Making the Cut Read online

  “Or end up looking like a doofus,” someone quipped.

  Jake laughed, and then slowly placed the cereal bowl on this head.

  “Ta da!”

  The guys clapped loudly, and a chant went up.

  “Jug-gle! Jug-gle! Jug-gle!”

  Jake raised the three eggs — and he actually began to juggle. Everyone went crazy, whistling and clapping in appreciation. He caught the eggs — and that’s when the cereal bowl fell, and the milk splashed all over his shirt and sweatpants.

  Charlie would have felt sorry for him — if it hadn’t been Jake. Talk about awkward.

  Only Jake didn’t look the slightest bit upset. He was laughing his head off, and so was everyone else. He bowed deeply.

  “Can you juggle bowls of soup next?” someone asked.

  “How about spaghetti and meatballs?”

  “Thank you. Thank you. I’ll be performing here all week.” Jake picked up the bowl and put it on his head like a hat, took his food tray back from Zane, and a large group of guys followed them to a table.

  Scott leaned over to Charlie. “I always knew he belonged in a circus ’cause he’s such a clown.”

  Charlie was too stunned even to laugh. This wasn’t the Jake he knew. Where was the bully who took himself so seriously and picked on people all the time? He’d only met Slogger and Corey, and he barely knew them. Jake was already friends with half the camp.

  Charlie never ate a big breakfast, especially this early, and so he helped himself to some cereal and an orange juice and joined his friends.

  “So what happens today?” Scott asked.

  “Did you forget to read your schedule? Jen will be terribly disappointed,” Nick said.

  “Of course I read it. I’m just testing you.”

  Corey had spent half an hour last night explaining the schedule to Charlie, so he practically knew it by heart.

  “First, we get divided into our teams,” he said. “Then we meet our coaches, when we’ll be given a binder with practice drills and forechecking and defensive schemes sketched out. Then we have our first team practice. That’s followed by lunch, down time for an hour, during which my roommate will do tons of sit-ups and push-ups or go for a run …” That got a laugh from Nick and Scott and a quizzical look from Slogger, “and then a second practice. According to Corey, we definitely will not scrimmage today. No chance. Then it’s free time to dinner, and there’s a movie in the cafeteria until curfew at ten.”

  All three guys began clapping.

  “Joyce, if you studied this hard in school your marks would be way higher,” Scott said.

  “Attention over here,” Jen announced. “I’ve posted today’s schedule on the bulletin board — and the rosters for the four teams.” She gestured to the whiteboard behind her. All the players began talking at once.

  “Quiet down, boys. Let Jen finish,” Trevor pleaded.

  The announcement proved too exciting however, and a low murmur continued. “You’ve got another five minutes to eat,” Jen said, “so finish your breakfast. You’ll see the teams soon enough — believe me, you’ll need the energy. Once you’ve seen your team, please go to the conference room with your team number. Team 1 meets in room one, et cetera. Not too difficult, even for hockey players.”

  Jake’s table roared at Jen’s joke.

  She pointed at the board again. “Following the meeting, which will take about an hour, you’ll go to your designated rink for the morning practice.”

  She’d barely finished before a horde of players charged to see the teams.

  “Don’t those losers know I’m the only one who made Team 1,” Scott said.

  Charlie almost choked on his toast laughing. Scott had a way of saying anything and making it funny.

  “You think you’re a funny guy?” Zane glared at Charlie, his fists clenched. “Let’s take a walk outside where the coaches won’t interrupt.”

  Dumbfounded, Charlie stared back. What was he talking about?

  “Why don’t you call me a loser to my face, loser,” he thundered.

  So that was it. Zane thought he’d made the joke, and had misunderstood what Scott said.

  “Zane, no one was dissin’ you. My buds and I were joking around. It’s cool.”

  “What’s cool is me putting my fist through your head,” Zane growled, taking a step forward.

  Charlie’s heart was beating wildly. He wasn’t afraid of a fight, but he certainly didn’t look forward to messing with Zane. He knew firsthand how strong he was. Behind him he noticed Jake smirking. Did he put Zane up to this?

  “Like I said, we weren’t talking about you.”

