Wingman On Ice (2 page)

They greeted Tod and Jane.

“Been hoping you’d bring your puck,” said Jack. “I brought my stick along, too. So did Joe.”

Tod let the boys play with the puck while he put on his skates. Then he, Joe, and Jack passed the puck among themselves. Joe
was good. The coach had said he’d have Joe play center on Line 1, which meant that he wouldn’t be playing with Tod. Tod was
on Line 2, and Line 2’s center was Skip Haddock.

More people showed up at the pond—boys, girls, and grown-ups, too. Among them were Skip Haddock and Tim Collins. Tim was goalie
on Line 2. He was a husky, dark-haired boy who never talked much. You wouldn’t think he’d be the kind of guy Skip would pal
around with, but Skip did.

The boys took over one end of the ice pond in a game of shinny. Skip, Tim, and
Joe passed the puck among themselves as if the puck and their hockey sticks were natural cousins. Tod felt as if he didn’t
belong with them. He could skate fast frontwards and backwards and turn quickly—almost better than any one of them—but he
was far from being a good stickhandler. The puck and his stick were just plain enemies.

It’s the hockey stick, that’s what it is,
Tod told himself.
The toe and heel are worn so badly that the blade doesn’t meet the puck as it should. Boy, I hope I get a new stick for Christmas!

Tim passed the puck to Tod again. It struck his blade and glanced off as it usually did. This time Tod raced after it hard.
He dug his skates into the ice and pumped his legs as fast as if he were competing in a one-hundred-yard sprint. The puck
slid out of
their skating area and skimmed over the ice among the other skaters.

Just as Tod reached the puck and was about to stop it with his stick, a small boy got in front of him. Tod struck him solidly,
and the boy went sprawling on the ice.

Fright gripped Tod as he skated swiftly over to him.

“Jimmie!” he cried as he recognized five-year-old Jimmie Lamarr. “I’m sorry! Are you all right?”

Jimmie’s face was screwed up in pain. “I—I’m all right,” he said.

A couple of men skated toward them quickly. One of them was Mr. Farmer, Joe’s dad. He helped Jimmie to his feet.

“You okay, Jimmie?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes,” replied Jimmie. But when he skated away he was moving very carefully.

Mr. Farmer turned to Tod. He looked provoked. “Better be more careful next
time, Tod, or you’d better put your hockey stick and puck away. That goes for the rest of you boys, too.”

Tod’s face reddened. He skated to the puck and picked it up. He carried it back to the small area where Skip and the others
were waiting for him. Skip looked really angry.

“You nut,” he said. “Why didn’t you watch where you were going?”

Tod said nothing. He felt like going home then and there. Instead, he dropped the puck, and this time they were all more careful
about their passes.

It didn’t turn out to be as much fun as before, so Skip and Tim laid their hockey sticks aside and just skated. Tod didn’t
mind. Now he, Joe, and Jack had the puck to themselves.

“Tod,” Joe said, “I never see your dad here. Doesn’t he skate?”

The question made Tod flush a little. “No,” he said. “He used to ski, but he hasn’t for a long time.”

Tod took a deep breath, spun halfway around, skated backwards a little ways, and came to a quick stop. “I’m tired,” he said.
“Think I’ll go home.”

“There’s no school tomorrow,” reminded Joe. “Bring your puck, and we’ll practice passing and dribbling. Okay?”

“Okay,” agreed Tod.

He called to Jane, and she was willing to go home with him. They put on their boots and trudged back through the snow.

They reached the country road and stamped the snow off their boots. A snow-plow had cleared the road and left high banks of
the white powdery stuff on both sides.

Tod and Jane walked past Biff Jones’s house and saw the Jones’s Christmas tree through the large picture window.
Wonder what Biff will get for Christmas?
Tod thought.

Just a short distance farther on was their own home. It was a good one hundred feet from the road. A white house with blue
shutters, with the English-style letter “B” cut in them. Dad had made them himself.

The front door looked very pretty with the big white cane on it and a red bow tied on the cane. The Christmas tree in the
picture window looked very pretty, too. Even from outdoors you could see how broad it was. The big round bulbs and the hanging
tinsels glinted like stars where the sun hit them.

Tod’s heart warmed, and he smiled.

