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  “Mom …?” Jane said, alarmed. “Why are you acting so weird?”

  Deb pulled out a figure skating outfit with white fur trim around the edges of its pale blue collar and skirt. She stroked her worn cheek with its softness. “I’ve been given a warning at work. I’m kind of stupid there. So tired. I gave Mr. Malone his pills. I am a nurse’s aide. It’s not my job. It’s the nurse’s job. Someone caught me. They want me to take some time off.” Jane knew that was impossible. Her mother’s work was their only source of income. “And Gerald Finch said you’ve got one week to get it together or he’s going to dump you.”

  As a wet wind shook tufts of melting snow from the treetops, Jane ran drills on the janitors’ bumpy ice surface, parts of the school track visible below. The team buzzed around her, adjusting to the patchy ice; Ivan coached; George helped Tina; Mr. Marsh watched proudly as his girls practised with their new idols. His eleven-­year-­old had actually put on her skates and equipment, hoping to be called on, and Jane couldn’t resist her hopeful face. Valerie was fast; not so strong on the puck, but that would come.

  The janitors had worked feverishly the past three nights to scrape back the wet snow and build them a practice area on the back field, and Mr. Marsh had actually told them what it was for. Instead of giving Jane the evil eye during the school day, they gave her sly, knowing smiles. Jane loved them for that; the last two mornings she had brought coffee and doughnuts from Steve’s after her figure skating practices so the janitors, led by Mr. Starr, could warm their hands in their tiny cubicle of an office.

  It was freezing at night, but the girls were having a hard time with the softening ice during the day. At least we aren’t going to fall through, Jane thought. At least her dad wasn’t waiting to trap her with his voice and his memories under uncertain ice. She was just here for the team. She tried a slap shot on Tina. The puck bounced slowly toward the net and rebounded off goalie pads lent by George. Jane deftly nabbed the rebound and flicked a wrist shot past Tina’s short side. She rounded the net and stopped. She cupped a ball of snow into her glove and sucked some of its moisture. The damp air cleansed her face. She could smell the evergreens that ringed the field. The lengthening evening light gave the team the chance at an extended practice, and Jane realized she wasn’t tired, even though she’d had tense figure skating practices that morning and after school in front of her particular panel of judges: Leonard, Mr. Finch, and Deb. Hockey just invigorated her.

  As the sun was halved by the horizon, Ivan called them in and introduced a new play to Mr. Marsh’s daughter, Brenda, and the rest of the girls who had not learned it. The team now numbered fifteen souls, sixteen if Jane counted cute little Valerie’s eager face. Standing for a moment at the side, Jane scrutinized the team, listened to her coach, and munched on the snow. The Ojibway girls were fantastic, very skilled in their quiet way; the older converts from figure skating were improving their stick-­handling skills all the time; the recruits from the technical school were brawn and willingness combined; Irina was just unbelievable. But they all looked to Jane for guidance. Tonight, Jane observed, Ivan was particularly tense, and the girls stood by uneasily as he and Irina argued about the new play. As their loud Russian voices reverberated off the distant high school walls, Jane thought, smiling, they sound just like Leonard and me.

  Ivan abandoned his latest idea and his argumentative daughter, and skated past the idle Jane. He grunted, and slapped his stick on the ice, snapping her out of her reverie. They had talked the night before. The moment of truth had come. She sighed as he fed her the cue.

  “Jane? We are ready to move on?”

  The players turned to her, unsure where this was leading. She nodded and said, “Absolutely.” Ivan cleared his throat.

  “Tomorrow, ladies, we are going to travel to a game.” Startled faces greeted them. Jane glanced at Irina, who was analyzing the reaction of her teammates as intently as she.

  “What do you mean?” Susan exclaimed.

  “I mean, we have organized our first game. In Mississauga.”

  “Who has?”

  “Jane. George. Irina. Me. Mr. Marsh.”

  “How is that possible?” Susan persisted, agape.

