Undergrounders (8 page)

Peter had a bit of a hissy fit, which reminded me of J.J. Lou gave me the puck. “Start behind the net. Skate with it until you feel pressure, then pass it to an open wing. If you get it in the offensive zone, look to Collin for the big slapper.” He turned to the bench. “Daniel, take Jonny’s place on the kill.”

I took the puck behind the net like he told me and came out the right side. Michael charged me, but I expected that and switched it inside and got past him. That Daniel kid covered Derrick, so I kept going.
Rasheed drifted wide right. The defenceman, Simon, had one hand on the stick and the other up in the air like he was answering a question or something. I dangled the puck behind me, head-faked to the inside, then bounced outside. I’d practised that ten thousand times at the rink and it was second nature. Simon fell for the inside move and I was in alone.

Nicholas came way out. Was he crazy? That made it easy for me. I took it hard to my backhand and stuffed it in before he could jam his pad against the post.

Lou waved me over. He still didn’t look happy. “You forced your wingers to hold up at the blue line, and I think Derrick was offside on that goal. Pass once you get open, or get to the red line and dump it into the corner.”

Wasn’t the point of the game to score?

“So I shouldn’t carry it in by myself?”

“Not all the time. We need to work on our passing too.” He slapped my shoulder. “But as the kids say, that was sweet.”

That made me feel better.

“Let’s try it again,” Lou shouted.

I was happy to. This was more fun than eating a hot dog at the station, than ten Chinese buns, even more fun than hanging with Lewis on the couch. This was real hockey, with other kids, in an indoor arena. I could have played forever.

• • •

After the practice ended two other adults, the assistant coaches, began collecting the pucks, and all the players
headed off the ice. I looked for a loose puck to take a few more shots. I didn’t want this to end. We’d gone over the power play a few more times — and I did pretty good. Rasheed and I scored a few times, and Collin blasted in two from the point off my passes.

“Hey, Jonathon. Like, how many did you score?”

Collin and Rasheed skated over.

“I dunno. A couple, I guess.”

“A couple,” Collin snorted. “I think a couple hundred is more like it.” He put his arm around my neck. “I can’t believe how a little guy like you can skate with the puck all the time and never get hit — and that shot! You got a cannon, harder than mine, and I’m way bigger.”

Rasheed squeezed my arm. “Small but strong. Check out these pipes.”

That probably came from climbing the ladder in and out of the Underground.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Lou called out to me.

I joined him at the boards. The two other adults were there also.

“This is Ian and Malcolm,” Lou said. “They’re the assistant coaches. We all liked what we saw.”

“Maybe we need to work on some positioning and passing,” Malcolm added.

“And we love that shot,” Ian said.

“I confess I was worried about the size factor,” Lou said. “You skate like the wind and always keep your head up.” He rubbed his chin with his hand. “So do you
think you’re up for it?”

“Up for what?”

Lou laughed. “Up for joining the Rangers. We’d love to have you play for the rest of the season.”

“We just have to work out something for the fee,” Malcolm said.

I hated that Malcolm. Of course, they’d charge me to play. I was so dense sometimes.

“Maybe your parents can call us,” Malcolm continued.

Not likely!

“Is that going to be a problem?” Lou asked quietly.

More like impossible. “My uncle just bought me skates, and a stick, and gloves. I don’t think I can ask him for more; and my mom doesn’t have … she won’t be able to … she told me that …”

The coaches were just looking at me.

“Thanks for the equipment and everything. I’ll leave it in the dressing room,” I said.

“Hold on, son,” Lou said. “I hate to think a boy with your natural talent can’t play because of money — hockey’s too expensive as it is.” He waved his hand. “Forget the fee. We have enough money for this year.”

He held out his hand. “Welcome to the Rangers.” I couldn’t believe it. I shook his hand, and then shook with Ian and Malcolm, although I noticed Malcolm snuck a look at Lou that I knew meant he wasn’t happy about the money. But Lou was the boss, so I didn’t care. The Rangers — this was over the top.

“Head on in and we’ll announce it to the team,”
Lou said.

So off we went to the dressing room. I heard Rasheed laughing as Lou pushed the door open.

“I never miss,” Rasheed was saying. Collin’s mouth was wide open and Rasheed was about to let fly with a tape ball.