“What would you like best of all for Christmas, Jane?” he asked quietly.

“A bicycle,” she said. “A small two-wheeler. What would you like?”

“I won’t say,” he answered. “I’ll just wait and see if I get it.”

I
t was Christmas morning.

Tod and Jane came out of their bedrooms in their pajamas. Jane ran, screaming happily, for there beside the tree was exactly
what she had been wishing for—a sparkling red and white bicycle.

Tod didn’t run. He used to run when he was Jane’s age. But he was older now. Anyway, his long steps got him there fast enough.

There were big boxes and small boxes piled under the tree, all in fancy wrapping paper and fancy bows. There were also
presents that were not wrapped—games, puzzles, and books for him and Jane. These were the gifts Santa Claus had brought. Tod
knew the truth about that little fat man in the bright red suit and white whiskers. But Jane didn’t. Not everything, anyway.

And then he saw the really long gift wrapped beautifully in white and green paper with a wide red ribbon tied around it. His
heart thumped, and he let out a yell as he ran toward it. Just to make sure that the present was his, though, he looked at
the small tag tied to it.

For Tod, from Mom and Dad.

It was
it!
He just knew it was!

He tore the beautiful wrapping paper off and there it was. A hockey stick!

He tested its weight. Perfect! He laid the blade against the floor to test its lie. Perfect! He ran his hands up and down
its smooth
polished surface. Perfect! Everything about it was just
perfect.

Jane turned from her bicycle and ran toward the door. Mom and Dad were standing just in front of the doorway, wearing their
bathrobes and smiling joyfully.

Jane flung her arms around them, and they bent forward and kissed her. Then Tod walked over to them, carrying his hockey stick.

“Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom,” he said, and gave them both a tight hug. He wasn’t able to say anything else. Something in his
throat felt ready to burst.

It was a long while later—after they had opened all their presents and given Mom and Dad theirs—when Tod said, “Can I put
some tape on it, Dad, and take it to the pond this afternoon?”

“Of course,” said Dad. “That’s what it’s for.”

Tod’s face was as bright as one of the bulbs on the Christmas tree. “I’ll show them when I get on that ice,” he said proudly.
“You wait and see.” He looked up at his dad, eagerness sparkling in his eyes. “You’re coming to our game Saturday morning,
aren’t you, Dad? We’re scrimmaging against the Trojans.”

Dad looked at him and shook his head disappointedly. “You know I can’t, Tod. I have to be at the department.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Tod. “Then you won’t be able to see any game, will you?”

Dad ruffled his hair. “Maybe I can make an arrangement to get away once or twice,” he said. “We’ll see.”

Dad worked at the Fire Department. His days off were Sundays and Mondays.

“Will you put the tape on it for me, please, Dad?” asked Tod.

“Sure will,” said Dad.

They went downstairs into the basement where Dad had a small workshop. Tod took his old, beat-up hockey stick with him for
Dad to copy from.

While Dad was wrapping the tape around the blade of the new hockey stick, Tod remembered what Joe Farmer had asked him at
the ice pond.

“You used to ski, didn’t you, Dad?”

“Yes, I used to ski. Why?”

Tod shrugged. “Well, I remembered Mom saying you did. Was that before you and Mom were married?”

Dad’s eyes lifted to Tod’s and then returned to his task. “Yes. I skied for a long time, Tod. Started when I was a child,
as you with your skating. Got to be fairly good, too. Then I injured my knee and had to give it up.”

He shrugged, smiled. He was finished taping the blade of the hockey stick.

“There you are, son. Ready for action.”

“Thanks, Dad. Mind if I go to the pond now?”

“Better wait till after dinner,” suggested Dad. “That roast beef smells as if it’s almost ready to sink our teeth into.”

Tod spent almost two hours at the ice pond. Skip, Snowball, Tim, and some other kids were there, too. They admired Tod’s new
hockey stick. Tod’s face beamed with pride. Without a doubt he had the nicest and best hockey stick of them all.

The crowd that assembled at the ice pond did not make it possible for the boys to play scrub, so they just passed the puck
and dribbled. Tod realized that his passes were better. He dribbled better, too.

At least, he thought so.

