Breakaway (8 page)

“You make it sound like you’re not one of them,” Dad observes.

No wonder he’s cynical. He thought I was making the switch from ringette to hockey too late when I started playing in Grade Nine. But I proved him wrong.

“You also make it sound like you’re
already
on the hockey team...which you’re not,” I point out.

Courtney ignores me. “Dad, I’m a good
skater.
I won’t be like those other girls who’ve never worn hockey skates.”

“You’ve never worn hockey skates,” I point out.

She rolls her eyes at me.

“Jessie,” Dad says again.

“Hockey skates aren’t figure skates. The stride is way different. Then there’s the equipment and the stick and the puck. And all those people who aren’t afraid to run into you. It won’t be as easy as you make it sound.”

Courtney stands up, knocking over her chair.

“Dramatic exit, coming right up,” I say.

“Shut up!” she screams. “You’re just afraid I’ll be
better
than you! That
I’ll
be the centre of attention for once!” She looks down her nose at me. “Mom and Dad think it’s okay. Why can’t you be happy for me?!”

I look at Dad. “Did I say I wasn’t happy?”

Dad lays a hand firmly on mine and shakes his head. Poor man. Living in a household with three women, he’s tossed like a cork in the maelstrom of our overlapping menstrual cycles.

“Courtney, we need to talk some more,” Mom says.

“I’m sick of this bullshit!”

“Watch your language,” Mom warns.

“I don’t care!” Courtney wails. “You treat me like a slave, and I’m sick of it!”

“Slave?” I laugh out loud. “You won’t even do the dishes on your night!”

“Jessie, please,” Mom says.

Courtney bolts out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Her bedroom door slams like an exclamation point.

Dad picks up Courtney’s chair and positions it under the table, then sits down and resumes carving his steak. “What in the hell was
that
about?”

“Puberty,” Mom says.

“There’s lots of time for Courtney to finish her dances,” I say.

“She’ll never go back to figure skating.” Mom massages her temples with her fingertips. “She’ll get the hockey bug – just like you did.”

“She may not like it so much,” Dad says. “In fact, a few practices might be enough to convince her she’s not cut out for hockey.” He pauses to chew and swallow a piece of steak. “That’s why I’m not buying her any equipment. Not yet anyway.” He looks at me significantly.

My appetite abruptly disappears. “So she’s going to wear
mine?”

“She’s nearly as tall as you are,” Dad replies. “Makes sense to me.”

I pick up my plate and move over to the sink.

“Thanks, Jessie,” Mom says. “You’re a trooper.”

I hate the way they interpret silence as agreement.

“She’s not wearing my equipment,” I say quietly.

“Not even once?” Mom wheedles.

“So now
you’re
on board with this hockey thing?”

Mom rubs her neck muscles. “I don’t want to be. But she’s finally got some decent friends. Would it be so terrible?”

“She has Pam,” I point out.

“Pam doesn’t go to her school, Jessie. You know how miserable Courtney was last year. Isn’t it great she’s
happy?”

I pause so we can all listen to Courtney stomp around in her bedroom. “Does that sound like happiness to you?”

“Come on, Jessie,” Dad says. “Once upon a time, I let you borrow my hockey socks.”

I turn on the garburator. “She better not wreck or lose any of it!” I shout.

When I shut it off, Mom says to Dad, “How much will it cost to outfit her for hockey – if she
does
end up liking it?”

“We’ll pick up some used skates at JL’s,” Dad says.

“Sports are supposed to be cheaper than bail or lawyers.” Mom sits back and folds her arms. “But sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it.”

“Are you going up to tell her the good news?” Dad asks.

“Why don’t you do it?” Mom replies.

“I’m not done eating,” Dad says.

I pick up Courtney’s plate and carry it to the dishwasher. I turn my back on both of them and fire a handful of forks and knives into the cutlery receptacle.

“Careful,” Dad cautions.

Mom pushes back her chair. “No time like the present.”

After she’s gone, I put the stopper in the sink and turn on the hot water, thinking about how my shoulder and elbow pads are going to be wet and stinky every Tuesday, since Courtney’s practices will precede mine.

The phone in my pocket vibrates, and I look at it.

Evan.

Call me, he says.

I tell myself I’m ignoring him because I promised Holly I’d talk to Mark, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Tonight. I’ve been thinking about it all day. About what I’ll say to him.

Apply now. Get into university in January. Take a full load of maths and sciences. Get ready for engineering.

Me
=
Mark’s hero.

I leave Dad to finish his supper. He’s pretty much hypnotized
by his Crackberry anyway. I grab my phone and go upstairs.
As I walk by Courtney’s room, I can see Mom and my sister lying on her bed, shoulder to shoulder, deep in conversation.

Peace is restored in our happy home.

I go into my room and close the door. By the time Mark picks up on the other end, my palms are moist, and my stomach is twisting.

“Hey!” he says. “We were just talking about you.”

“Who was?”

“Evan and me. He hung up a while ago. Said he was going to call you. So, what’s up?” Mark’s voice sounds friendly and natural.

“Not much. I just got home from the U of S fall camp.”

“How’d it go?”

“My evaluation says I’m supposed to work on foot speed.”

He laughs. “Figures. They all say that.” He pauses and clears his throat. “Are you going to U of S next year?”

“I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

“You could do a hell of a lot worse. For a Saskatchewan girl, there isn’t anything better than CIS hockey – except the National program.”

“So what university classes are you taking this fall?” I ask.

“Who told you I’m taking classes?” he responds, a note of suspicion in his voice.

“I don’t know. Evan maybe.”