  Zane turned to Jake. “This dude’s lamer than a cold grilled cheese sandwich. You actually go to school with this wiener?”

  Jake shrugged. “Chill, man. We’re all fellow campers.” He came over and pulled Zane aside, clapping him on the shoulder a few times. “There’s no point fighting him — he’s not in your league.”

  All the guys at his table got up and followed them to the board. Zane turned around, and with his right hand pointed two fingers to his eyes and then back at Charlie.

  “Does he need glasses?” Scott joked.

  “What’s his name?” Slogger asked.

  Charlie’s heart was still thumping. “It’s Zane,” he managed.

  “More like Insane,” Nick said.

  Charlie told them about his run-in with Zane at the fitness test.

  “At least we know his push-ups are weak,” Scott said.

  “I don’t think too much of him is weak. He’s one big dude,” Slogger said.

  “And ugly,” Scott added.

  “Let’s see where we’re playing,” Charlie suggested. He didn’t need to be reminded about Zane’s size.

  The guys were still crowding around the lists so Charlie couldn’t see them at first. Over the shoulder of one kid he noticed that Nick was on Team 3, and then he saw Scott’s name under Team 4. To his surprise Corey was on Team 3. Jake was on Team 2. He felt a bit lightheaded as he looked to the final list.

  He couldn’t believe it: Charlie Joyce — Team 1.

  Slogger elbowed him. “We’re teammates. Be nice to me and I’ll pass to you once in a while.”

  Charlie ran down the Team 1 list. Savard and Burnett had made it, as had Simon and Gabriel. His heart sank a bit when he saw Zane had too; Slogger’s name was under his.

  Scott clapped Charlie and Slogger on the back. “Well done, Joyce. Bloody good show, Sir Sloggster.”

  Charlie wondered if Scott was miffed at being on Team 4. “You’ll move up quick,” Charlie said to him, “once the coaches see you play. What can you tell from one practice.”

  “I agree,” Scott said, with his usual good humour. “It takes time to recognize my genius on the ice.”

  Nick didn’t look too happy. “Charlie’s right,” he said. “You’ll be moved up by next practice, I bet.”

  For all their dissing, they were best friends, and Charlie could tell Nick wanted Scott to be on his team.

  For a moment Scott didn’t look too happy either. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’ll be fun.” A big grin crossed his face. “Besides, think how spectacular my rise to fame will be when I’m selected MVP of the Challenge Game.”

  “I believe that stands for Most Valuable Princess?” Nick said.

  “It does?” Scott said, as if thunderstruck. “Now that’s embarrassing.”

  They kept up the jokes on the way to their respective rooms. Charlie really believed Scott would soon move up from Team 4. He was too good a player, but as a defensive defenceman, the coaches probably didn’t appreciate him yet.

  Scott stopped before a door with a large number 4 written on a piece of paper. “I’m not sure where Team 4 is meeting. I’ll go in here and ask.”

  “I’m lost too,” Nick said, pointing to a door with a 3. “I’ll go ask in there.”

  Charlie waved goodbye and he and Slogger continued on until Slogger spotted the Team 1 sign down
another hall. They were about to turn that way when Charlie saw Corey standing by an exit. He figured Corey would be upset by not getting on a higher team.

  “I’ll catch up with you in a sec,” Charlie said to Slogger. “I just wanna speak to my roommate.”

  Charlie didn’t quite know what to say, but thought at the very least he could say hi. As he got closer he saw that Corey was actually on his cell phone. He had a hand cupped to one ear, and his face was pressed into a corner. It was a little noisy in the hall, but it still looked weird being all twisted up like that.

  “Hey, Corey,” he began.

  Corey kept talking.

  “Yo, Corey,” he said louder.

  No response.

  Charlie tugged on Corey’s sleeve, which startled his roommate so much he practically jumped out of his skin. Charlie started to laugh, but then stopped abruptly. Corey’s face was pale, almost ghostly, as if all his blood had been drained away.

  “I gotta go. Bye,” Corey said, and he closed his phone.

  “Are you … okay?” Charlie asked tentatively. “Are you sick or something?” At a closer look, he thought Corey had been crying.

