Roller Hockey Radicals (6 page)

“C’mon,” Lainie said. “It’s time to meet and beat the competition.”

As they skated over to the Bad Boys, Kirby glanced back at where he’d left his parents.
They were standing with the Bledsoes, who were introducing them to the other parents. Some had brought folding chairs to sit
on as they watched the action — from a safe distance, of course, since a flying puck can be dangerous and spectators don’t
wear protective gear.

The Bad Boys, in their black uniforms with silver numbers, gathered together while Marty went over the rules of play.

“Out of bounds is a frozen puck,” he said. “We’ll have two twenty-two-minute halves, and the clock never stops. Five minutes
between halves. No checking with the stick or the body, understood? Okay. Now for the coin toss. Who’s got a coin?”

Jamal pulled a quarter from his pocket. Killer stepped forward to represent the Bad Boys. Marty reached to shake Killer’s
outstretched hand, but at the last minute, Killer jerked his hand back, sneering. Marty dropped his hand but didn’t say anything.

“Okay, call it in the air.” Jamal flipped the coin.

“Tails!” Marty said. The coin dropped to the ground.

“Yes, tails it is,” Jamal said. “Which goal are we going to defend?”

This, it turned out, was an important choice. The lot sloped slightly downhill, and there were more cracks near the downhill
goal. Marty pointed uphill. “We’ll take that one.”

“Figures. Let’s play,” Killer growled as he skated off to his position.

All the parents started cheering their kids as the teams lined up for the opening faceoff. Kirby skated off to the sideline.
Across from him, four Bad Boy subs waited to enter the game. At least I’m not the only one, thought Kirby.

One of the Bad Boy subs dropped the puck, and the game was on. Marty won the faceoff and got the puck to Trevor, who quickly
skated toward the Bad Boys’ goal. Marty followed him in, but the defense was all over them, grappling for the
puck, which soon came loose. Spike got it on his stick, and passed it across the blue line to Killer.

Right away, Kirby could tell that the Skates were in trouble. Nick had come too far forward on defense, skating himself right
out of the play. Now poor Jamal was all that was left between the Bad Boys and Lainie. Killer made a move as though he was
going to shove Jamal, and Jamal, terrified, ducked. Killer easily skated past him, while Spike went straight for the goal
mouth.

Killer moved in close, faked, then flicked a wrist shot above Lainie’s left shoulder. Somehow, incredibly, she blocked the
shot. But the rebound skittered right onto Spike’s stick!

He shoved it clumsily at the goal. Lainie fell on it. Both Bad Boys hacked at her glove, trying to dislodge it, and before
she or her teammates could think to call the puck dead, one of the Bad Boys had jammed it into the goal.

A shout went up from the parents on the E Street side of the rink. “Come on, guys!” Mr. Bledsoe called. “That puck was dead!”

The Bad Boys paid no attention. They mobbed each other, cheering. One to nothing already, and the game has barely started,
Kirby thought.

After that, the Skates seemed to dig in. Trevor and Marty put some pressure on the offensive end, getting off one or two good
shots whenever they could free themselves from the Bad Boys’ smothering defense.

But the main reason the score remained 1-0 was because every time the puck came into the Skates’ end, Nick and Jamal just
slammed it right back down the rink instead of manuevering for a good pass. There were a lot of icing calls against the Skates,
and that meant a lot of faceoffs in their own end. Luckily Lainie managed to hold off the barrage.

That is, until Trevor tripped over some bad cracks in the pavement, and Killer and Spike mounted another two-on-one rush,
with Nick again too far forward.

This time, when Jamal ducked, his stick caught Spike’s shot and deflected it past Lainie into the
goal. Lainie shrieked in frustration and pounded her stick on the pavement. “Come on, defense!” she yelled at Jamal and Nick.

“Hey, go easy!” Marty told her. “They’re doing the best they can.”

Lainie looked over at Kirby and then at Marty. Marty knew what she meant. “Yeah, okay, take a break, Nick.”

“Me?” Nick seemed stunned. “I’m not tired.”

“I’m tired!” Jamal said, getting to his feet clumsily and skating off the rink.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” shouted a Bad Boy sub, ready at the center faceoff circle. “Get a man in here!”

“Kirby! Go!” shouted Marty. “You’re in for Jamal on defense!”

