Tod’s face was as bright as one of the bulbs on the Christmas tree. “I’ll show them when I get on that ice,” he said proudly. “You wait and see.” He looked up at his dad, eagerness sparkling in his eyes. “You’re coming to our game Saturday morning, aren’t you, Dad? We’re scrimmaging against the Trojans.”

  Dad looked at him and shook his head disappointedly. “You know I can’t, Tod. I have to be at the department.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” said Tod. “Then you won’t be able to see any game, will you?”

  Dad ruffled his hair. “Maybe I can make an arrangement to get away once or twice,” he said. “We’ll see.”

  Dad worked at the Fire Department. His days off were Sundays and Mondays.

  “Will you put the tape on it for me, please, Dad?” asked Tod.

  “Sure will,” said Dad.

  They went downstairs into the basement where Dad had a small workshop. Tod took his old, beat-up hockey stick with him for Dad to copy from.

  While Dad was wrapping the tape around the blade of the new hockey stick, Tod remembered what Joe Farmer had asked him at the ice pond.

  “You used to ski, didn’t you, Dad?”

  “Yes, I used to ski. Why?”

  Tod shrugged. “Well, I remembered Mom saying you did. Was that before you and Mom were married?”

  Dad’s eyes lifted to Tod’s and then returned to his task. “Yes. I skied for a long time, Tod. Started when I was a child, as you with your skating. Got to be fairly good, too. Then I injured my knee and had to give it up.”

  He shrugged, smiled. He was finished taping the blade of the hockey stick.

  “There you are, son. Ready for action.”

  “Thanks, Dad. Mind if I go to the pond now?”

  “Better wait till after dinner,” suggested Dad. “That roast beef smells as if it’s almost ready to sink our teeth into.”

  Tod spent almost two hours at the ice pond. Skip, Snowball, Tim, and some other kids were there, too. They admired Tod’s new hockey stick. Tod’s face beamed with pride. Without a doubt he had the nicest and best hockey stick of them all.

  The crowd that assembled at the ice pond did not make it possible for the boys to play scrub, so they just passed the puck and dribbled. Tod realized that his passes were better. He dribbled better, too.

  At least, he thought so.

  Then came Saturday and the scrimmage game with the Trojans at Manna Rink. Mr. Farmer, Joe’s dad, was at the timekeeper’s bench. The game would be played with exactly the same rules as a regular league game. In the Bantam League the teams played two 20-minute periods, not three as in college or professional hockey; high school teams played three 15-minute periods. Line 1 played two 4-minute sessions and Lines 2 and 3 two 3-minute sessions each during each period.

  Line 1 of both teams was out on the rink, ready for the referee to drop the puck. The White Knights wore white suits with black trim and the Trojans orange suits with blue and white trim. Their legs looked chubby with shin guards under their long stockings. Sweaters, with stripes on the sleeves and large numbers on the back and small on the front, covered their padded shoulders and elbows. The pants were padded, too. And they all wore padded gloves.

  The goalies were especially protected. They wore face masks, chest protectors, huge padded leg guards, and extra-padded goal gloves. The blades of the goal sticks were larger than those used by the other players. Because the sticks received a lot of pounding, they were taped over the heel and partway up the shaft.

  Every player wore a helmet. Most of the helmets were of different colors because they were owned by the players. They weren’t turned in to the league at the end of the season as the uniforms were.

  For a moment there was complete silence. Then the referee dropped the puck in the center circle of the ice. The game was on.

  Joe Farmer, center, grabbed the puck and passed to his right wingman, Eddie Jones. A Trojan player swept in and intercepted the pass. He dribbled it across the neutral zone, crossed the White Knights’ blue line, and headed for the net.

  Both defensemen, Al Burns and Duck Franks, went after him. Goalie Jim Smith was crouched, waiting tensely.

  Al Burns reached the Trojan first. Al tried to steal the puck and hooked the blade of his stick with the Trojan’s. Another Trojan poke-checked the puck and sent it rolling across the ice toward the boards. Duck Franks sped up to it and drove it back up the ice toward Trojans’ territory.

  Joe Farmer had it for a while, dribbling toward the Trojans’ goal. He snapped a shot at it, but the goalie stopped it with his heavy pads for a save and then cleared it away from the net with his stick.

  “Be ready, Line 2,” said Coach Fillis. He was leaning against the boards in front of the bench where his boys were sitting. In his hand was a clipboard with the roster of the White Knights fastened to it. “Let’s see you snap one into that net.”

  A short time later the buzzer sounded. Line 1 of both teams hurried off the ice, and Line 2 hurried on. Quickly they moved into their positions: Skip Haddock at center, Tod at right forward, and Jim Wright at left forward. Behind them at right defense was Biff Jones, at left defense Snowball Harry Carr, and goalie Tim Collins.

  Pete Sunday, the Trojans’ star center, got the puck away from Skip and passed it to a wingman. Tod moved up quickly, his pumping legs sending chips flying from the blades of his skates. In his hand was the brand new hockey stick, the light twinkling on its shiny surface. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Now he could show what he could do.