  “I’m fine,” he scowled. “Maybe I am a little sick.” He stuffed his phone in his pants pocket. “Can you believe it? Team 3! Isn’t that the biggest joke ever? Isn’t that totally stupid?”

  Charlie wasn’t sure if he was asking or telling him.

  “I was explaining to my dad how messed up the coaching is this year. He won’t listen.” Corey hung his head. “He’s right, though. I wasn’t focused at the practice. I thought I was in for sure because I was here last year. Dad says you gotta be intense every practice, every shift. You can’t take a day off, not at this level. But I smoked the skating drills, didn’t I? You saw me. And I scored on some one-on-ones. Why’d they put you on Team 1 and me on Team 3. I mean, is that fair?”

  Charlie shook his head.

  “I’ll see ya back at the room,” Corey said, and stomped off.

  Charlie watched him go, too freaked to even say goodbye. So much for cheering him up. He sure did speak to his dad a lot. He’d talked to him for almost an hour before going to sleep last night. The thought of being able to call his dad any time he wanted made him sad, so he forced it out of his mind and hurried to Team 1’s room. He opened the door slowly. Everyone else was already there. Coach Miller stood in front of a flipchart, holding a marker.

  “Please take a binder and find a seat,” Miller said.

  Charlie thought he sounded sort of annoyed.

  He didn’t waste any time getting started. “Welcome to Team 1,” Miller began once Charlie had sat down.

  “Please turn to page six in your binder where it says Forechecking Schematics. We’ll be working on three different forechecking strategies over camp …”

  Miller waited for them to find the page. “When you want to slow the game down, or are up against an opponent that is superior offensively, I like to go with the 1–4, which sends one forechecker in deep and four guys spread out in the neutral zone to clog things up. When we need a goal we’ll add a forechecker, but the key is the guys in deep must force the puck to one side …”

  Charlie’s head was soon swimming with all the different formations. Next it was backchecking, and then faceoffs. It was hard to follow, but exciting at the same time. This certainly was hockey at a higher level, and he could only imagine how much he was going to learn over the next two weeks.

  8

  MISSING IN ACTION

  Charlie looked up and saw a Frisbee spinning right for his head. Instinctively, he shot out his hand and snagged the flying disk. Up by the arena doors Scott was laughing away, along with two guys Charlie didn’t know.

  He took a crossover step forward and let loose. Frisbee was one of his favourite games, and he and Pudge spent hours playing at school. The Frisbee whistled through the air. A tall, thin kid with a black sweatshirt and a shock of red hair reached out and caught it. He waved his hand, pretending it really hurt.

  “Yo, Joyce,” Scott said when he got closer. “These guys don’t believe I’m the best player in camp. You gotta tell them.”

  “It’s true,” Charlie said. He paused and added, “Are we talking about hockey?”

  That cracked them up. Scott laughed harder than any of them.

  “This here is Pete,” Scott said. He cupped his mouth and whispered to Charlie, “I call him Pete.” He pointed to the other kid. “And this superstar is Jared.” Scott held a hand out. “Meet a personal friend of mine, Charlie Joyce,” In a loud whisper he added, “Charlie kinda idolizes me. It’s a little embarrassing, but what can I do. He cries if I don’t let him hang around.”

  “Thanks for the intro,” Charlie said.

  “Are you ready for the big squad?” Jared asked him.

  The question caught him off guard. He wasn’t actually sure if he was. “I guess I am. Miller seems pretty serious. We went over a ton of stuff in the meeting. What about you guys?”

  “The basics: forecheck, backcheck, paycheque,” Pete said. “No fooling around here. These guys know their stuff. I learned more hockey in that hour than I think I have in my life.”

  Scott slapped his forehead. “Now you tell me. I was too busy flossing my teeth, and I missed the best hockey talk of all time.”

  Charlie knew Scott was deadly serious about hockey and that he was only joking. “You won’t know what you’re doing on the ice, but at least your teeth will be sparkling,” he said to keep the joke going.

  “Dental hygiene is an important and underappreciated part of the game,” Scott said.

  The door swung open and Jen came out.

