Face-Off
Authors: Matt Christopher
Copyright © 1972 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.
First eBook Edition: December 2009
Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-316-09559-4
Contents
The #1 Sports Series for Kids: MATT CHRISTOPHER
®
To the McEligots,
Lee, John, Jack, Sue,
Michael, Mark, and Michelle
W
atch out for the falls!”
The yell came from one of the two boys standing on the bank beside the frozen pond.
Scott Harrison, skating past a marker—one of two large rocks placed about twenty feet apart on the ice—glanced at the edge
of the pond some thirty feet away, and heard the roar of the falls in the clear, silent air. He grinned. No chance!
He turned as sharply as he could around the marker, noticing that Pete Sewell, the kid he was racing, had just reached his
marker. And he had given Pete a twenty-foot handicap, too!
Scott sped down the pond and reached the spot on the ice opposite Cathy, his younger sister, who was refereeing the race.
“The winner!” Cathy yelled, lifting her hands and jumping up on the toes of her skates.
Scott jumped and spun in midair, landing on one skate. He saw Pete cross the invisible line about five feet away and grinned.
“Well,” said Pete, skating up to where Scott had stopped beside Cathy, “you did it again.”
“You just won’t give up, will you, Pete?” Cathy laughed.
Pete’s blue eyes twinkled. “One of these days!” he said.
Scott remembered the warning cry from one of the boys on the bank and looked up there. They were sitting on a bench and putting
on skates. Even at this distance Scott could see that the skates were the tube kind used in hockey.
“Who are those guys, Scott?” asked Pete.
“I don’t know, but they go to our school,” said Scott.
“The shorter one is Del Stockton,” said Cathy. “I’ve heard Bev talk about him.”
Bev was Judy Kerpa’s sister, and Judy was Cathy’s friend.
“Who’s the tall, skinny kid?” asked Scott.
“I don’t know.”
Scott dug the toe of his right skate into the ice and skated off toward the center,. whipping first to the left and then swinging
in a circle around to the right and back again in a beautiful figure eight.
“Hey, Scott! Wait a minute!”
Scott pulled up short and saw the two boys skating toward him. The shorter one, Del Stockton, waved.
They pulled up in front of Scott, ice chips flying as they came to a quick stop. “Hi!” said the shorter of the two. “I’m Del
Stockton and this is Skinny McCay. I’ve seen you at our school.”
“I’ve seen you, too,” said Scott, wondering how they knew his name.
“Mind racing with me?”
Scott looked at him in surprise. Del was his height and a few pounds lighter. “Why?”
Del grinned and shrugged. His cheeks were pink from the cold. “Okay. Forget it.”
He started to sprint away when Cathy piped up, “Race with him, Scott.”
Del must have heard her, for he quickly stopped and headed back toward them, skating backwards. He was fast, Scott saw, as
fast skating backwards as some kids were skating frontwards. Scott glared at Cathy, thinking,
You had to open your big mouth.
“We’re not betting money,” explained Del. “It’s just for fun.”
“Go ahead, Scott,” urged Cathy. “If there’s no bet, what’re you afraid of?”
Scott shot another glaring look at her. One thing about Cathy: for a young squirt she wasn’t afraid to say what she thought.
Nor, sometimes, did she care whom she embarrassed. Like now.
“Aw, Del,” Skinny McCay spoke up for the first time. “He’s bashful. Let him alone.”
“Yeah, okay.” Del grinned again. “Forget it, Scott. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He started away again, but hadn’t gone more than a yard when Scott stopped him. “Okay. I’ll race with you.”
“Good!” Del swung around in a half-circle and came to a quick stop in front of Scott. “You pick out the starting point and
the finish line.”
“Down here,” Cathy said, and led the group a short distance down the ice to the spot where Scott had started his race with
Pete Sewell. It was between two trees that stood opposite each other on the banks flanking the pond.
“Down around those two rocks and back,” said Del. “Okay?”
“Okay,” echoed Scott. “Give us the count, Cath.”
The boys stood in line and crouched, ready to go.
“One! Two! Three! Go!” yelled Cathy, and the boys took off, their skates biting into the ice as they sprinted toward the rocks
about eighty yards away.
Phut! Phut! Phut!
It was a language only ice skates could speak.
They were even most of the way. Then Scott pulled ahead. He stayed ahead as he reached the rock on the right-hand side and
skated sharply around it, keeping his turning
circle less than five feet beyond the rock. Heading back on the return trip to the finish line he glanced at Del Stockton
and saw the boy make the turn even more sharply around the rock on the left-hand side.
Del had gained a few feet on Scott as he came around the turn, but Scott remained in the lead by about four feet. Del stepped
up his pace, his arms swinging back and forth as he tried to close the gap between him and Scott.
“Come on, Scott! Come on!” yelled Cathy.
Scott put on more speed. He crossed the finish line and knew he had won, even if Cathy hadn’t jumped and shouted as she did.
“You won, Scott! You won!”
He slowed up and glided around to meet Del coming toward him. They stopped and Del stuck out his hand, smiling. “I guess I
should have kept my mouth shut,” he said. “You’re really a fast skater.”
“Thanks,” said Scott.
“Can you skate backwards?”
“Hardly.”
“You ought to practice it,” suggested Del.
Scott looked down and noticed Del and Skinny McCay both were wearing hockey skates.
“Ever play hockey?” asked Del.
“Never.”
“Be at Cass Rink tonight at six-thirty,” said Skinny. “We play with the Gold Bears in the Bantam Hockey League. If you want
to play, maybe Coach Roberts will put you on one of the lines.”
