Roller Hockey Radicals (3 page)

Kirby couldn’t believe his ears. “I don’t want to find other friends!” he yelled. “I want these friends!”

Ignoring his parents’ shocked faces, he stormed out of the kitchen. He hated it when his parents treated him like a baby.
Kicking a pebble as far as he could, he trudged into the garage and started rummaging through boxes of stuff. He pulled out
an old deflated basketball, a skateboard with a wheel missing, and a pair of muddy soccer cleats.

As he did, he remembered when his mother had packed the gear up. She had commented
wryly that he was pretty hard on sports equipment, then asked him if he still wanted it all or if they could get rid of it
before the move.

“Don’t throw it out!” he had insisted. “I might use it again someday.”

His mother had given him a disbelieving look and mumbled something about his trying out sports like he was trying on new clothes:
If he didn’t like them after a few months, he just tossed them aside. But she had packed up the gear anyway.

Now Kirby fished around, looking for his old hockey stuff. After a minute of searching, he found it and tried putting it on.
It was all too tight on him.

Well, thought Kirby, at least that means I’m getting bigger.

On the other hand, it also meant that if he was able to convince his parents to let him play, there was no way he could use
the equipment. Worse than being too small, his old stuff was for
playing goalie. He didn’t want to play goalie anymore. In ice hockey, he’d never liked standing there in goal while everybody
else was skating around. Especially since he’d always been faster on skates than any of his friends. And another thing he
hated about playing goalie — the worst part — was being shot at.

Besides, he wasn’t about to make an enemy of Lainie by competing for her spot.

Kirby started to take the gear off but then had an idea. Maybe if his parents saw how small it was on him, they’d realize
that he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He waddled back inside, in full regalia.

His mother took one look at him and smiled ruefully. “Oh, my!” she said. “That outfit doesn’t fit you anymore, does it?”

“Well, it
is
two years old. I’ve grown up a lot since you bought it.” He started to take the equipment off, then glanced up at his parents.
“I’m sorry I yelled before. But listen, I didn’t get lost today, did I? I used the map.” He pulled it
from his back pocket to prove his point.

“Plus, their goalie lives close to here, so I can always come most of the way home with her, like I did today.” Of course,
G Street was only two blocks closer than E Street, but he decided not to mention that.

“And all the kids I met today were really nice,” he added. Not counting, of course, the two boys he had run into on Bates
Avenue. But after all, they didn’t count. He wasn’t going to be playing hockey with them, was he?

His father heaved a sigh.

“All that may be true, but as you’re so clearly demonstrating, you don’t have the proper equipment even if we did agree to
let you play. And given how your interest in a particular sport usually fades after a short time, I’m not sure your mother
and I are ready to lay down money on expensive new equipment for you.”

Thinking back to the stuff he had just unearthed in the garage, Kirby knew better than
to protest. So he took a different tactic instead.

“What if I work around the house to help pay you back for new equipment?” he asked.

His father shook his head. “Even if you save your allowance, it’s not just money that’s the problem. Beyond everything else
we’ve mentioned, we’re against the idea of you playing in the street. If you want to skate, there are plenty of sidewalks
right here in our neighborhood. But playing hockey in the street just sounds dangerous.”

“What?” Taken by surprise, Kirby looked from his mom to his dad and back again. “You used to let me skate in the street back
in Minford. Just so long as I was careful, you said it was okay. And no more than two or three cars came down E Street the
whole time I was there!”

There was a short silence. Then his mom said to his father, “Well, he’s got a point there. But that doesn’t mean we’re in
favor of you playing,” she added quickly as Kirby’s face brightened. “We just don’t know enough about this town, its
streets, or your new friends yet. I’m sorry, Kirby, but until we do, I want you to stick around here.”

“I’m telling you, it’s not dangerous!” Kirby insisted. But he could tell his words were falling on deaf ears. After all, what
did he know? He was just their son.

If only someone else could talk to them, and make them see reason. If only he could call one of the kids from E Street.

Unfortunately he didn’t remember any of their last names. Lainie had told him hers, but he couldn’t remember it, except that
it was also the name of somebody famous.

And then there was that Marty kid.… Lainie had called him by his last name once. What was it… ?