Kirby grabbed his stick and leapt onto the playing area, giving Jamal five as they crossed paths. “Come on, Kirby, pick me
up,” Jamal said.

Kirby nodded, not even stopping to think that he’d concentrated all week on playing forward. He knew next to nothing about
defense.

As if they knew that, the Bad Boys mounted a rush down his side. Two of them went by, one on either side of him, passing the
puck around behind him before he knew what was happening.

“Come on!” Lainie yelled, after just barely managing to deflect the slap shot. “I need some help back here!”

Kirby felt himself go red under his face mask. But there was no time to feel embarrassed. He had to go after the puck! Moving
quickly, he outhustled Spike for it and flipped it down-rink to Marty.

The pass hit right on Marty’s stick as he flew by Killer, who was stuck to him like glue. Marty had him by a step and fired
from midzone, sending it between the pads of the sprawling goalie. Score!

The half ended with the Skates swarming Marty, their hero. He had gotten them back into the game with his last-minute goal,
just ahead of halftime.

“That was some pass, Kirby,” he said, slapping Kirby five. “Guys, I think we’ve got a player here.”

“Listen, you guys on defense have got to stand your ground,” Lainie complained. “I’m getting killed out there.”

“They’re too much bigger than Jamal and Kirby,” Marty said. “And Nick, you’ve got to stay back to help.”

“But you guys weren’t getting any shots off!” Nick protested.

“He’s right,” Marty said. “We need more muscle on defense and more speed on offense. Kirby, you ready to play forward?”

“Definitely!” Kirby said excitedly. It was the chance he’d been waiting for all week.

“Good. I’ll put in some time on defense. I’m big enough to get in their way.”

“Thank goodness,” Lainie muttered, nodding in approval.

“Will you lay off?” Trevor told her.

Lainie blinked. “You’re right,” she said, backing
off. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little scared is all. They shoot hard.”

“It’s okay,” Marty said. “We’re all a team, and that’s how we win. Put your hands in here.”

They all put their hands together and shouted, “Go… Skates!” It was time for the second half.

The new strategy worked, in a way. The Bad Boys had no success getting the puck past Marty, but on the other hand, Kirby and
Trevor were unable to get off any good shots.

Actually Kirby never got to see much of the puck. Trevor, not knowing if Kirby was any good, was hogging the puck, and getting
it stolen by the Bad Boys time after time.

“I’m open! I’m open!” Kirby would shout. But Trevor, when he could have easily passed to him, didn’t even try. Instead, he
took wild shots.

Kirby realized that if he was ever going to get a shot, he’d have to get the puck on his own. He decided to try to make a
steal in the forward zone.

Before he could succeed, however, he was
subbed for, and Marty went back to playing forward, inserting Jamal on defense. Suddenly Kirby was back on the bench.

Then, about halfway through the period, Marty went down. He tripped over the same crack in the pavement that had surprised
Trevor in the first half and landed hard on his right shoulder. He lay there on the asphalt, writhing in pain. Play came to
an instant stop.

“My shoulder! My shoulder!” Marty was crying. His parents were kneeling down next to him in an instant, and other parents
were asking everyone to back away and give them room.

“It might be dislocated,” Mr. Bledsoe said. “We’d better get him to the emergency room. Can you get up, son?”

Marty got to his feet, still whimpering, his arm hanging limp, as the stunned Skates looked on silently. He skated over to
the gate and got into his parents’ car with them. The Bledsoes sped off.

“Whoa, man!” Trevor said. “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

“Marty’ll be okay,” Lainie said, sounding not too sure of herself. “The question is, will we be okay without him?”

They all looked at each other anxiously as the Bad Boys started calling to them to resume the game or forfeit.

Trevor took over as acting captain. “Okay, Kirby, you’re in at forward again. Let’s go. Let’s win it for Marty!”

With a yell, they took their positions. The puck was dropped, and Trevor won the faceoff, sending it back to Nick at the blue
line.

“Nick! Here!” Kirby shouted. “I’m open!”

Nick passed it toward him, but the Bad Boys had heard Kirby shouting. Spike intercepted the puck, speeding the other way.

Kirby leapt into action, skating so fast that he overtook Spike just as he raised his stick for a slap shot. Reaching underneath,
Kirby swept the puck onto his stick, and Spike fired nothing but air!