  “Shall we get changed for practice, gentlemen? Twenty minutes to get ready.” She nodded at Charlie. “Mr. Joyce, I believe you’re in this rink. You fellows are in the rink next door.

  “I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Charlie said.

  “Come by the room,” Scott said. “We can discuss how to get your teeth their whitest — and I should probably review the causes of bad breath.” Scott raised his shoulders and looked around like a turtle. “This is kinda awkward. We’ll see ya, Joyce.”

  Charlie waved them off.

  “Mr. Joyce, if you please. As much as I like holding doors open …”

  Charlie gulped and quickly went into the rink. The second he did, the nerves kicked in. This was it — his first Team 1 practice.

  Charlie began dressing extra fast. He wanted to get onto the ice and skate his nerves away. His skates were on before anyone else’s. He tossed his shoulder pads on next, and began rooting around in his bag for his elbow pads. Where were they? His bag was so packed with old sweaters and socks he couldn’t find them. His mom had told him to clean his bag out, but he’d never bothered. He put his helmet on the bench.

  “Let’s go, boys,” Trevor said, the door closing behind him.

  A few players got up.

  Charlie continued to hunt for his elbow pads.

  Trevor opened the door again. “I wasn’t kidding. Move it out.”

  “Come on, Team 1,” one player said as he filed out.

  “We’re jammin’. Party time, dudes.”

  Charlie’s heart sank. The pads weren’t there — impossible. He’d had them yesterday. Had he left them at the other rink? For a second he considered running over, until he thought how idiotic he’d look, not to mention missing part of practice.

  Just then the door flung open and Trevor walked in.

  “Are you playing today?” Trevor asked him.

  “I just gotta tighten my skates.”

  “Okay,” he said uneasily. “Coach Miller is strict about time so … I’d hurry.”

  Charlie said, “Sorry,” and pretended to retighten his skates.

  Trevor left and Charlie was all alone in the dressing room.

  He couldn’t play without elbow pads. What could he do? He looked frantically in his bag one last time. All he had was his Rebels shirt and socks. He pulled out the so
cks, and that gave him an idea — a bit nuts but it was all he could come up with. A minute later, Charlie ran down the corridor and stepped onto the ice — with two hockey socks taped around his elbows for pads.

  He didn’t have any time to warm up. The whistle blew and Coach Miller pointed his stick to one end.

  “On the line, boys. Time to pick up the intensity,” Miller said. “The easy practices are over.”

  Charlie wondered if the man ever smiled.

  For the next half-hour Charlie skated harder than he ever had in his life. He used to think his high school teacher and Rebels coach, William Hilton, was tough. Miller was psycho. They hopped and spun and jumped and dove; they tore around the faceoff circles with heads turned up at the scoreboard; they dropped to their knees and did races, the loser having to do twenty push-ups. When Miller finally blew his whistle to signal the end of the skating drills Charlie could hardly catch his breath.

  “Here’s the drill,” Miller announced, and he poked the whiteboard with a marker.

  “I’m sure you’ve done this a hundred times. Continuous alternating one-on-one. Forward in the corner goes around the pylon. When he crosses the blue line, the defenceman comes across and they go one-on-one. Forward then takes a pass from the corner, feeds it ahead to centre and gets a return pass, and then goes one-on-one against the other defenceman.”

  He bashed his stick on the ice. “Defencemen split into two groups. Forwards, I want you all in the right corner.”

  Charlie joined the forwards. J.C. Savard was a few spots behind, so he drifted back.

  “I thought I was in shape,” Charlie offered. “My lungs almost exploded.”

  “I heard from some guys that this is nothing compared to what’s coming,” Savard replied. “Anyway, congrats for making T1, Charlie.”

  Charlie reddened. “You too. Guess Terrence Falls and Chelsea did okay.” Chelsea was Savard’s high school.

  “Burnett made it on D, and there’s Cameron. He’s doing the drill now.”

  Savard pointed to a swift skating player bearing down on the far goal. Charlie recognized him from Savard’s club team, the Snow Birds. He deked to his left, swung the puck across his body to his forehand, and then slipped past the defenceman.