The Ice Chips and the Invisible Puck Page 5

  “It’s okay. It’s safer if no one sees us switching jerseys,” said Lucas. “We get it. But I still don’t see how you think we can pull this off.”

  “Easy-peasy,” said Ace, walking up beside Chicken, with Butter shuffling close behind. He was carrying an extra hockey glove—for Lucas, to replace the one he’d left on the ski jump. “They checked our birth certificates before everyone got sick. The players whose jerseys you’re wearing have already been approved—no problemo there.”

  “And because our coach got sick, too . . . ,” added Butter, handing the glove to Lucas.

  “They grabbed my dad—a guy who drives a Zamboni—as a replacement,” Ace said proudly. “He knows hockey, but he doesn’t get to watch our games very often—or very closely.”

  “Which means he doesn’t know what most of our teammates look like,” Butter added with a goofy grin. “Or even which new kids joined our team this year.”

  “Even girls?” asked Swift nervously.

  “He won’t question it. My dad knows girls rock,” said Ace, grinning. “So do our teammates. Now let’s make sure everyone else out there knows it, too!”

  * * *

  The crowd was already stomping its feet to Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” waiting for the players to step onto the ice. It was made up not just of family and friends, but also of dozens of players from teams that had already been knocked out of the tournament—at least, those who hadn’t gone home sick.

  This was the gold medal game everyone had been waiting for. And it was the Shaunavon Badgers against a team that had come all the way from the other side of the country: the Rink Rats.

  As the Zamboni made its final turn on the ice, Swift could tell that the players from both sides were itching to watch the puck drop.

  The organizers had asked the members of all the teams to shake hands before and following their matches as a show of good sportsmanship, but the Rats either hadn’t been told or had chosen to ignore it.

  As the Badgers flooded onto the ice and lined up for the pre-game handshake, the Rats all skated to their own end, surrounded their goalie, hammered their sticks on the ice, and shouted—along with their parents in the stands:

  “RINK RATS RULE!

  RINK RATS RULE!

  RINK RATS RULE!

  AND THE BADGERS ARE BAAAAAAAAAAD!”

  Chicken was standing just in front of Swift in the non-handshake line. She turned and smiled widely through her cage.

  “This is going to be fun!” she giggled.

  Swift wondered how her new friend could be so calm. When she’d seen the Rats skate out in their uniforms—beige, black, and white with a cartoon rat on the front, baring its fangs—she’d known they were trouble. So had Lucas, judging by the face he was making at Blades. The Rats’ two serious-looking coaches had crossed the ice in front of them without so much as a glance at Ace’s dad—the skinny bearded guy standing alone behind the Badgers’ bench.

  The referee called the teams to centre ice for the faceoff, and Chicken, who’d taken her position between Blades and Lucas, skated forward. She was up against a kid with neon-green skate laces—thicker than Swift’s purple ones and ten times as bright. The guy was probably lanky in regular life, but on the ice, he looked big and dangerous.

  He reminded Lucas of someone, but he couldn’t figure out who. It probably didn’t matter. There were bullies in every town, it seemed.

  A moment later, the puck was dropped and the championship game was on.

  Chapter 9

  Almost immediately, the Rats’ big centre tried to barge straight through Chicken. He wasn’t even thinking about the falling puck. She’d seen it coming, though, and deftly poked the puck so that it slid between the kid’s green-laced skates as she ducked to the right and then swung around to pick it up.

  Chicken began skating down ice, her head up and swivelling to either side as she checked for her wingers. She moved the puck back and forth on her stick as gently as a new parent cradling a baby. Lucas and Swift were still fascinated by her ability to do this without looking. Magic again.

  Chicken crossed the Rats’ blue line and turned sharply, circling and drawing one defender with her—a friendly-faced kid who was quick with his blade. While the other defender raced to cover Swift’s sister, Lucas was left wide open. Chicken saw this and sent a perfect saucer pass that landed with a slap just in front of him, sliding perfectly onto the blade of his stick.

