Breakaway (12 page)

Oh damn.

“His brother is...?”

“Yes,” Amy says.

“I’ll be nicer to him from now on,” I promise. “I didn’t realize...I never thought I was being like that.”

I go for a run in the stands for my off-ice warm-up. A little oxygen goes a long way to clear my head. The main arena is brightly lit, and the metallic bleachers clang and clunk as I do the stairs. Hockey is where you need to be right now, I keep telling myself.

Afterwards, I quickly suit up, avoiding eye contact or conversation. I’m good now, I tell myself. I’m going to have a great game. I head into the hallway to make my way to the ice surface. But when I stop to put my extra stick in the rack by the door, Kathy’s right behind me.

“Somebody might get the idea you’re afraid of Liam,” she says. “Maybe you like him more than you want to admit. Maybe you think it was a mistake to start going out with Evan.”

“Like
Liam?” I scoff. “I hardly know him! And believe me, this has nothing to do with Evan. It has to do with all the loser guys at school.”

“I don’t buy it.” Her blue eyes are measuring me. “You better look yourself long and hard in the mirror and ask yourself why you hooked up with Evan in the first place. The guy lives in another province, conveniently out of the picture, and in reality, you don’t think about him much, do you?”

“You’re wrong,” I tell her.

“Well, you’re stupid,” Kathy says.

“I don’t care what you think,” I whisper.

A door closes down the hall. The other girls are coming.

Kathy leans closer. “You’re stupid and you’re dangerous.” She disappears through the door to the players’ box, so I don’t have a chance to defend myself.

I’m in a blind rage when I step on the ice, and I can’t concentrate on any of the drills. How could she say that? She’s supposed to be my friend.

On-ice warm-up is a total blur.

But one thing is abundantly clear.

I’m going to play like shit.

–
Chapter Seventeen
–

W
e crash and burn
against Regina on the road to a 9–1 loss.

I take two penalties in the first period, and the Rebels score on both power plays. I’m on
the ice for the next three Regina goals. On the first one, I get undressed by Number 22, who snipes one past Miranda’s outstretched glove. Another time I attempt a saucer pass to Jennifer in our end, and the Rebel centre picks it, then fires low blocker. A Regina winger pounces on Miranda’s juicy rebound and pokes it in. On my next shift, I put the puck in all by myself when I’m trying to clear the trash around the net.

Miranda snaps at me when I apologize. “McIntyre, keep your
ass
outta my face!”

I’d bench
myself
if I had any choice in the matter.

It’s a brutal game. The worst.

We are outplayed, outshot and outscored.

With three minutes left, Jodi scores on a breakaway, but it’s not enough to lift our spirits.

After the game we start picking at each other as soon as Mr. Johnstone and Mr. Parker leave the dressing room. The offence blames the defence. The defence blames the offence. No one blames Miranda, but this notion is etched on everybody’s face: if Amy had been playing net, the score would have been a lot closer.

Ugly. Ugly. Ugly.

I do the only thing I can do.

“Look,” I say, “I know I could have played better today. I’m sorry for letting you all down.”

Most of the girls jump on the “Oh, it’s okay. We’re all at fault” bandwagon right away.

Except for Whitney, Jodi and Kathy.

On the way back to Estevan, Mom and Dad thankfully do not grill me about the game. Courtney’s puffy around the eyes while Gia’s sunglasses conceal hers. Gia falls asleep with her head on my shoulder.

“So Evan got to play lots?” Courtney asks out of the blue.

“Quit sucking up,” I tell her. “You girls have a late night?”

“We stayed up and talked,” Courtney says.

“Get any shopping done?”

Courtney shakes her head. “We were too tired.”

“I thought that was the whole point of going to Regina in the first place,” I persist.

Courtney leans around Gia so she’s looking right at me. “Mom already talked to Gia and me about taking off on you last night, and we’re sorry, okay? Enough with the inquisition.”

“Such a big word,” I reply sarcastically. “How about this one? Do you know what
manipulation
means?”

“Yes,” she says.

“You manipulated me
and
the Gedaks so you could go to Regina, and then you tried to dump us without any explanation. I missed watching Evan play because of you.”

“Give it a rest, Jessie,” Mom says. “We’ll talk about it when we get home.”

“Yeah, Jessie.” Courtney yawns and curls up against the window.

I put on my iPod, pull my hoodie over my head, and pretend I’ve fallen asleep too.

But I’m definitely not.

Sleeping, that is.

My head is swarming with images of my bad choices on –
and off – the ice. I’m still not talking to Kathy.

Not after what she said to me about Liam and Evan.

Evan.

My stomach drops to my shoes.

I was supposed to go for supper with him tonight, after my game. I was supposed to get a ride home with his parents. I dig in my purse for my phone and discover it’s shut off. It’s been shut off for hours.

As soon as I turn it on, the text messages pour in.

Where r u?

See u later?

Call me.

Please call.

I’m such a loser. How could I forget about him?

I want to call him, here and now, but everyone will overhear, and Mom will ask a thousand questions. I send him a quick text, telling him I’ll call later and explain everything. Even as I’m texting, I’m wondering, how can I
possibly
explain?

Maybe Kathy’s right, my little voice says. Maybe it was a mistake to start going out with Evan.

Shut up.

After we drop Gia off at her mom’s, Mom and Dad take Courtney into the living room for a “chat” while I go up to my room to touch base with Evan.