“Bledsoe!” Kirby shouted out loud, remembering. He went over to the kitchen phone, dialed Information, and asked for Bledsoe.
Sure enough, there was one — a Kenneth and Ilene Bledsoe, on Ridley Lane. Kirby wrote down the number and dialed it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is Marty there?”

“Speaking. Who’s this?”

“This is Kirby. Remember me from today? The short kid?”

“Oh, yeah. Did I give you my number?”

“I got it from Information. Listen, could you do me a favor? I’m trying to convince my parents to let me play hockey with
you guys. But they’re freaking out. They’ve already said I can’t come to your practice tomorrow. They say it’s too dangerous,
that E Street is too busy, and the new equipment is too expensive.”

“They don’t know what they’re talking about, okay? First of all, in roller hockey, you’re not allowed to check with the body.
Anybody makes heavy contact, it’s a penalty, understand? So it’s not even really a contact sport. And because you wear padding,
you don’t have to worry about getting hit with the puck or a stick. Worst you can do is fall on your rear and stuff like that.
As for expensive, you can get used gear pretty cheap.”

“You can?” Kirby felt his heart pounding. Things were definitely looking up. “Listen, can you tell this all to my parents?”

“Sure, but they won’t believe me. I’m just a kid. Hold on, and I’ll put my parents on with them.”

“Fantastic!” Kirby turned to his parents, who had been watching the whole time. “Mom! Dad! Pick up the phone. Somebody wants
to talk to you.”

His dad went into the living room to grab the cordless extension, and his mom took the phone from Kirby. Five minutes later,
after a real gabfest, Kirby’s parents hung up.

“Well, what do you know?” Kirby’s dad said as he came back into the kitchen. “Looks like we’ve got our first dinner invitation
here in Valemont — all thanks to you, son!”

Kirby smiled and said a quiet “Yes!” under his breath. Maybe the Bledsoes would talk his parents into letting him play!

T
he next morning, Kirby busied himself unpacking his things and setting up his new room. It was definitely bigger than his
old room, which had basically been the attic, dressed up to look like a small bedroom. But Kirby had liked the way the ceiling
slanted low over the top of the bed. Every once in a while, after reading to him, his dad would bump his head on the wall
with a big thud. It was never as bad as it sounded, but it always made Kirby giggle to see his dad look so silly — and his
dad had always laughed, too. Kirby was going to miss his old room.

Still, this one had a lot to recommend it. There was a big double closet, instead of the tiny one with the low door, into
which he’d had to cram
every last thing in the world he wasn’t using. Here, he’d actually be able to get organized.

He started looking through the posters that used to hang on the walls of his old room, to see which ones he wanted to put
up now. Funny, but they didn’t look as cool to him as they used to. He was getting too old for the animal ones, and the movie
ones were of old, old movies — at least two years old!

One of the sports ones was of Mario Lemieux. He’d since retired from hockey, but for some reason, Kirby really wanted to hang
up that poster of him. Maybe it was because of what had happened on E Street the day before. At any rate, he taped it up right
next to where his head would be when he lay down to sleep. It would be the last thing he would see tonight — and every night
— before he turned out the light. Cool.

Tonight. They’d be going over to the Bledsoes for dinner tonight. Kirby could hardly wait. He hoped Marty would want to be
friends, apart from skating. Kirby missed his old friends. He
wondered what Evan and Rachel and Devon were up to. Probably ice-skating to keep cool.

After lunch, Kirby finished putting his room together, then helped his mom move some light pieces of furniture around to different
spots to see how they looked. By the time they were finished, it was three-thirty.

His thoughts turned to the E Street Skates. They’d be expecting him to play in half an hour. Would Marty bother to explain
why he wasn’t going to show up? Maybe Marty had already told the others about his parents. They’d probably think his folks
were weird.

No, he decided. They would think
he
was weird for not standing up to his parents more. They’d think he was a total wimp.

Am
I a wimp? he wondered. Kirby thought about it for a minute, then decided he wasn’t. It wasn’t like he was afraid to play
or anything. He just wasn’t the kind of kid who’d go against his parents’ orders. If the kids didn’t like him because of that,
too bad.

