Roller Hockey Radicals (9 page)

Seeing them, Killer skated over to Marty, who was standing with Kirby, both of them all suited up and ready to play.

“Who do those clowns think they are, showing up here in uniform like that?” Killer asked Marty. “This is
our
rink, not theirs. They don’t even live around here.”

“They’re from Bakersville,” Marty told him.

“We invited them to watch,” Kirby added. “And to play the winner.”

“Oh, yeah?” Killer said with a scowl. “Who told you you could do that?”

“We didn’t figure we needed your permission,” Marty said flatly. “Anyway, we’re going to beat you, so don’t let it bother
you.”

“Like fun, you are,” Killer shot back. “We’ll wipe the floor with you guys, and then we’ll take care of them.” He turned and
skated away, motioning to his team to join him at the faceoff circle.

“Great,” Marty said. “Now we’ve got them mad, and we haven’t even started.”

Sure enough, the Bad Boys played their roughest game yet. It seemed like they were deliberately trying to hit Marty’s bad
shoulder. Marty managed to avoid reinjuring it, but he had to take it easy in order to protect it. That made him less effective.

Trevor kept taking wild shots at the goal, even from impossible angles. He hogged the puck worse than ever, never letting
Kirby get off a shot, though he did get open a few times.

The Bad Boys crowded the Skates’ goal crease
time after time, pushing Jamal and Nick around. Even Lainie got a few scrapes and bruises.

The game ended with another Bad Boy victory — 3 to zip. Afterward, Jamal’s friend Chris came over to the Skates, holding a
cup of lemonade. “Listen,” he said. “We’re not playing those guys. No way. Not without a referee.”

“But we’ve got a ref!” Nick said, then stopped himself. “Next week, that is.”

“Well, we’ll have to play next week, then,” Chris said. “I’m not going anywhere near those guys without a ref. They play dirty.”

“Tell us about it,” Marty agreed. “But don’t worry. There’ll be a ref here. We’re paying for him. That lemonade you’re drinking?
That’s his salary.”

Chris finished his drink and nodded. “No wonder it was so expensive,” he said. “Okay, see you next week. And he’d better be
here, or we’re gone.”

“You got it,” Marty promised. And as Chris
moved off again, he muttered, “Boy, I sure hope Clayton shows up.”

Clayton Brown had played ice hockey at the high school for two seasons. At six feet tall and over two hundred pounds, he was
big enough to break up any fight, Kirby noted with satisfaction. He had agreed to referee for a modest fee. Even better, he
had shown up on time, whistle, black-and-white-striped shirt, and all.

He introduced himself to all the members of both teams, while about thirty fans, including the Rocky Raccoons, sat on the
sidelines, sipping lemonade and munching on cookies, this week’s new fund-raising addition.

“This is going to be awesome!” Kirby whispered as he and the other E Street Skates stood at the center faceoff circle.

“You can say that again!” Marty whispered back. “But to make it really awesome, we’ve got to beat the Bad Boys.”

“We’re going to,” Lainie said. “No way I’m going to let them score.”

“I’m going to pepper them with so many shots they won’t know what hit them!” Trevor said.

The ref blew his whistle, and the players gathered for the opening faceoff. Killer looked straight into Marty’s eyes and said,
“I hope your shoulder’s ready.”

For a second, Kirby wondered if he meant it in a friendly way or if it was more of a threat. The look in Killer’s eyes gave
him his answer.

For this game, Marty had decided to play defense. That meant Kirby would start the game as a forward, taking Marty’s old spot.
Nobody argued with the decision, not even Jamal, who had to start the game on the bench as a sub.

So after the Bad Boys took the faceoff, Marty dropped back. With his big, athletic body and good speed facing them, the Bad
Boys were unable to muscle through to get off any good shots at Lainie. Meanwhile, Marty kept knocking the
puck off their sticks and sending it toward Trevor and Kirby. Yes, Kirby, thought. Marty was definitely completely healthy
again.

But every time Kirby got the puck on his stick, the Bad Boy defender would rush right at him, forcing him to twist and turn
out of the way. Kirby wasn’t able to control the puck while doing it. Three times, the defender actually ran into Kirby. That
got Trevor and the other Skates yelling at the referee to call a penalty for bodychecking.

The referee refused to whistle it, though. “He was going for the puck, not the body,” he insisted, motioning for the teams
to keep playing.

