Panic in Pittsburgh (2 page)

Travis had tried to figure it out. Nish still hadn’t
made the
Guinness World Records
for any of his mad schemes, nor had he got himself displayed as a wax figure at Madame Tussauds. Maybe the superheroes were just another madcap plan to get him there.

Travis knew where the silly mask had come from. Mr. Dillinger had driven the team to the airport in his old bus, and on the way he had treated the Owls to one of his beloved Stupid Stops – this time at a huge variety store near the highway that sold everything, from fireworks to party hats, to the tourists heading north each summer to their cottages. Mr. D’s rules were always the same: two dollars a player – once in a while as much as five dollars – and it had to be spent on something totally useless. That must have been where the shaving cream had come from that ended up on Travis’s head. And the party section of the store was obviously where Nish had found that glittery blue and white “ice” mask.

At one point, Nish had even tried to explain his new obsession to Travis, with little result. “You see,” Nish had said, “the thing is that most superheroes start out perfectly normal. Batman, for
example – he’s just a kid growing up who has a lot of money and a cave and decides he’s going to live this secret life fighting crime. And Green Lantern, he was just this kid, Hal Jordan, who was given the magic ring and lantern by an alien he didn’t know was an alien. And then you’ve got Bobby Drake. He’s perfectly normal, too – fights with his family, has trouble at school – until one day he discovers by accident that he has this special power.”

“What power?” Travis asked.

“He’s out on his first date, and this bully dude tries to take his girlfriend away. So Bobby gets all angry. Now, you’ve got to understand that his anger is way different from Dr. Bruce Banner, another completely normal guy at the start, who gets angry and suddenly breaks out as the Incredible Hulk. Bobby has no idea what’s going to happen. All he does is point at this bully dude to warn him and – poof! – the bully turns into a block of ice.”

“He kills him?”

“Freezes him. Gets back his girl and moves on.”

“What about the bully?”

“Who
cares
about the bully?”

“Well, you can’t just walk around killing people you don’t like. That’s against the law.”

Nish grinned from ear to ear, his face reddening. “I am the Iceman – I
am
the law!”

“You’re nuts.”

“If you believe in me, it will happen.”

“I don’t believe in you. You’re talking nonsense.”

“Say what you want,” Nish said with supreme confidence. “
I
am the Iceman, and I have superpowers!
”

“Okay,” Travis said. “Show me.”

“I can’t,” Nish said sheepishly. “I have to wait for them to show themselves to me. Once that happens, then I can show you.”

Travis dropped it right there. It was too much. He was supposed to accept that Nish was a perfectly normal boy who was really a superhero-in-waiting, and that one day these magical powers would show up, and from then on he’d be a masked avenger whose mission was to save the world.

“I liked you better when you just wanted to moon everyone.”

Nish grinned even wider. “Who says I have to give up one to do the other?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Iceman can still moon.
It’s not like I’ll freeze my butt off, is it?
”

Coach Muck Munro had called on an old friend from junior hockey who was now scouting for the Pittsburgh Penguins, and the friend had somehow arranged for the Owls to practice at the
CONSOL
Energy Center.

The Screech Owls were thrilled. This was “The rink that Sidney Crosby built” – a massive
NHL
rink high on the hill in the Uptown area of Pittsburgh, above the three rivers that from the air made the city look like a badly sliced pizza. When
it opened, it was said to be the best hockey arena in the world. Had Mario Lemieux – number 66, “The Magnificent One” – not taken over ownership of the Penguins, and had the team not lucked into Sidney Crosby in the draft, there would have been no
NHL
team in the city. Now, however, thanks to Mario and Sidney and the star players who came along later, the team was considered a jewel in the
NHL
crown.

And what a jewel the arena was. Travis knew it was just a practice, but he treated it like Game 7 of the Stanley Cup final. He dressed in silence, putting on his pads in the right order, kissing his practice jersey from the inside as he pulled it over his head, tapping his heart to feel the cloth of the captain’s
C
that he wore with such pride.