Anyhow, after tonight, it wouldn’t be a problem. Marty and his parents would surely be able to convince his parents that playing
in-line hockey in the street was safe.

Yeah. He could hardly wait for dinner at the Bledsoes. He was feeling hungry already.

“No, no, no!” Mr. Bledsoe let out a big belly laugh and slapped Kirby’s dad warmly on the knee. “Dangerous? My goodness, the
kids barely touch each other!”

“They’re not allowed to check each other at all,” Mrs. Bledsoe added. She was a tall, pretty woman who looked like an athlete,
with dark brown hair, suntanned skin, and a bright smile. Marty’s dad was huge in every way — tall, with a big belly and a
shock of dark hair that kept falling down his forehead. He was a lawyer, and Kirby thought he must be a good one, because
he sure seemed to be convincing the jury tonight.

In fact, the four grown-ups seemed to be getting along great. Now, just when Kirby was about
to explode with impatience, the subject of hockey had finally come up.

“You know, the equipment can get pretty expensive,” Kirby’s dad was saying. “We spent quite a bit on a goalie outfit for Kirby
a couple years ago, and he’s already grown out of it.”

Mrs. Bledsoe came to the rescue. “Well, we know!” she agreed. “It’s outrageous how much sports equipment can cost if you let
it get out of hand. That’s why the parents in Valemont set up a used sports gear exchange!”

“Oh, that sounds just fantastic!” Kirby’s mom said, brightening.

“Yes,” Mrs. Bledsoe went on, “in fact, we’re having the next one Saturday morning at the middle school. You’ll be able to
pick up anything you need there — just bring along that old goalie outfit and whatever else you might not need anymore.”

“Well, then, that’s one problem solved,” Kirby’s dad said. “Now, what about the traffic?”

“I’ll be honest with you, Phil,” Mr. Bledsoe
replied, leaning forward. “There
are
occasional cars, but the kids are real careful. And the times I’ve been there, there’s never been any traffic to speak of.
It’s almost like playing on a dead end.”

“So you’ve watched them play a good bit?” Kirby’s dad asked.

“Yeah, it’s wonderful,” Mr. Bledsoe replied. “We’ve never had any problem with Marty skating there. Now, I can understand
your concern, but you have nothing to worry about. You’ll like the kids — they’re a nice bunch, and we parents all get along,
too. When they have a game, a lot of us show up to cheer them on. Once in a while we have a team family barbecue. It’s a real
social thing.”

“Well, that’s good,” Kirby’s mom said. Kirby knew she was looking to make friends of her own here in Valemont. “And you’re
sure about the traffic, and the violence of the game.”

“Oh, yes, Mary,” Marty’s mom said, putting a hand on her arm. “You needn’t worry. I know
there are some kids out there who watch the professional ice hockey games on TV and think they can start banging the other
kids with their bodies and sticks in roller hockey, too. But it isn’t like that on E Street.”

“What about the teams they play against?” Kirby’s mom asked.

There was a silence that went on a little too long. Kirby saw that Marty was biting his lip.

“Well,” Marty’s dad spoke up, “the Bates Avenue team has some older kids on it — one’s even fifteen, I think. And a couple
of them can get a little rough. But none of the kids has ever gotten seriously hurt.”

Kirby thought that would make his parents feel better about it. But looking at them, he saw them exchange a worried glance.

Mr. Bledsoe spoke up. “Marty, why don’t you take Kirby up and show him your room, okay?”

Marty took the hint, and he and Kirby headed upstairs. But when they reached the landing,
Kirby stopped Marty, putting a finger to his lips. Marty understood, and they sat on the stairs to listen.

Marty’s dad was still talking. “Look, Phil, Mary, let me be frank with you. I don’t think you’re doing the boy any favors
by forbidding him to play. Stop me if you think I’m out of bounds here, but why don’t you at least give him a chance? It might
be the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“I know he wants very much to be a part of it,” Kirby’s mom said. “And I do want him to make friends here. But you know, Kirby’s
not a big boy, he’s small and thin, and I dread the thought of him getting knocked around by some rough fifteen-year-old.”

“I understand, Mary,” Marty’s dad assured her. “Look, you two have got to make your own decisions. I just couldn’t let the
chance go by without speaking my piece. Would you like some dessert, by the way?”