Scott had thought about playing hockey, but had never had the nerve to go out for it.
“You think he would?” he asked, trying not to show how pleased he was at the prospect of playing.
“You’re a lot faster skater than most of the guys we’ve got,” said Del. “He should.”
“We’ll be the Three Icekateers,” smiled Skinny.
For a long minute Scott stood there, moving back and forth on his skates. Cathy and Pete were jabbering about something, but
he didn’t hear a word they said.
T
here’s one catch,” said Del. “If you play you’ll have to get your own stick and skates. Those won’t do.” He pointed at the
flat-bottomed skates Scott was wearing.
“You can get your stuff at Fred’s Sporting Goods,” drawled Skinny. “Tell ’em you’re playing with us and they’ll give you a
discount.”
Scott thought of the bank in his room where he put part of his allowance each week and whatever money he earned from shoveling
neighbors’ sidewalks and driveways. He knew he did not have enough to buy a hockey stick and skates.
He looked at his wristwatch and saw that it was close to five-thirty. Mom would have supper ready in fifteen to twenty minutes.
Six-thirty would come before he knew it.
“C’mon, Cath,” he said, “we’d better get home. So long, Del… Skinny! Glad to have met you!”
“Same here!” they called back to him.
Scott and Cathy skated to the bench, took off their skates, and put on their shoes. Pete went along with them. He lived next
door. Because he had no brother or sister he usually trailed after either Scott and Cathy or one of the other neighbors.
They walked home, their skates strung over their shoulders. It was a ten-minute walk to Chippewa, their street. The name of
the town was Shattuck. Scott and Cathy had lived here all their lives.
Pete said good-bye and walked up the snowpacked driveway leading to his home.
As Scott and Cathy walked up their own driveway they saw a light in the garage and figured that Dad was tinkering with the
car again.
“Hi, Dad!” shouted Scott.
“Hello!” came Dads voice from inside the garage. As the children headed for the kitchen door they saw Dad crouched over the
right front fender, his head hidden behind the upraised hood of the car.
“Tell your mother I’ll be in for supper in two shakes!” he yelled to them.
Scott smelled something good cooking the moment he opened the door. “Chicken and dumplings!” he cried. “Man! Will I go for
that!”
“Was wondering how soon you’d be home,” said Mom, coming in from the dining room, where she had just set the table. She looked
like a young girl with her curly dark hair and
her petite figure. “Hurry. Suppers about ready.”
Both Scott and Cathy were finished washing when Dad came in. He tossed his coat over a chair, then washed his greasy hands.
He was all of six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. His stomach bulged a little bit, though, a condition Mom—and sometimes
the children—kidded him about.
They sat at the table and said in unison, “Bless this food and us, O Lord, and thank you for the gifts you have given us this
day. Amen.”
“And please help me get on the Golden Bears hockey team,” added Scott.
Three pair of eyes focused on him. “What was that?” asked Dad.
“He’s going to play hockey with the Golden Bears!” Cathy cried before Scott had a chance to answer.
“Wait a minute, will you?” snapped Scott. “Nobody is
sure
I am,”
“All right,” said Mom. “Back off, both of you, and let’s hear it from the beginning—from Scott.”
Scott sighed. “Well,” he began, and told it from the beginning, except that there wasn’t much to tell and he had to leave
soon to be at Cass Rink by six-thirty.
“So you have to furnish a hockey stick and skates yourself,” said Dad.
“I haven’t checked my bank yet,” said Scott, “but I don’t think I’ve enough to buy both. I’m going to ask Buck Weaver if I
can sell papers for him for a week. I know he’ll let me. He hates his paper route in the wintertime.”
He arrived at Cass Rink a few minutes before six-thirty. It was crowded with kids, and so noisy you couldn’t hear yourself
think. All except three boys wore regular clothes, with
sweaters or jackets. Each had on a helmet and each had a hockey stick and wore skates. The three boys, Scott was sure, were
goalies from the looks of their heavy, padded uniforms, extra-large sticks, and shin guards.
“There he is!” a voice shouted above the din. “Hey, Scott!”
Skinny McCay broke from the crowd and sprinted toward him. Del trailed. He didn’t seem as excited about seeing Scott as Skinny
did.
“Hi,” greeted Scott. He felt jittery, scared. “Everybody’s got a stick,” he said. “And a helmet.”
“Don’t worry,” drawled Skinny. “Coach Roberts will get you a stick and a helmet even if he has to take it from somebody.”
Scott smiled. If Skinny skated as slowly as he talked he would be next to useless!
“C’mon,” said Skinny. “We’ll introduce you to Coach Roberts.”
We? Del didn’t seem to care whether he went along or not.
Scott saw a man surrounded by several kids near the goal netting and followed Skinny to him.
“Coach Roberts!” cried Skinny
The coach looked up. He was tall and thin and wore a blue turtleneck sweater. “Hi, Skinny.”
Skinny skated up to him with Scott close behind. “This is the kid I was telling you about, Coach. Scott Harrison.”
The coach smiled and put out his hand. Scott gripped it. “Hi, Scott. Heard you beat Del Stockton in a race.”
Scott shrugged shyly.
“Ever play hockey?”
“Just shinny,” said Scott.
“Then you’ve got some learning to do. But don’t worry. It won’t take you long—not if you’re fast on your skates.” He glanced
at Scott’s skates. “You’ll have to get hockey skates. But I’ll let you get away with those today. Don’t you have a stick?”