Face-Off Read online

  Scott saw it leave the ice like a rocket and head for him. He lifted his arm, closed his eyes and ducked.

  Crack!

  12

  The puck struck his helmet and glanced over the net against the boards.

  Scott stood frozen, his heart pounding. The thought of what had happened hit him, and he sucked in his breath and held it. Around him black and gold uniforms were flashing every which way. A Beetle bumped him. He spun, fell.

  A gold uniform appeared before him. He looked up into Skinny McCay’s face. “Scott! You okay?”

  He nodded, and tried to rise to his feet. His knees were rubbery and he fell again.

  Phreeeeep! The whistle brought the blur of gold and black uniforms to a stop. The ref skated forward, helped him to his feet, and guided him off the rink. Coach Roberts met him at the gate.

  “Scott, you hurt?”

  “No.”

  He was dizzy. He wanted to sit down. The coach helped him to the bench. “Take it easy,” he said. “You’ll be all right.”

  He sat down. In a while his head cleared. He saw that Vern Mitchell was in his place, and felt ashamed. He was breathing easier now, but his heart was still pounding and sweat was dribbling down his cheeks into the corners of his mouth.

  The coach unsnapped his helmet, took it off, wiped the sweat off with a handkerchief.

  “Just relax and watch the rest of the game from the bench,” he advised. “You played a good game. You showed a lot of spunk.”

  “I showed that I’m still scared of the puck,” murmured Scott.

  “That’s all right. You’ll get over it. But it takes more than one game, or two games, or even three. It’s not easy.”

  “I’ll never get over it,” said Scott.

  “That’s crazy talk, kid. You think you’re the only one who’s ever had that problem? Some pros have it, too. Yes, pros. I know. I’ve seen them.”

  Stinky Marsh scored a half a minute before the three-minute time was up. Fat McCay tied it up when Lines Three went in, but it was Stinky again who later broke the tie. And that was the way the game ended. Beetles 6, Golden Bears 5.

  Coach Roberts met Dad and Mom at the exit door.

  “Hi, Dick,” said Dad. “How’s Scott? Think we should keep him off the rink for a while?”

  Scott’s heart jumped to his throat. He looked from his father to Coach Roberts.

  “No. I don’t think we ought to get him away from the game entirely. I’ll just watch him. Leave him to me.”

  The coach met Scott’s eyes and he winked.

  “There’s practice Monday at six-thirty,” he said. “Can you be there?”

  Scott smiled. “Yes.”

  13

  Scott and Cathy went to the pond Sunday after church and skated till noon. Scott saw that Cathy was keeping a safe distance away from the falls and smiled to himself. He knew she was doing it so that he wouldn’t go near them himself.

  Don’t worry, he thought. Once over those icy falls is enough!

  That afternoon they rode with Dad and Mom in the country. The roads were clear and the snow-covered trees stood erect and still in the white fields. They passed snowmobiles that glided swiftly over the fields, leaving twin trails behind them.

  Passing by a mountainside they watched skiers riding on a ski lift to the top of the mountain and skiing down the long, slanting slope. Halfway down, one of the skiers fell, lost a ski, and skidded nearly to the bottom of the hill before he got back on his feet.

  It was nearly dark when they returned home. He and Cathy helped Mom put supper on the table and Mom cooked hot chocolate and they ate and talked about the things they had seen.

  Scott went to Cass Rink on Monday evening. The Golden Bears practiced skating backwards for fifteen minutes, then worked on bodychecking and hipchecking (bumping the side of the puck-carrier with your hip to knock him off stride), passing, and shooting. The last half hour was devoted entirely to scrimmage.

  The following evenings their practice routine remained the same. By game time Saturday Scott thought he had really licked his problem.

  The Golden Bears played the Bullets. When Lines Two took over the ice from Lines One in the first period, the score was 1 to 0 in the Bullets’ favor.

  The Bullets wore gray, red-trimmed uniforms with white letters and numbers. A picture of a bullet with wings on it was on the front of their jerseys. Slim Jason was their center.

  The face-off. The dropped puck. The two hockey sticks batting at it. Then Slim struck it solidly, sending it across the Golden Bears’ blue line.