“Hold it down to a dull roar,” Lou said. “And you can drop the tape, Rasheed.”

Rasheed laughed and threw the tape into a garbage can.

“Swish! A trey,” Rasheed said, holding his arms over his head.

“Jonny has agreed to join the Rangers family in place of Brandon,” Lou announced.

The room went real quiet, which kind of worried me. Rasheed clapped and said, “Awesome,” and Collin said, “That’s great, coach.” Everyone else just sat there. Peter and Jacob were obviously mad. Derrick didn’t look too stoked either. It was hard to tell about the others.

Lou clapped me on the shoulder. “I’ll need you to sign some forms, and also for your parents to sign the insurance waiver. Get changed and I’ll get them for you from the car.”

I was too stunned to answer. It all happened so fast. I’d actually made a hockey team, like a regular kid. I was a Reggie!

I sat next to Rasheed, and Collin came over.

“This is seriously cool, dude,” Collin said. “With you we might actually win a game.”

Rasheed and Collin high-fived. I took off my helmet and started to untie my skates, trying hard to keep calm. I felt like jumping up and down and screaming like crazy, because I was so stoked.

If those loser Undergrounders could see me now!

I coughed until I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my head. That stupid Rose must have made me sick. My cough sounded like hers. J.J. had it too. Last night Will threw a total fit because we all couldn’t stop coughing.

“This spot sucks eggs,” J.J. said, hugging himself around the chest and rubbing his sides with his hands. “How much have you hawked?”

I dug out some change. J.J. snorted. “A dollar! Great. I only got fifty cents. What are we gonna buy for that?”

I knew he was lying because I was lying too. I’d hidden another dollar in my sock.

“Not our fault. It’s too cold to hawk. The Reggies aren’t walkin’ around.”

“Let’s try near the TV station,” he suggested.

“Will said to wait here,” I said.

“Will Schmill,” J.J. sneered. He was always talking tough when people weren’t around. “This is dumb. Come on.”

But I wanted to hang around because I had a hockey game tonight and I needed to get my equipment. Besides, Will and Rose were hawking at the subway station and we were going to pool our money
for food, which I could use because my money was getting low and I’d skipped eating this morning.

“Let’s wait another minute,” I offered.

“Don’t be dumb. I want to go. This is lame.”

“What’s so great about the TV station? It’s way lamer.”

“You’re being lame. You afraid to go there or something?”

“That’s dumb. I’ve been there like a thousand times.”

J.J. shrugged. “Then a thousand and one won’t kill you.” He turned and headed down the street.

No way I’d let myself look like a weenie to J.J. He’d tell everyone that I was too scared. I’ve got to admit that I was nervous about it. A lot of Streeters hung out there. I’d heard about fights breaking out and worse — not good for a guy whose nickname is Mouse.

And sure enough a pile of Streeters were in front. The station had huge windows so you could look in from the sidewalk. Sometimes they even had rock stars inside performing, or so Lewis told me.

“We shouldn’t bother,” I tried one last time. “There’s too much competition to hawk here.”

“I wanna see the studio,” J.J. insisted.

He is such an idiot.

“We won’t make any money. There’s like ten Streeters and they all …”

“Forget you. I’m gonna look.”

I really wanted to brain the guy. He was so stubborn, although I admit he didn’t seem scared. J.J. slipped past some Streeters I didn’t recognize and
pushed his way to the front, and practically pressed his nose into the glass. I couldn’t have cared less and stayed back. I needed money more than to see some doofus rock star. I needed the rent and I wanted a Chinese bun, and if I could swing it I was totally in the mood for a Coke.

The next second I was sprawled out on the sidewalk and looking up at a big hunk of nasty named W5.

“If it ain’t Lewis’s little doggie.”

Why would W5 be after me? Yesterday I’d dropped a package off and everything was fine. I sat up.

“What’s the deal?” I said, rubbing my back.

He kneeled down and grabbed me by the shirt. “Tell that puke Lewis that he owes me fifty bucks, and I’d better get it soon or he’ll be dead. I mean it.”

The two jerks next to him thought that was hilarious. I picked myself off the ground, went over and pulled on J.J.’s sleeve. “We gotta go. No action here. Will’s waiting for us.”