Mr. D had given his skates a fresh sharp, and Travis stepped carefully on the rubber mats as he made his way to the ice, walking as if he were about to break through the thin early-winter ice at his grandparents’ cottage. He didn’t want to risk losing an edge.

Travis could hardly believe he was stepping out onto the same ice that Sidney Crosby had played on,
the same ice that the great Mario Lemieux sometimes skated on. He was first out. He cut around the first corner hard, his skates sizzling as he dug in. Then, to strengthen his ankles, he kept his legs together and “snaked” up the ice just by moving his feet in tandem with each other. He stepped out of his “snake” skate and looked back at the wavy parallel lines that his skates had left in the new ice. His mark would not last long – the other Owls were pouring out onto the ice with shouts of joy – but for a fleeting moment, Sidney Crosby’s ice rink had only Travis Lindsay’s mark on it. His
signature
.

Muck ran a smart practice. The Screech Owls did a few breakout drills, then some three-on-one rushes, then three-on-two. Some coaches ran rigid “systems” – you either took the puck up the ice exactly as instructed or you would be benched – but Muck said systems were for work, not play. He also said, “You invent this game every time you play it,” which Travis took to mean that Muck wanted to see creativity. In Muck’s book, the Owls should be ready to try whatever seemed possible, if
they did so responsibly. So long as you stayed aware of what might happen if you lost the puck, you could pretty much attempt anything. No wonder the Owls loved playing for him.

As always at the end of practice, the Owls scrimmaged. In scrimmage, you could do anything you liked, and there was one play Travis had seen on the Internet that he wanted to try. A young Finnish player had gone behind the other team’s net, used a scoop play with the blade of his stick to lift the puck up and hold it there, like a small circle of dough on the end of a paddle about to be put into the oven, and then turned the blade and hurled the puck backward into the net. The goal had counted, too – nothing illegal, just bizarre and crazy and … fun.

Muck had them playing four-on-four to create a little more open ice, meaning a little more time as well. Sarah, Travis, and Dmitri Yakushev had been working on a crisscross play in which Sarah, who had the puck at center, headed for Travis’s left wing while Travis cut for center. But Sarah would simply leave the puck behind as she flew up the ice. With
luck, it would fool the defense. They’d be trying to cut her off, only to realize, too late, that she no longer had the puck. Travis would go all the way over to Dmitri’s wing, putting Travis on the off-wing, a left-hand shot on the right side, while Dmitri took over center. It gave Travis three options: he could pass all the way over to Sarah, he could try to use Dmitri for a tip, or he could shoot himself.

Sarah dropped the puck as planned, and Travis picked it up, faking a second drop pass to Dmitri as they cut across each other’s paths. But Travis still had the puck and was coming down fast on Fahd, who was rapidly backpedaling, and on Nish, the other defenseman. Travis faked the shot and held, swooping around behind the net. He figured, “Why not?” and tried the scoop – and it worked! The puck was lying on his stick blade.

Travis looped hard around the net, neatly sidestepping Nish at the same time. He saw Jeremy Weathers move in goal to take away the shot from Dmitri, presuming Travis would try a back pass.

But Travis held the puck in the air, paused, then fired it back hard as if he were holding a
lacrosse stick, not a hockey stick, and the puck flew into the side of the net just over Jeremy’s shoulder.

“
No fair!
” Nish was screaming.

“
Illegal!
” shouted Fahd.

Travis and Sarah and Dmitri were all high-fiving and laughing as Jeremy dug the puck out of the back of his net. Nish, red-faced and glaring, was clearly upset at Travis’s trick goal.

Muck came over, whistle dangling around his neck, his expression giving away nothing. It was impossible to tell if the coach was pleased or upset. Muck was always difficult to read.

“Just keep something like that to practice,” he said to the three linemates. “We don’t make a habit out of humiliating our opposition.”

Message received and noted. Travis looked back at his coach and nodded.

And Muck winked.

He had enjoyed the little trick as much as anyone.

Muck’s old hockey buddy had arranged a special rate for the Screech Owls, so for once they were put up in a hotel, three to a room, rather than being billeted out to families. Billeting had its good side – Travis had made several new friends that way – but being together was best. The Owls could eat together, hang out together, play together, and come and go from their games together.