  Joe Zimmer intercepted it and dribbled it back up the ice. A Bullet rushed at him and Joe passed to Scott. Scott stickhandled the puck across the red line into Bullet territory, saw a Bullet sprinting toward him, and passed to Del. Del shot, missing the goal by a foot.

  A Bullet retrieved the puck behind the goal and dribbled up the ice.

  “Get back!” Del yelled at Scott.

  Scott spun, saw that all five Bears, including himself, had left their side of the rink wide open. He started to skate backwards, his eyes on the puck-carrier. But the Bullet had picked up speed and was sprinting down the side. Scott turned and sped after him. He reached out to hook the puck. The blade of his stick caught the Bullet by the ankle, and down he went.

  Phreeeeep! went the whistle.

  “Nice going!” Del grunted as he skated by.

  The ref motioned Scott toward the penalty box, then skated there himself. “Tripping,” he said to the timekeeper.

  The Bears tried hard to keep the puck down in Bullet territory, but, with twenty seconds remaining of Scott’s penalty, Slim Jason blasted a shot past goalie Paul Carson into the net.

  The Bullets had the puck in their possession when the timekeeper turned to Scott. “Okay. Time’s up.”

  Scott rushed out onto the ice, eager to make up for that lost minute.

  He seemed to have surprised the puck-carrier, for the man glanced around at him wide-eyed as Scott sneaked up from behind him, bodychecked him aside, and stole the puck.

  He dribbled the disk across the center line and the blue line with Bullets on both sides of him. He saw Skinny come into his view at his left and passed the puck to him. The pass was good. Skinny caught it with the blade of his stick, dribbled toward the Bullets’ goal, and wrist-snapped it.

  Goal!

  Golden Bears’ sticks clattered against the boards. “Nice shot, Skinny!” yelled the fans.

  Del skated up beside Scott and smiled. “Nice play.”

  “Thanks,” said Scott, who thought, That’s one of the nicest things he’s said to me.

  The buzzer sounded and the lines skated off, giving the ice over to Lines Three. The Bullets’ line proved stronger than the Bears’ and scored twice before Fat McCay got hot and banged in two to tie it up again, 3 to 3.

  Buggsy assisted with a score and shot one in himself to put the Bears back in the lead, 5 to 3.

  Lines Two went back on the ice. Hardly six seconds ticked off after the drop of the puck when Slim Jason smashed a line drive directly for the goal. The puck shot like a small black meteor at Scott, who was in it’s way. For the first time in a long time the little black puck turned into a little black monster.

  It was shooting directly for his face.

  14

  Scott ducked.

  At the same time he knew that if the puck sailed by him it might shoot past Paul Carson for a goal.

  He raised his hand. Smack!

  The puck struck the pocket of his glove, clung there for just a fraction of a second, then dropped.

  “Nice stop, Scott!” yelled Del.

  Golden Bears’ sticks clattered against the sideboards, and just for a second Scott Harrison smiled. He felt good.

  A Bullet sped toward him, hockey stick held out to grab the puck. Like a shot Scott dropped his stick and flicked the puck to Del, whom he saw skating up at his left.

  Del caught the pass and dribbled it across the center and then the
blue line into Bullet territory. Two Bullet defensemen went after him. Del passed to Skinny and Skinny shot. The puck blazed through the air like a rocket, but the Bullets’ goalie stuck out his gloved hand and stopped it.

  This time Bullet hockey sticks rattled the sideboards, and cheers rang out for their goalie. “Nice save, Ed!”

  Skinny and a Bullet defenseman stood ready for the face-off in the circle at the front left of the Bullets’ goal. The puck dropped and Skinny got control of it almost instantly.

  He sprinted toward the goal. A guard struck him with a bodycheck, knocked him to the ice, and the puck skittered toward the goal crease. Another guard hooked it with the blade of his stick and whisked it away up the center of the ice.

  Scott back-skated hurriedly to cover his zone. Del went after the puck-carrier, who passed to a teammate skating near the sideboards several feet in front of Scott. Scott stopped back-skating and shot forward. Just as he started to reach for the puck the Bullet pulled back his stick and swung.

  Scott clamped his eyes shut and raised a hand.

  No! No! Quickly he opened his eyes and dropped his hand, in time to see the puck whizz past his legs.

  The buzzer sounded, ending the three minutes. Lines Two went off, Lines Three went on.