He kept his stupid face pressed up against the window. “Chill. There’s a show on.”

“We’re going,” I hissed, pulling his arm. I was so mad at him I swear my head was going to explode.

“Let go, you freakin’ … What’re ya doing?”

The loser put up such a fuss everyone was looking — not good.

“I don’t think he wants to dance with you,” W5 said real loud.

That got a big laugh, of course. I let J.J. go. “I’m leaving,” I whispered.

A big hand closed on my shoulder and a thumb dug under my collarbone. It hurt so bad I was paralysed by the pain.

It was W5. “Why so eager?” He eyed me real close. “I bet you’re loaded.”

My heart was about to jump out of my chest.

“Let’s see what you got in your pockets,” he growled, and slapped me kind of hard across the face.

“I … I … don’t have anything,” I managed.

“Prove it.”

He let me go, but now his friends had me surrounded — no escape. And then out of the corner of my eye, what do I see but J.J. crossing the street. Stupid jerk.

“Start with the right pocket,” Scrunchy Face ordered. His hair was greasier than usual. I pulled the pocket out. “Now the other one,” he said.

This time the loonie fell out, and Scrunchy Face picked it up. “I thought you didn’t have nothin’,” he snarled. His breath smelled gross, like fried chicken. “I bet he’s got more. Let me work him over and find out.” He pulled me by my collar.

“I don’t have more, I swear. I gotta go meet someone. I gotta … I gotta …”

“I gotta. I gotta,” W5 mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

Scrunchy Face threw me to the ground. “You look scared,” he said. “Is it ’cause you’re about to get pounded?”

Lewis had taught me what to do in a street fight.
Get the first shot in, and hit him where it hurts. Then run like the wind. I got to my feet.

“Should I start with your face, or loosen you up with a couple of body shots?”

“Start with this,” I yelled, and smashed him right in the crown jewels. I didn’t wait for more questions. I sprinted across the street, and kept going even though I heard car tires screeching.

“You’re dead, dude. Dead!”

I didn’t dare look back. J.J. was such a traitor! They were going to kill me for sure, especially if they found the loonie in my sock. Where should I go? They’d get me soon. Big kids are fast. The only thing I could think of was the Theatre. Maybe Will or Rose would be there, not that they could do much against W5.

I turned the corner and snuck a look. W5 was catching up. I kept running, dodging Reggies the whole way. No one gave me a second look; who was going to help a street kid? My legs hurt and so did my shoulder where W5 grabbed me. I’d be hurt a lot more when he caught me.

“No chance, puke. Stop or I’ll punish you worse.”

I came to a red light but I didn’t stop for a second. A big truck came barrelling down the street and W5 had to wait, which let me turn the corner again and get a lead. I turned down a small street behind the Theatre. Up ahead was the garbage bin. Something crazy came to me. I looked back and they hadn’t turned down the alley yet. Without thinking I jumped up and rolled into the bin, pulling some bags over my head, praying he
hadn’t seen me. The smell was unreal — rotten eggs mixed with vomit, I swear. But that was nothing compared with the torture of waiting for him to find me.

I forced myself not to make a sound — not to move a muscle — not to even breathe — so I held my breath for as long as I could before taking another one real quiet. Try doing that when you have a cough. I thought my lungs were going to burst.

I heard someone run by but couldn’t be sure it was him. At least the garbage was soft. Maybe it was from a restaurant, because I know there’s one in the Theatre. I counted to a hundred three times, and then slowly peeked out the top of the bin.

I took my first deep breath; the coast was clear. I pushed the garbage bags off, and then slumped back down. This is great, I thought: sitting in garbage, the nastiest Streeter in the world after me, J.J. runs off, I smell like crap, and I have my first hockey game tonight with the Rangers. Maybe because no one was around, but for whatever reason a tear snuck out of my eye, and after that I couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t I just play hockey all the time? On the ice, I didn’t think about the Underground or Streeters, or always being hungry, or living with idiots who bugged me, or missing my mom so much I got a sick feeling in my stomach.

Thank God the tears finally ran out. What really sucked was I’d lost my extra dollar to W5 and couldn’t buy a Coke unless I hawked some more cash. Fat chance of that, smelling like this, and I felt my butt was all wet
from something — now that was gross.