“Did you see Holly in Saskatoon?”

Caught. Like a rat in a trap.

“Yes.”

“She told you to call me, didn’t she?”

“No.”

“She told you to get on my case about quitting Major Junior and going to school full time.” He pauses for so long I think he’s put the phone down and walked away. “I have a once in a lifetime opportunity, Jessie. I’m not screwing it up. It means too much to my dad.”

“Mark, you don’t believe there’s a connection between your hockey and your dad getting well, do you?”

“Is that what Holly told you?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Well, Holly’s exaggerating, as usual. She figures she needs to be my mother
and
my girlfriend since Mom’s out East. Every guy on my team has a demon on his back. My D-partner should have shoulder surgery, but he’s putting it off. My captain lost his mom to breast cancer last year. Playing through pain and personal stuff comes with the territory, Jessie. Next time you talk to Holly, ask her about her ankle sprain. It doesn’t seem to be holding
her
back.”

When I hang up a minute later, I feel like a total dork. Kathy always says, “Before you jump in a hole, make sure you know how deep the shit is at the bottom.”

I’m up to my ankles.

There’s a knock at the door, and Courtney sticks her head in before I have a chance to answer.

“Thanks for letting me borrow your equipment,” she says sweetly. “I’ll make it up to you.”

The phone rings downstairs.

I know who it is even before I hear Dad shout, “Jessie! It’s Evan.”

“I’ll get the cordless for you,” Courtney volunteers.

The last thing I want to do is talk to him, but I know I have to. It’s been a week since we Skyped.

“Sure, Court,” I tell her.

She bounces out of the room.

–
Chapter Eleven
–

I
hardly get any sleep
the night before our first exhibition game against the Weyburn Gold Wings. After school I have a nap, then drive to the rink at five thirty.

We were hoping we’d get our own dressing room in the new arena, but no such luck.

Then again, I’d sooner have a full-time coach. So far Sue has run two out of four practices. Two Bruins ran the others, but Whitney was so busy flirting with them, we didn’t get much accomplished.

Furthermore, Mr. Johnstone isn’t holding up his end of the deal as team manager. We don’t have uniforms, but he promises they’ll be here for our first league game in October. Tonight we’ll be decked out in our old Rafferty Rage unies.

Normally Kathy’s cocky in the dressing room on Game Day, especially when we’re playing Weyburn, but today she’s quiet. Carla’s
always
reserved, so the three of us don’t talk much until the rest of the girls show up.

The Rookies are starting to fit in. The ones who go to the Comp sit with us at lunch, and that makes it easier to get to know them. The only player who doesn’t hang out with us at lunch or say much in the dressing room is Jodi. She’s so totally
un
like the Jodi I played with two years ago I sometimes forget she’s there.

But I can’t say that about her on the ice. Jodi’s lost a little of her jump, but she sees the ice better than anyone else, and her hands are pure gold. As much as I hate the thought of her getting hurt again, we’d be screwed without her.

“Talk to Evan lately?” Kathy asks me.

“On the weekend.”

“How’s his season going?”

“Okay. There’s no league games until mid-October.”

“It sucks we don’t have uniforms yet,” Randi says.

Miranda walks in, carrying a doll wearing a blue sleeper. A receiving blanket hangs over her shoulder.

“What the hell,” Kathy says.

“Everybody, meet Jake.” Miranda holds up the doll so it’s looking at all of us. “Jake, this is everybody.”

“Are you kidding us, Ebberts?” Carla asks.

“It’s part of my Psych 30 class,” Miranda says. “I’m learning what it feels like to be a mom.”

Jake starts crying, a pathetic whimpering noise.

“Shut it off,” Kathy says. “Dolls are creepy.”

“What about clowns?” Randi asks. “I hate going to the circus because of the clowns.”

“You’re
a clown,” Kathy says.

Jake keeps on whimpering. Miranda paces and jostles and pats him, but the robotic cries persist.

“Maybe he needs changing,” Larissa suggests.

“I did that already,” Miranda says. “And I fed him too. Nothing helps. He woke up at three this morning and started bawling. None of us got any sleep. And then I couldn’t find a sitter, so I had to call Sue and tell her I couldn’t warm the bench today.”

“And you brought him down here so we could all be miserable with you,” Kathy says.

“Thanks a lot, Ebberts,” Carla says.

Miranda yawns loudly.

“Give ’im here.” Amy beckons with one finger.

“But I’m supposed to be the one who settles him,” says Miranda. “I’m getting graded on this.”

Amy gestures again. “Hand him over. Nobody’s gonna know.”

Miranda does as she’s told, but she’s not happy. There’s tension between her and Amy – although if you ask me, it’s Miranda who’s tense. Amy treats Miranda like she treats everyone else.

Amy places Jake on her knees and gently massages his back. He gives a loud mechanical burp, and the cries desist.

“Gas,” Amy explains.

“Kid must be a hockey player,” Kathy says. “And speaking of gas...”

“Don’t.” Carla raises a warning finger. “If you release any toxins, you’re going to be very sorry.”

“Correction.” Kathy points back.
“You’ll
be sorry.”

“Can I have him now?” Miranda demands.

“Sure.” Amy hands Jake over and goes back to lacing her goalie skates.

Miranda cuddles the doll as she crosses the dressing room and sits down next to Kathy. “Who’s your momma now, Jake?” she coos.

“Jake must take after his daddy,” Carla says, “because he doesn’t quite have your colouring, Ebberts.”

Miranda ignores her and starts singing “The Good Ol’ Hockey Game” in her peculiar Minnesota drawl. She gets some of the words wrong, as she always does.