I thought he’d be angry, but he’s totally understanding, which makes me feel even worse.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says. “Sometimes things don’t work out the way you’d like.”

He doesn’t sound upset at all – a total change from his mood this morning. I quiz him about
his
game, trying to get a read on his relationship with his coach, but he ignores the questions, directing the conversation back to me.

And I let him. I need to talk to somebody who’s
not
on my team.

I pour out my heart, telling him about everything that’s lousy on our team until I hear Courtney moving around in her room.

No fireworks. No tantrum. Amazing.

“I’ve got to go,” I tell Evan. “I’ll talk to you later this week.”

“See you soon,” he says.

When I go next door, Courtney’s lying on her bed, listening to her iPod and flipping through a magazine.

“So what’s the scoop?” I ask her.

She stares at me.

“You grounded or what?”

She yanks one ear bud out. “For a week. No going out for two weekends.” She pauses for effect. “I’m sick of you trying to be the mom. You’re not, okay?” She flips a magazine page, tearing it. “This is my room, and I don’t want you in here. Leave me alone.”

As I leave, I feel somewhat vindicated, even though I’d still like to throttle her.

Maybe Mom and Dad aren’t losing their minds.

–

W
hic
h
is why
my
mind is blown when Mom comes home the following week with a brand new cellphone for Courtney. I find out about it after supper when Mom takes it out to show Dad.

Courtney’s upstairs in her room, supposedly doing homework.

And I am stupefied.

“You’re going to give her a cellphone.” I start stacking the dinner plates, and I’m not gentle about it.

Mom takes the phone out of the box and powers it up. “It won’t actually be hers. We’re just giving it to her so we’ll know where she is.”

“You’re kidding.”

Dad empties the remains in the salad bowl onto his plate. “You don’t think it’s fair that she’s getting one right now when you had to wait so long.”

“Don’t get me started,” I tell him.

“Things are different now, Jessie,” Mom says. “We could have rough seas ahead with Courtney, and we have to hold her accountable for her actions.”

“How are you going to manage that – when you don’t even make her do her chores?” I demand. “It’s her night to do dishes!”

“She had too much homework,” Mom says. “She can do dishes for the next two nights.”

I scrape the leftover mashed potatoes into a plastic container and snap on the lid. “She needs an ankle bracelet, not a phone.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re not the parent. Your mother and I discussed it for a long time,” Dad explains. “It wasn’t a hasty decision.”

Mom tries to appease me. “We’ll know where she is. We won’t have to rely on one of her friend’s cellphones.”

I correct her. “You’ll know where she
says
she is! She and her phone could be
anywhere!”

“Thanks for your input,” Dad says. “The subject is now closed.”

And that’s that.

They
are
losing their minds.

–
Chapter Eighteen
–

I
survey the girls
assembled in the dressing room on Tuesday night. There’re six of us in our final year of
Midget – Carla, Kathy, Miranda, Jodi, Amy and me. For second years, there’s Jennifer, Crystal, Larissa and Whitney. The first years are Randi and the rest of the Rookies.

We’re in our street clothes because there’s no practice, just an organizational meeting for our parents upstairs, followed by one-on-twos with our coaches.

We’re all nervous and excited; a head coach has
finally
been found. And not a minute too soon. Our first league games are this weekend.

One of the other key items on the agenda is choosing a team captain and three assistant captains. Sue says we’re voting on it later.

Whitney is clearly campaigning. “Rookie party this weekend at my place,” she announces, “but don’t worry. We won’t go rough on you Rooks.”

The Rookies exchange apprehensive glances.

“This weekend?” I ask. “We’re playing a double-header, remember?”

Whitney rolls her eyes. “So?”

“Just when were you planning to have this party?” Kathy’s tone perfectly mimics mine.

“Saturday night.”

“But we play Sunday,” I say.

“Not until two in the afternoon,” Whitney says. “You can all sleep over at my place. We’ve got plenty of room. It’ll be a blast.”

“It’s lousy timing,” I say. “We should have the party another time.”

“But next weekend is Thanksgiving, and then we go to North Battleford and Prince Albert. It’ll be November before we know it. How are we supposed to bond as a team?”

“Good point,” Kathy says.

“Okay,” I say, “but no booze. And no Bruins.”

Annoyance flickers across Whitney’s face, but she doesn’t argue.

I feel Kathy’s eyes on me. She’s tried to be nice to me at school, but I’m still mad at her. Let her pay for shooting her mouth off one too many times.

The door opens. Sue and Mrs. Jordan, Crystal’s mom, walk in.

“Evening, ladies,” Sue says, sitting on the bench between Carla and me.

Mrs. Jordan closes the door and stands next to it.

“How’d the meeting go?” Kathy asks.

“Great.” Sue almost smiles. “Estevan Minor Hockey approved the most recent applicant for the head coaching position and hired him on the spot. He’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“He?”
Carla pounces on the pronoun.

“Who is it?” Whitney demands.

“Be patient,” Sue says. “I’m sure you’ll be happy with the choice. He has lots of coaching experience.”

There’s a light knock on the door, and Mrs. Jordan opens it.

Bud Prentice walks in.

“Hey, Bud!” Kathy shouts. “What brings you to town?”

Bud smiles broadly. “You’ll never believe it, Parker. I heard you girls were looking for a head coach, and I decided to apply.”

My heart sinks. “But it’s too late, Bud. Minor Hockey already hired somebody.”