  Lucas was alone. He looked up to see where he might shoot—and somehow lost the puck, the black disc slipping off his blade and dribbling helplessly into the corner.

  He could feel his feet go out from under him! He fell backwards hard, first crashing into the goalpost and jarring the net loose, and then spinning into the boards behind it.

  The big Rats’ centre stopped hard, bringing his green-laced skates together, spraying snow and little ice chips through Lucas’s cage and into his eyes.

  “Oh, sorry there . . . Farts!” he said, making a fart sound with his mouth and not looking sorry at all. In fact, he was grinning. “You stepped on my stick!”

  He said this loudly enough that the referee heard and seemed to agree, though Lucas knew for certain he hadn’t even lifted his skates off the ice as he’d glided in on net.

  The official asked Lucas if he was all right, and Lucas said he was as he rose onto his knees with Blades there to help him to his feet.

  “He dumped you deliberately,” she said, her face red with fury.

  “You’re going to have to be more evasive on the ice—keep away from him,” said Chicken.

  “I know,” said Lucas. “I’m trying.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get our revenge on the scoreboard,” said Butter, skating up with a smile and tapping Lucas’s stick.

  Next shift out, that’s exactly what happened. Ace, who’d swapped with Blades in the change-up, took the puck behind the Badgers’ net and bounced a pass off the boards—just as Coach Small always told the Chips to do when facing a hard forecheck. The puck slid into the skates of Chicken. She neatly clipped it over to Lucas, who was skating hard up the far side.

  He wasn’t going to lose this puck. He felt rather than saw Chicken blow past him, her wind rippling his jersey, and he lobbed the puck past the defender on his side—the nice one. Chicken roared so quickly past the defenceman that he spun and fell, leaving her alone with the puck over the Rats’ blue line. She faked a slapper and the opposing goalie came out to cut down the angle, but Chicken held the puck. Then in an instant, she’d already swept around the hapless goaltender and tucked the black disc into the net.

  1–0.

  On the next series of plays, the Rats’ centre collided hard with Swift, knocking her off her purple-laced skates and onto her butt. Again, it looked deliberate to Lucas, but the centre dropped his stick and had such a sheepish look on his face as he leaned over to help Swift up that the referee again bought that it was all just a mistake.

  Swift, however, was hurt. It was her wrist—and there was no other goaltender to take her place.

  “Hey,” Chicken said quietly as she skated over and put her cage up to Swift’s, “he’s a bully. You’re going to have to try to outsmart him. C’mon—brains over brawn.”

  Swift nodded. She knew this. If playing against Beatrice had taught her anything, it was that bullies, too, had their weaknesses.

  The Rink Rats moved ahead at the beginning of the second period, and then Chicken scored once more and Lucas got a surprise goal, putting the Badgers up, 3–2.

  The Rats’ big centre won the next faceoff—and that’s when he made his move.

  He got the puck back to his defence—that nice kid, who Lucas now noticed had “Small” written across his back. (No wonder I like him!) Small then circled back, passing the puck back and forth with the Rats’ other defenceman, waiting.

  The big kid then turned, moving deep into his own end, and suddenly burst full out for centre ice!

  With a nod to his teammate, Smal
l used his stick to tip the puck up onto its side. Then, going to the backhand, he flipped the puck so high in the air that it seemed for a moment as if it were going to hit the scoreboard.

  But it didn’t. It flew over the heads of all the Badgers and fell behind their defence, bouncing. It was just far enough ahead of the Rink Rats’ charging centre that it didn’t make him offside as he came roaring in on Swift like a charging bull.

  The Badgers’ only goalie set herself to block the shot. But no shot came. The Rats’ centre raised his stick for a slapshot, but then brought it down and used a toe tuck to move the sliding puck away from Swift. As the centre passed the net, he was able to roof a backhand in behind her.

  3–3.

  They were tied!

  Chapter 10

  Ace’s dad said nothing about the play when Lucas’s line came off. Chicken sat with her head between her knees as if everything were her fault. Blades said nothing. Swift looked crushed.