Kirby’s bruises were real, though. And he knew that the hits were intentional. The Bad Boys were trying to intimidate the
new guy, the little kid — the geek. It made him mad, and every time his arm or leg ached, it made him madder.

Seeing that the referee wasn’t going to call the penalties for banging into the other team, the Bad Boys just got rougher.
It was what they did
best; never mind that it was against the rules. The crowd was roaring — some in protest of the rough play, some in support
of the Bad Boys. Kirby guessed that those would be their parents.

Once again, Marty got Kirby the puck. And again, the defender came up and knocked Kirby down.

“Come on, ref! Where’s the penalty?” Trevor screamed, but the ref just shook his head.

As Kirby got to his feet again, he could see Marty rushing madly at the kid who’d knocked Kirby over.

“Marty! No!” Kirby shouted. But it was too late. Marty barreled into the kid from behind, sending him flying forward. The
whistle blew long and loud, and the ref pointed right at Marty.

“No!” Marty yelled. “No, no, no! He hit our guy first!”

“I saw you,” the ref said. “I didn’t see him. Two minutes for roughing.”

Marty slammed his stick down so hard that it broke, and headed for the sideline. Jamal skated
up to him and squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Marty,” he said. “We’ll take care of them.”

Jamal had the heart of a great hockey player, all right. Unfortunately his athletic skills were not the greatest. The Bad
Boys took quick advantage of Marty’s absence. Less than a minute into his penalty, they finally whacked the puck past Lainie
into the net, after a seven-shot barrage.

Lainie slammed her stick into the net in fury. “Your fault, ref!” she shouted. “Get some glasses, huh?”

The ref’s face reddened in anger and embarrassment. “Hey, I’m just trying to let you guys play instead of stopping the game
every two minutes,” he said. “But if that’s what you want, you got it!” He skated away. Watching it all, Kirby wondered what
the Rocky Raccoons thought about this referee so far. From the looks on their faces, they didn’t think much of him. For that
matter, neither did Kirby. Too bad he was the only one they had.

Marty came back into the game. But now everyone was being a lot more careful because they knew that the ref was just itching
to blow his whistle the first time anybody even touched anybody else.

That made it easier for Kirby to skate. And when he could skate, he could do it faster than anyone else on either team. He
gave the defenders fits as he darted in and out between them, always looking for the pass from Trevor.

But Trevor, as usual, and especially when he was angry, was shooting every time he got the puck. Kirby had to concentrate
on being in the right place to get a rebound off one of Trevor’s shots.

Seeing this, Marty called out, “Pass, Trevor!”

Trevor turned and cupped his hand to his ear. “What?”

“Pass!”

Trevor shrugged, unable to hear over the roar of the crowd. Marty grabbed the puck off Spike’s stick and skated forward with
it until he was close
to Trevor. “Pass the puck to Kirby,” he said. “He’s open. Look for him.”

“Yeah, okay,” Trevor said. Just as he said it, Killer came up behind Marty and stole the puck from him, heading back down-rink
with it. Spike was with him on the right wing, and before Marty could get back, both Bad Boys had passed Nick and had a free
rush at Lainie.

Killer wound up at close range and fired a shot that hit Lainie square in the helmet. She went down, stunned for a moment,
as Spike flicked in the easy rebound for another score.

The halftime whistle blew moments later, with the score at Bad Boys 2, Skates 0. “Same old story,” Killer mocked as he skated
by the Skates’ bench. “With a referee or without.”

“Let me at him,” Trevor steamed, but Marty forced him back down on the bench.

“Will you get ahold of yourself?” Marty told him. “We’ve got to play our game. We can’t let the Bad Boys upset us so we start
playing like them.”

“Yeah, we could never be as good at being jerks as they are,” Lainie cracked.

Kirby just sat there, breathing hard, exhausted and hurting.

“You okay?” Jamal asked him. “They beat you up pretty bad.”

“My mom’s never going to let me play again,” Kirby said. “I keep telling her it’s a noncontact sport.”

“Well, it’s supposed to be,” Nick said, shrugging. “Those guys just don’t play fair.”

“Yeah, and that ref is letting them get away with it!” Lainie said. “He cost us that first goal, you know.”

“I know,” Marty agreed. “But we can’t let that rattle us. We’ve got one half to go, and we’re two goals down. We need a plan
to get back in this game.”