  Someone bumped into the Trojan wingman and the puck skittered away, free. A mad scramble for it followed. Snowball went down and a Trojan player fell on top of him.

  Skip got the puck and started with it across the red line in the center of the rink. Two Trojans came after him and he passed to Tod. Tod caught it and dribbled it across the Trojans’ blue line. He felt so good he could smile. A Trojan defenseman was coming at him, but he didn’t care. Tod knew he could out-skate him. And with his new hockey stick he could push that puck wherever he pleased.

  He stepped up his speed and gave the puck an extra shove.

  Too far! For a second his heart jumped to his throat. He caught up with the puck just before the Trojan player did and tried to glide it lightly ahead of him.

  Again too far! He tried to catch up with it, but another Trojan player swept in and took control of it. It was Pete Sunday.

  “Thanks, Tod, ol’ buddy,” said Pete, and started to dribble the puck back up the ice, skating close to the boards.

  Tod’s skates shrieked and shot a stream of ice chips as he came to a stop and bolted back up the ice after Pete. His face was hot as Pete’s words rang in his ears.

  He came up behind Pete, tried to pokecheck the puck. His skate tangled with Pete’s, and down Tod went. He heard Pete laugh as the Trojan center dribbled the puck toward the White Knights’ net.

  Quickly, Tod ros
e to his feet and raced after Pete and the puck. Snowball was already there, trying to take the puck. His stick and Pete’s sounded like cracking whips as they smacked against each other.

  Then Skip got there—just a fraction of a second before Tod did—and struck Pete with a body check. Pete lost control of the puck, and Skip hooked it with the blade of his stick. Pete charged hard toward Skip, and Tod yelled:

  “Here, Skip!”

  Skip passed to him. The puck sped like a black bullet. Tod went after it, stuck out his stick.

  Missed it! The puck sailed past. Tod, clamping his lips together, whirled and went after it. A Trojan went after it, too. They would meet the puck at the same time.

  Tod reached out with his stick. It barely touched the puck.

  Tod was so anxious to get the puck that he forgot about the Trojan charging after it, too. They collided solidly. The breath was knocked out of him for an instant, and he fell to the ice. Another orange player came racing toward him.

  Tod looked hastily around, saw the puck inches away. He started to swing his stick toward it while still on his knees. Just as he swung the Trojan tripped over the stick and went flying forward on his face, skidding almost fifteen feet before he stopped.

  A whistle shrilled. Tod paid little attention to it. He got to his feet and dug his skates into the ice, racing after the puck that had been hit toward the boards.

  Shreeek! Shreeek! went the whistle again.

  “Hold it, Tod!” shouted a voice.

  Tod slowed and turned around. The referee was skating swiftly toward the puck.

  “Tripping!” he said, touching Tod on the shoulder as he went by. Then he gathered up the puck and skated toward the score-keeper’s bench to inform the scorekeeper of the penalty.

  Tod’s heart sank. Taking hold of his stick with both hands, he skated slowly off the ice.

  “Hurry it up!” snapped the referee.

  Tod’s neck reddened. He hurried off the ice to the penalty box.

  “One minute, Tod,” said Mr. Farmer.

  It seemed a long time before the end of that minute came.

  “Okay, Tod, get in there, quick,” Mr. Farmer told him.

  Tod got hurriedly back on the ice. But less than thirty seconds later the buzzer sounded, and Line 2 skated off.

  After a minute or so Line 3 for the Trojans managed to drive one past the White Knights’ goalie for a score. When the White Knights’ Line 1 returned to the ice, they tried their best to tie it up, but it was their Line 2 that finally did it. Skip made the goal with Biff getting credit for an assist. Tod did no better during that session than he had the first time.

  “You’re a little tight out there,” said the coach during the intermission. “Keep your hands farther apart. And hit that puck a little easier. Don’t look so glum. You’ll do all right.”

  But when Line 2 went in for their turn after intermission, Tod didn’t do all right. He missed two passes completely.

  There was more scoring this period, with Skip and Snowball sharing two apiece and Biff getting three assists.

  The game tied up in the last two minutes. And then the Trojans socked one past Goalie Tim Collins for a beautiful shot that put them ahead. That was the way the game ended, Trojans—6; White Knights—5.

  All the way home Tod hardly said a word. He was thinking. He had supposed that a brand-new hockey stick would make him play better hockey. He had learned today that this wasn’t so. He didn’t think he deserved that new hockey stick at all.

  Even at home he thought and thought about it. And then he knew what he would do. He would put his new hockey stick away. He wouldn’t play with it again until he felt, deep in his heart, that he deserved it.

  He stuck it inside the closet of his room. No matter how much he liked it, he wouldn’t play with it again until he played a lot better than he did today.

  4

  The White Knights’ first league game was against the Trojans, the same team they had scrimmaged with last Saturday. The game was at ten o’clock in the morning.

  Tod sat on the bench between Biff and Snowball. In his hand was the old hockey stick. The shine had been gone a long time ago. The bottom of the blade was worn and splintered. Even part of the tape was worn off.