  Lucas felt a tap on his shoulder—the coach—and expected to see an angry face, but instead Ace’s dad just leaned in and whispered, almost into his own beard, “Remember that play. It worked once, so they’ll try it again.”

  Early in the third period, the Badgers moved ahead after Chicken scored on a fabulous end-to-end rush. She’d pulled the Rats’ goaltender out so far that he was sliding into the corner when she tapped the puck in.

  It was 4–3 for the Badgers when the Rink Rats did indeed try that play again.

  Small and the other Rats’ defenceman were slipping the puck back and forth, seemingly waiting for something, when Lucas took off. He’d seen the big centre make his turn and he knew what was coming.

  But Lucas wasn’t chasing the puck, and he wasn’t chasing the guy with the neon laces. He was skating hard back into his own end. Lucas could see Swift staring at him through her mask, her eyes like the dots below question marks.

  The crowd gasped as Small once again hoisted the puck high toward the scoreboard. Lucas and his teammates watched the black disc floating high through the air and saw the green-laced bully barrelling through the centre.

  The puck, spinning end over end, came down and slapped on the ice just in front of the big kid’s outstretched stick.

  Only this time, he didn’t pick it up. Instead, the Rats’ centre watched helplessly as Lucas poke-checked the puck just enough to send it between his opponent’s skates. The big Rat tried to turn instantly and lost an edge, going down hard and sliding down the ice toward the Chips’ goalie.

  Swift skated to the side, allowing him, spinning and red-faced, to crash into the back of her net.

  Had this Rat been a puck, it would have been a goal. Had he knocked the net off its moorings, it would have been a whistle. But neither of these things happened. The Rats’ most threatening player merely ended up tangled in Swift’s net, angrier than ever.

  Meanwhile, Lucas was soaring toward the Rats’ blue line, the puck dancing on his stick as if he were working a yo-yo.

  And his head was up! He was seeing the entire ice! He could see Ace hurrying along the far boards. He could see Chicken cutting across centre toward him.

  Lucas didn’t have to look down. He could feel the puck. He might be in a packed, brightly lit arena, but he could just as easily have been out on the Desmonds’ backyard rink, playing under the Milky Way.

  His puck could have been invisible. Seeing it no longer mattered.

  Lucas and Chicken made eye contact. Neither one looked down. The puck was over to Chicken and then back to Lucas before anyone who was actually watching it could blink. Lucas leaned on his back leg as the sound “KIIIIIIIISSSSSSSS” escaped his lips—a reminder. He moved as if going for a wrister, but instead quickly sent it back to Chicken. They’d read each other perfectly.

  Chicken had roofed it into the net before the goalie even realized the puck had changed hands.

  The Badgers’ bench exploded, as did the packed arena. Blades and her linemates leaped over the boards, racing across the ice and falling onto the other Badgers, who were already piling on top of Chicken. Everyone was laughing and cheering.

  The horn sounded: the Badgers had won the mini-Olympics by two goals!

  Chapter 11

  The big Rats’ centre, still down in his opponents’ end, slowly got to his feet and slammed his stick so hard over the Chips’ net that it shattered like a snapped toothpick. With the broken handle still in his hands, he angrily hurled it over the glass into the stands, narrowly missing a couple of teenagers.

  Stickless and fuming, the big kid circled the rink, giving two thumbs down to the crowd, but they mostly ignored him—they were too caught up in the Badgers’ win. When he reached Swift and Chicken, who were grinning with their arms around each other’s shoulders at centre ice, he brought his skates together sharply, sending a spray of snow through the air.

  “Purple laces are dumb,” the bully sneered at Swift, looking down at her skates. “And you play like a girl.”

  Swift and Chicken looked at each other—Swift trying hard to stifle a laugh. Chicken had no idea what to say back.

  But Blades did. “If you mean we play like girls who win,” she said, skating up with a smirk on her face, “well, then—”

  There was a whistle. The referee was calling for the end-of-match handshake, and this time, all the players were lining up—all except the Rats’ sulking centre, who instead turned sharply and skated off the ice! He slammed the gate so hard behind him that the glass rattled from one end of the ice to the other.