As Marty sketched plays with his finger on the ground, Kirby looked up and saw that the ref was arguing with some of the Skates’
parents — including his own. His mom and dad looked angry,
and when Kirby’s mom looked over at him, he motioned for her not to get the ref mad.

Kirby read his mom’s lips. She was asking him if he was okay. He nodded vigorously to show that he was. She nodded back, concerned
but looking a little relieved.

“So that’s how we do it, okay?” Marty said. “Put your hands in here. We’re going to show those guys what the sport of roller
hockey is all about.”

They gave their Skates cheer, then skated out for the second half, determined to come back and win.

T
he puck was dropped. The second half began. This time, Nick was on the bench, with Jamal taking his place in the defensive
zone. Quickly the Bad Boys mounted a rush, double-teaming on Jamal’s side.

But Jamal, trying to protect himself from the attack, somehow got his stick on the puck and knocked it away from Spike. The
puck rolled on its edge right onto Marty’s stick. He passed it up to Trevor, then skated forward into the offensive zone.

This was the Skates’ new second-half strategy. Since they were losing, they had to gamble, throwing everything they had at
the Bad Boys’ goal. If they failed, they’d lose the game
by a lopsided score. On the other hand, if they succeeded, they could come from behind.

Trevor skated in, then left the puck for Marty. Marty took it, faked a shot, then passed it over to Kirby without even looking
at him. Kirby wound up for a quick shot.

But Killer had not been sitting around looking surprised all this time. Hurrying back into his own defensive zone, his eyes
flashed from Kirby standing there to Marty with the puck. He got to Kirby just as Kirby was about to shoot, reached out his
stick, and pulled Kirby’s feet out from under him.

Kirby fell forward, his stick in the air, and hit the pavement smack on the front of his helmet. He was so stunned, he didn’t
even hear the referee blow his whistle, calling a penalty on Killer for tripping.

Marty and Trevor came over and kneeled at Kirby’s side. “You okay?” Marty asked. Kirby sort of heard him and knew he was supposed
to answer. But he couldn’t get the words out. Marty
and Trevor helped him to his feet and guided him to the sideline, one of them supporting him on each side.

Kirby sat down and put his head between his legs. He took off his helmet and breathed deeply, trying to get his senses back.
His mom and dad were with him now, he noticed, and his mom was rubbing his back the way she did when he felt nauseated.

He didn’t feel nauseated now, though. In fact, he was already feeling better. And when a cheer went up from the crowd and
he heard Trevor yell, “Yeah! Way to go, Marty!” he knew that his team had scored and that they were back in the game again.

Midway through the second half, with the score still 2-1 in favor of the Bad Boys, Marty called time out, and the team headed
for the bench. “Kirby,” Marty said, “you ready to come back in?”

“I think so,” Kirby said. “Yeah, sure. I’m ready.”

“Good man,” Marty said. “Here’s what we’re
going to do. We’re going to do a line change on the fly. Next time we get possession in our zone, Nick, you get the puck to
me and then head to the bench. When he gets within ten feet, Kirby, you hop out onto the rink, and I’ll feed you the puck
for a clean breakaway.”

“Got it,” Kirby said.

“Got it,” Nick echoed.

“Good. Let’s do it,” Marty said as they headed back out.

Playing decoy, Trevor lost the puck on purpose. As planned, the Bad Boys got excited at their sudden scoring chance, sending
one of their defenders into the forward zone. Nick managed to steal the puck from him when Killer made a drop pass. Then Nick
fed Marty and headed for the sideline. Nobody followed him. The Bad Boys were all concentrating on Marty.

“Go for it!” Nick whispered as Kirby jumped onto the rink surface. At that precise moment, Marty fed him the puck — a long,
perfect pass. Kirby grabbed it.

Only one defender stood between him and the goal. Instead of trying to fake him out — that was how Kirby had kept losing the
puck in the first half — he tried simply outracing him. Kirby went around the player’s right side. Sure enough, the big, lumbering
defenseman could not keep up.

Kirby could hear the Bad Boys yelling, and it made him glad. He focused like a laser on the spot he wanted to shoot for, then
let the puck fly.

Bull’s-eye! Score! Tie game!

The next thing Kirby knew, he was being mobbed by his teammates. They had done it! They had tied the game. But, as Marty soon
reminded them, they had one more goal to score.