The hotel was in Station Square, once the location of an old railroad station directly across the
Monongahela River from downtown Pittsburgh. Travis’s room, which he shared with Nish and Fahd, looked out over the water and the riverboat casino, and if they cranked the window open, leaned out, and looked to their left, they could see old Fort Pitt where Pittsburgh’s two rivers joined and, beyond that, the yellow bridges that took cars and pedestrians over to Three Rivers Stadium, where the Pirates played baseball in summer, and massive Heinz Field, the Steelers’ football stadium, where the Peewee Winter Classic would be played.

Sarah, Sam, and Jenny Staples, the Owls’ second goaltender, had a room on the other side, facing Mount Washington. It wasn’t a true mountain, but it was still twice as steep as any hill around the Owls’ hometown of Tamarack, which had its own tourist lookout called the Mountain.

Pittsburgh’s Mount Washington had an interesting feature – a sort of elevator that rose on a steep track all the way up to the streets and restaurants on top of the high hill. Another one came down farther along Mount Washington just across from the sports fields. Travis had seen one before,
called a funicular railway, which slowly moved up and down the cliffs of Quebec City while passengers looked out and felt their stomachs churn. In Pittsburgh, they were called Inclines, and the Owls could hardly wait to travel on them, whatever they were called.

Nish, as usual, wanted to be first into the room so he could stake out the best bed. Once the elevator stopped, he raced ahead down the hall of the recently refurbished hotel with his key card already out.

Travis and Fahd arrived at their hotel-room door to find their friend red-faced and gasping.

“I can’t find where the key goes in!” Nish whined.

“Use your superpowers,” Travis joked.

Nish sneered back at him, unimpressed.

“It’s too dark,” said Fahd. He brought out his cell phone and selected the light app to illuminate the door.

“There’s no slot!” Nish said.

“We’ll have to go back down,” Travis said, trying to take a leadership role.

“What’s up, boys?” a voice called from down the hall.

They turned to see a large woman by an open door with a bundle of sheets in her arms. Behind her was a cart she was loading with laundry.

“We can’t get in!” Nish said as if the world were coming to an end here on the sixth floor of the Sheraton.

The woman laughed as she walked toward the three boys. She shook her head as if she’d seen this scene played out a dozen times.

“Watch,” she said.

She pulled a key card from her belt, a retractable line stretching as she passed the key over the handle with a sweep.

The boys heard clicking and falling levers, then a quick buzz. The woman cranked the handle and the door opened like magic.

“Neat,” said Travis.

“There’s no slot,” she said. “The door recognizes your card and opens automatically. Brand new, just last week.”

“Open Sesame!” said Fahd, amazed.

“Wazzat mean?” asked a befuddled Nish.

“Ali Baba,” Fahd explained, as if he couldn’t believe Nish had never heard the expression.

“Who dat?”

“Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” an exasperated Fahd continued. “That’s how they opened the cave:
Open Sesame!
” He clapped his hands sharply to indicate it happened by magic.

“Ali Baba had magic powers?” Nish asked.

Fahd shook his head in disgust. “Obviously.”

“Then the Iceman should know him …”

For the first match in the Peewee Winter Classic, the Screech Owls were scheduled to play a local team, the Pittsburgh River Rats, which meant there would be a good home crowd. Mr. D even said that the local television outlets would be there to interview players and shoot some of the action. The Owls were pumped.

They were to gather in the lobby. Nish – having claimed the best bed, having turned his mother’s carefully packed suitcase upside down
and dropped the contents all over the floor like a front-end loader dumping a load of dirt, having stunk out the bathroom and checked the window and the walkway below to see how it was set up for water bombs, having stashed his precious chocolate bar supply in a bottom drawer of the room’s only dresser, having combed his hair four different ways in an attempt to look like Elvis Presley – was finally ready, and the three teammates made their way to the elevator and down to the lobby, where other Owls had already gathered.

“You are
not
going to believe this!” Sarah said when she saw Travis.

She seemed super excited. Her blue eyes were flashing. Travis raised his eyebrows and waited to be told the news.