  “What a sore loser!” Lucas said, shaking his head as he moved down the line behind Chicken, slapping shoulders and grasping hands.

  “He can be,” said the Rats player named Small, who was coming from the other direction. The kid seemed embarrassed by the big centre’s actions, but Lucas still had the feeling that they were friends.

  “Why are you defending him?” Chicken asked, frowning.

  “He’s a good player. And he’s nice to the guys on his team,” Small answered.

  “But he got so mad at me,” said Swift. “Does he not like to play against girls?”

  “We don’t have any girls in our league,” Small said apologetically. “But I’m sure he’ll get used to it. Blitzy’s okay once you get to know him.”

  The three Ice Chips froze.

  Blitzy?!

  As in . . . Blitz?!

  That Rat had been so easy to spot with his bright laces that none of the Chips had even looked at the name on his jersey!

  Swift sucked her breath in sharply. “No, couldn’t be!”

  * * *

  The big moment had arrived.

  The players from both teams had been asked to form a single line on the ice, and a red carpet was being rolled out in front of them. As the crowd watched, the tournament officials stepped out onto the carpet in their shoes, followed by a photographer and a few young kids carrying fancy-looking trays piled high with gold and silver medals.

  “Check them out—wow!” said Chicken, leaning her head forward so she could get a better look. “They’re just like the Olympic ones!”

  Once her ribbon was hung around her neck, Chicken placed the gold disc between her teeth, as if to take a bite out of it. She smiled for the photographer, giggling.

  “They’re not chocolate, you know,” Ace laughed. “Would you do that with a real Olympic gold medal if you won?”

  Chicken puffed out her cheeks, popping them in disbelief. “Sure, but do you think that could ever happen?”

  “Ha, you wish! If these were Olympic medals, none of you girrrrls would get one,” shouted a Rats’ player from down the line—Chicken couldn’t tell which one.

  She hadn’t seen the shouter, but Swift and Lucas had.

  Blitz had returned. His coach, red-faced with embarrassment, had brought him back from the dressing room.

  “You know what?” Swift called. “We’ll get that wish.”

  She hadn’t bothered to wish on Chicken’s stars last night; she already
knew what the future held. In Swift’s time, the country’s hockey-playing women hadn’t just made it to the Olympics—they’d brought home the gold. Over and over again. “Play like a girl,” she knew, would later be said to the men’s Olympic teams—not to insult them but to raise their level of play. Playing like a girl was a good thing.

  Swift smiled over at Chicken, who was staring down at the gold medal around her neck, and felt a bit sad that she couldn’t tell her any of this.

  Not surprisingly, the silver medal Blitz had been forced to accept had already fallen to the ice with a clatter. Leaving it there like a forgotten candy wrapper, the bully had stormed off again toward the dressing room.

  * * *

  Blades was trying to sound nice—even helpful—as she stood in the snow, shouting. Swift, however, could barely hear her sister over the roar of the crowd that was gathering—fans who were sure they were about to witness Olympic history.

  “Look! I said, LOOOOOK! You need to keep your eyes open this time!” Blades called as she and Chicken pulled Swift along by her elbows, careful of the goalie’s injured wrist. They were trying to find the best spot to watch the action.

  To celebrate their win, Ace’s dad had brought the whole team to see Eddie the Eagle, the British ski jumper, compete. And Swift’s sister seemed to be the most excited of all the young hockey players.

  Why? Because Swift still hadn’t decided if she was going to play on the Riverton girls’ team. And Blades had finally figured out how to convince her!

  “This is the best ever!” said Chicken, shaking with excitement. “Look at Eddie up there. Does he look nervous?”

  “He’s waving. And now it looks like he’s bouncing—or dancing a little,” said Lucas, who had just appeared through the crowd behind them, followed by Ace and Butter. “This guy is awesome!”

  The Chips’ goalie still didn’t want to open her eyes. It had been terrifying to watch this guy jump from above, but from below? If this daredevil skier fell again and broke his leg, they’d be right there to see it. Hear it. Feel it.