Kirby was already across the blue line by the
time anyone realized what had happened. He skated straight in, then faked a shot just as Killer got to him. The Bad Boy captain
tripped as he tried to block the shot, but Kirby had never intended to shoot. Not yet.

Now, with Killer on the ground and Trevor yelling for him to pass the puck, Kirby skated straight in on the goalie. Zigging
and zagging, he got the goalie off balance, then flipped the puck over the Bad Boy’s shoulder and into the net!

A wild cheer erupted from the E Street side of the parking lot. “That’s my boy!” he heard his father shouting.

Kirby was mobbed by his teammates, and the whole pile of them fell on top of him in total happiness.

But the game wasn’t over yet. There were still a few minutes left in which to win — or lose. Furious and stunned, the Bad
Boys turned up the heat, mounting rush after rush at the Skates’ goal. But Lainie was not about to give anything up. Not now.
Not after they’d come this far. At
the end of regulation time, the score was tied, 2-2.

“Five-minute overtime,” Lainie called out, and the two teams formed up immediately. In the flurry that followed, both teams
played carefully, making sure not to lose the game by being out of position. There were a lot of stoppages of play as players
fired the puck down-rink or out of bounds. Then, with only seconds left, the Bad Boys mounted a two-on-one rush. Kirby was
way down at the other end of the rink, but he raced back toward his own zone, hoping against hope that he wasn’t too late.

Killer got off a slap shot. Lainie did a full split to block it, and the puck came out in front of the goal. But Spike was
there, waiting. Lainie tried to get back into position, but Kirby could see that she would never be able to stop the next
shot.

As Spike wound up for the slap shot, Kirby’s instincts took over. Lunging forward with his stick, he reached out as far as
he could. The tip of his stick fell just short of the puck. But as Spike’s
stick came down, it hit Kirby’s stick instead of the puck. There was a loud crack, but no shot. Lainie sprang forward to cover
the puck, and the game was saved!

“Time’s up!” shouted one of the parents, who was acting as timekeeper. The overtime ended the way regulation had: 2-2, a tie.

There was the usual lineup and hand-slapping at the end, but the Bad Boys were in a foul mood. Kirby saw at least one of them
spit on his hand before offering it. He pulled his own hand back, avoiding total gross-out. Then, his arms around his teammates
shoulders, he skated back with them toward the sideline.

“We did it! We saved the game for Marty!” Jamal shouted happily.

“What are you so happy about?” Trevor asked. “Marty got hurt. And besides, we didn’t win.”

“We will next time,” Lainie said confidently. “Soon as we get Marty back, we’ll have a rematch. Next Saturday, same time,
their team said.”

“If we get Marty back by then,” Nick corrected.
“If his shoulder is dislocated, won’t that keep him out of action all summer?”

They broke up to greet their parents. Although she didn’t say anything, Kirby sensed that his mother was troubled.

“Marty’ll be okay,” he assured her. “You’ll see.”

“I don’t know, Kirby,” his mom replied. “That could have just as easily been you. The pavement here is in very bad repair.
That boy Trevor nearly hurt himself, too.”

“It’s not that bad, Mom — really!” With a sinking heart, Kirby could see that he wasn’t convincing her. He could only hope
that Marty wasn’t too badly hurt and that his parents would let him play in the rematch.

He didn’t even want to think about what his summer would be like if they refused to let him play.

J
ust as Kirby and his parents were coming home after the game, the phone rang. Kirby ran to answer it. It was Marty Bledsoe.

“So, did we win?” he wanted to know.

“Tied, 2-2,” Kirby said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Kirby said, smiling. Marty couldn’t be too badly hurt if he was joking around. “So? Did you break your arm?”

“Nah. They thought my shoulder was dislocated, but it turned out it’s only a bruise. It got all purple, though. Wait till
you see it — it’s really cool.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Only when I move it. But I’m in a sling, so I don’t move it very often.”

“I — I guess that means you can’t play with us next week,” Kirby said.

“It’s worse than that,” Marty said, his joking tone turning dismal. “Here’s the really bad news. When the town found out I
hurt myself, they got all scared about people using the parking lot. My dad told them we weren’t going to sue or anything,
but they don’t care. The mayor already told my dad he’s going to ask the town council to lock the parking lot so no one can
play.”