  A real crummy-looking stick. But it wasn’t the stick that made a good hockey player. It was the hockey player himself. Tod knew that now.

  He watched the game, and every once in a while he glanced at the clock. The flashing red dots spelled out the seconds that were left.

  Neither team looked as if it were going to do any scoring this session. Passes were poor, and both teams had offsides called on them. The players who had the puck in their possession seemed to forget that they couldn’t cross the blue line into the attacking zone before the puck did.

  The buzzer sounded, and Line 2 took over. Again facing Skip at the center spot was Pete Sunday. Pete had practically won the game by himself last Saturday. This was the boy the White Knights really had to watch out for.

  Tod, playing right wing, caught the puck as it flashed across the ice to him. He started to move it across the red line, saw a Trojan player coming at him, and passed to Skip. But he struck the puck too hard. It whizzed by Skip, and both Skip and Biff chased after it.

  Tod skated down center ice as fast as his legs could go. He had made up his mind to play good hockey. It was the only way he could gain back that hockey stick that stood resting in the dark corner of his clothes closet.

  Biff reached the puck and shot it across the ice to Tod. Just as Tod caught it with his stick, two Trojan players arrived on the spot, too. One of them bodychecked Tod, knocking him away from the puck. Before he realized it, the puck was sliding a mile a minute up toward the other end of the rink. It went past the goal line and both referees raised their right arms, ready to blow their whistles.

  Biff reached the puck first, struck it with his stick, and the whistles shrilled.

  “Icing!” shouted one of the referees.

  Face-off in the wide ring to the left of the goal. The mad scramble for the puck. Down went Snowball Harry Carr in a spill.

  Tod grinned. Snowball had been doing well so far. This was the first time he had fallen.

  A few seconds later Pete Sunday tapped in the puck for a goal.

  Biff tied it up with an assist by Snowball.

  Later, Snowball golfed one into the net, but Pete Sunday tied it up again, 2-2.

  Tod worked hard to play better hockey, but the harder he tried the worse he seemed to get. He even fell a few times, a thing he seldom did. He knew it was because he was too anxious, but he couldn’t help it.

  And then it was Line 2’s last time on the ice. Tod raced with a Trojan after the puck as it headed for the corner in the Trojans’ end zone.

  Both players kept their heads down, speeding as fast as their legs could go. Zup-zup! Zup-zup! sang their skates. Tod tightened his lips. The Trojan was beating him to the puck!

  The Trojan reached it first. Unable to stop, stick swinging wild, Tod ran into him. The Trojan banged against the boards with a sound that echoed throughout the huge building.

  Shree-e-ek! The referee’s whistle pierced the rink.

  “Charging! Lifting the stick too high!”

  Tod’s face turned a beet red. “But I didn’t mean—”

  “Two minutes in the penalty box!” snapped the referee.

  His head hanging down, Tod skated sadly off the ice. For a split second he glanced up and saw Mr. Farmer and Mr. Haddock looking directly at him.

  “That’s dangerous raising your stick like that,” Mr. Farmer said.

  Tod looked away, pulling himself through the doorway into the penalty box, and sat down. His neck was burning.

  5

  Tod was sick. Two minutes! Line 2 would be off the ice about the time those two minutes were up.

  He sat back unhappily and watched the White Knights play ice hockey with four players against five. He knew that lifting the stick too high was
a penalty. But he hadn’t realized he was doing it. He had tried to keep himself from striking the Trojan player with his body by protecting himself with his hands. He hadn’t even thought about the stick.

  Once … twice … the White Knights shot the puck all the way down the ice and past the Trojans’ goal. With only four men playing, the White Knights were allowed to do that. They fought hard to keep the puck in the attacking zone.

  And then Skip had the puck, dribbling it fast behind the Trojans’ net. He swung in front of the goal and gave the puck a snap. Like a dart it flashed into the net!

  Just after the face-off, Tod heard a shout behind him. “Okay, Baker! Get back in there!”

  Tod climbed over the boards onto the ice. He raced after the puck, which was being poked at by two Trojans and a White Knights player. The puck rolled freely for a moment, and Tod reached it. He dribbled it a bit, saw a Trojan heading fast toward him, and looked around for someone to pass to.

  Biff was just inside the blue line, in the neutral zone. Tod passed the puck to him. Biff caught it with his stick, dribbled it across the blue line, and then passed to Skip.

  That was as far as the puck went. The buzzer sounded, and Line 2 skated off the ice.

  Line 3 made no change in the score. The game ended with the White Knights capturing their first league game, 3-2.

  “Nice game, boys,” Coach Fillis said happily in the locker room as the boys changed their skates for shoes. “Every one of you did a bang-up job. Make sure you practice during the week. Wish we could have this rink to practice on, but we can’t. See you next Saturday!”

  Ms. Hudson, Tod’s fifth-grade teacher, looked through her tortoiseshell glasses at the pupils in her room.

  “We’re going to have tests tomorrow,” she said. “In arithmetic, social studies, and English. They will be on subjects we have studied during the past few weeks. I think there are some of you who had better review those subjects with special care. It seems that there are some students who pay more attention to outside activities than they do to their studies.”