Then came Saturday and the scrimmage game with the Trojans at Manna Rink. Mr. Farmer, Joe’s dad, was at the timekeeper’s
bench. The game would be played with exactly the same rules as a regular league game. In the Bantam League the teams played
two 20-minute periods, not three as in college or professional hockey; high school teams played three 15-minute periods. Line
1 played two 4-minute sessions and Lines 2 and 3 two 3-minute sessions each during each period.

Line 1 of both teams was out on the rink, ready for the referee to drop the puck. The White Knights wore white suits with
black trim and the Trojans orange suits with blue and white trim. Their legs looked chubby with shin guards under their long
stockings. Sweaters, with stripes on the sleeves and large numbers on the back and small on the front, covered their padded
shoulders and elbows. The pants were padded, too. And they all wore padded gloves.

The goalies were especially protected. They wore face masks, chest protectors, huge padded leg guards, and extra-padded goal
gloves. The blades of the goal sticks were larger than those used by the other players. Because the sticks received a lot
of pounding, they were taped over the heel and partway up the shaft.

Every player wore a helmet. Most of the helmets were of different colors because they were owned by the players. They weren’t
turned in to the league at the end of the season as the uniforms were.

For a moment there was complete silence. Then the referee dropped the puck in the center circle of the ice. The game was on.

Joe Farmer, center, grabbed the puck and passed to his right wingman, Eddie Jones. A Trojan player swept in and intercepted
the pass. He dribbled it across the neutral zone,
crossed the White Knights’ blue line, and headed for the net.

Both defensemen, Al Burns and Duck Franks, went after him. Goalie Jim Smith was crouched, waiting tensely.

Al Burns reached the Trojan first. Al tried to steal the puck and hooked the blade of his stick with the Trojan’s. Another
Trojan poke-checked the puck and sent it rolling across the ice toward the boards. Duck Franks sped up to it and drove it
back up the ice toward Trojans’ territory.

Joe Farmer had it for a while, dribbling toward the Trojans’ goal. He snapped a shot at it, but the goalie stopped it with
his heavy pads for a save and then cleared it away from the net with his stick.

“Be ready, Line 2,” said Coach Fillis. He was leaning against the boards in front of the bench where his boys were sitting.
In his hand was a clipboard with the roster of the
White Knights fastened to it. “Let’s see you snap one into that net.”

A short time later the buzzer sounded. Line 1 of both teams hurried off the ice, and Line 2 hurried on. Quickly they moved
into their positions: Skip Haddock at center, Tod at right forward, and Jim Wright at left forward. Behind them at right defense
was Biff Jones, at left defense Snowball Harry Carr, and goalie Tim Collins.

Pete Sunday, the Trojans’ star center, got the puck away from Skip and passed it to a wingman. Tod moved up quickly, his pumping
legs sending chips flying from the blades of his skates. In his hand was the brand new hockey stick, the light twinkling on
its shiny surface. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Now he could show what he could do.

Someone bumped into the Trojan wingman and the puck skittered away, free. A
mad scramble for it followed. Snowball went down and a Trojan player fell on top of him.

Skip got the puck and started with it across the red line in the center of the rink. Two Trojans came after him and he passed
to Tod. Tod caught it and dribbled it across the Trojans’ blue line. He felt so good he could smile. A Trojan defenseman was
coming at him, but he didn’t care. Tod knew he could out-skate him. And with his new hockey stick he could push that puck
wherever he pleased.

He stepped up his speed and gave the puck an extra shove.

Too far! For a second his heart jumped to his throat. He caught up with the puck just before the Trojan player did and tried
to glide it lightly ahead of him.

Again too far! He tried to catch up with it, but another Trojan player swept in and took control of it. It was Pete Sunday.

“Thanks, Tod, ol’ buddy,” said Pete, and started to dribble the puck back up the ice, skating close to the boards.

Tod’s skates shrieked and shot a stream of ice chips as he came to a stop and bolted back up the ice after Pete. His face
was hot as Pete’s words rang in his ears.

He came up behind Pete, tried to pokecheck the puck. His skate tangled with Pete’s, and down Tod went. He heard Pete laugh
as the Trojan center dribbled the puck toward the White Knights’ net.

Quickly, Tod rose to his feet and raced after Pete and the puck. Snowball was already there, trying to take the puck. His
stick and Pete’s sounded like cracking whips as they smacked against each other.