  Scott expected Del to remind him of what he’d done, but Del didn’t. Nor did Coach Roberts.

  Neither team of Lines Three scored and the buzzer sounded, ending the first period.

  While Scott sucked on a slice of orange Skinny, sitting beside him, said softly, “Scott, Del ever tell you who really wanted you to play with us?”

  Scott frowned. “Wasn’t it you?”

  “No. It was Del. He’d seen you skate and thought you were the best he’d ever seen.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Ask him,” said Skinny.

  Scott stared at Skinny a long minute. “I guess I’ve really disappointed him,” he said. “No wonder he acted like he did.”

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and saw that it was Del. Del smiled as he tossed a sucked-out slice of orange into a rubbish can and wiped his mouth. “Not anymore,” he said, smiling.

  “You sure?”

  Del’s smile spread. “Look, I think I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut when I’m supposed to. Oh, by the way, Skinny and I decided we want you with us again.”

  “As an Icekateer?”

  “Of course!”

  “Come on, boys!” interrupted Coach Roberts. “On the ice. Hustle!”

  Lines One created a lot of action on the rink, but that was all. Lines Two continued the action, with one difference: Slim Jason scored to put the Bullets one point behind the Golden Bears, 5 to 4.

  Fat McCay fouled twice for Line Three, keeping him out most of the three minutes and giving the Bullets an opportunity to score twice, going ahead of the Bears, 6 to 5.

  “Our last time around,” Scott said to Del as Lines One shot the puck all over the rink for three minutes without getting a good shot at the net. The buzzer sounded and Lines Two took over.

  “And this is our last chance,” said Del. “How do you feel, Scott?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good. Let’s knock in a few.”

  The face-off. The dropped puck. The fight for it. The clatter of sticks. And then Slim Jason had the puck, dribbling it down center ice, ice chips flying from his skates as he sped. He was stickhandling the puck with one hand, zigzagging the disk with speed and the greatest of ease.

  Skinny tried to steal the puck away from Slim’s right side, Del tried to poke-check it from his left. Both Bears were good hockey players, but Slim was better. He was fast, graceful, confident.

  And then Scott, covering his zone close to the front and right side of the rink, saw it coming. Slim’s stick was rising. He was going to shoot.

  Just as his stick hit the puck Scott sprinted in front of the goal, directly in line of it’s path.

  Fear gripped him as he saw it coming at him. But he didn’t panic. He didn’t shut his eyes. He didn’t duck.

  Instead, he lifted his hand, stopped the puck, dropped it, then sent it spinning across the ice toward Del. Hockey sticks thundered against the sideboards on the Golden Bears’ side.

  “Beautiful stop, Scott!”

  Scott skated up the ice after the puck. There was a scramble for it, then several shots for the goal. None went in. Moments later the buzzer sounded, and the lines left the ice, replaced by Lines Three.

  There was little said on the bench as Lines Three battled for three minutes without scoring. The game ended in the Bullets’ favor, 6 to 5.

  “No disgrace to lose,” said Coach Roberts in the locker room. “You all played an excellent game. Forget this one. There’s a new game next week.”

  “Think you’re over being puck shy?” Skinny asked Scott.

  “I got a little scared that last time,” admitted Scott.

  Del looked at him, smiled. “It takes a lot of guts to admit that,” he said.

  Scott shrugged and put on his shoes. He swung his skates over his shoulder, stood up, and started for the door.

  A shout from Del exploded behind him. “Hey, wait for us! We’re the Three Iceka-teers! Remember?”

  He smiled as Del and Skinny came up beside him, and together they walked out of the building.

  Matt Christopher®

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  All available in paperback from Little, Brown and Company

  FACE-OFF

  A jealous teammate can lead to danger on the ice….

  When it comes to skating, Scott Harrison can’t be beat. Still, he can’t believe it when he’s asked to play for the Golden Bears hock
ey team. But soon his excitement turns to doubt, then fear, when a resentful teammate ruins his confidence. Scott must confront his nemesis or give up his dream of playing hockey forever.

  Matt Christopher is the writer young readers turn to when they’re looking for fast-paced, action-packed sports novels. For a listing of all his titles, please see the last pages of this book.

  * Previously published as Crackerjack Halfback

  ** Previously published as Pressure Play