  Jane listened carefully as Ivan revealed the connections and detailed plans for the away game that the five of them had quickly arranged in the guise of a school field trip. She skated quiet circles around the astonished group, occasionally nodding, checking their reactions, smiling at their furtive glances. Susan caught her attention. Deep within the huddle, her eyes glowed.

  “We need radio exposure. Immediately,” Susan said, taking charge. “I’m gonna call Bobby.”

  “No radio announcements yet,” Jane said. “That will kill it. And don’t call Bobby. You can soon. But not yet.”

  “Mom’s gonna find out.” Mike lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. Jane stood before him, breathing shallowly. “Yet more lying required. You can’t just disappear for a whole day.”

  “I don’t care if she does find out. I’ve learned some strategies now. Instead of asking permission, ask forgiveness later.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “You’ve just got to cover for me. Just for a day.” Jane lay down beside him.

  “No. Just tell her you’re going. You’ve openly defied her so many times now, just be honest for a change.”

  “I can’t trust her … Sometimes I think she’s coming ’round to seeing that I need this, and then Leonard sucks her right back in. She’s too wrapped up in what he needs, what she wants for me, her own life, to get it.”

  “You go to Moscow in six weeks. Figure skating should be all you are thinking about.”

  “You, too, Mike?” Jane sighed, turned onto her side, and looked at her brother. “If we don’t play another team this year, before spring, before the snow melts, if we don’t prove ourselves now, it’ll never happen. Girls’ hockey will be as dead as it’s ever been in this town.”

  “You can’t just go off and play hockey somewhere without the CFSA’s permission. Man, Mr. Finch is still kicking around town. If he hears about this, he will go through the roof.”

  “Pretend I’m sick.”

  “Your magic year will end.”

  “Well, I’m trying to make my peace with that,” she said, flopping back onto her back beside him. “If he dumps me from Moscow, then it was supposed to happen all along.”

  Mike put his hands behind his head, still talking to the ceiling. “I just don’t get it. Someone who has worked as hard as you have to get to the level you’re at. You’re an elite athlete. You can’t just throw it all away. It erases everything that’s happened to you in the past few months, all the support behind you, your years of work. It’s just … well, it just seems ungrateful and childish.”

  “You’re one to talk. You’re an elite athlete and look how stuck you are. You should be long gone from this town. Mom won’t let you grow up.”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “Sorry. I’m so bored with the subject of me …”

  “Figure skating — ”

  “Figure skating is going to be there for me for a few more years, if I want it.”

  “You’re being cocky. I wouldn’t be so sure. They could totally shut you down.”

  “I’m not being cocky, it’s just the truth. Who’s to say they won’t want me next year? I’m not saying they’re going to after my bad attitude finally gets to them, but it’s a possibility. This chance to play hockey could disappear if we don’t fight for it now. Girls are gonna graduate … the team could fall apart. It’s a very fragile thing. You know it, Mike. And you also know I need it. I need it like I need to breathe.”

  “Why you gotta be so dramatic?”

  Jane tried a different tack. “Look, we’ve got to play at least one team before we try to take on you Shamrocks and Al Leblanc.”

  Mi
ke sat up and looked back at her. “What are you talking about, ‘take on the Shamrocks’? You girls can’t play us. Do you have a death wish? We’ll squish you. Just like last time. You got squished. Remember?”

  “We are better.”

  “I honestly don’t know anyone as stubborn as you. You get something in your mind … Suicide. All of it. You’re not just attempting it. You’re committing it. Get this now, Jane. I’ll never play you. Ever again.”

  “Yes, you will. I think you actually like playing me. Reminds you of your childhood.”

  Mike lay back down beside her. “You’re so full of it.”

  “George is coming with us to Mississauga. He’s been helping us get organized, on the ice and off. He’s into a game against us.”

  “He’d do anything for you! I’ll have to straighten him out.”

  “I’m going for one day. She’ll forgive me. She’s my mother. And as much as Gerald Finch and Leonard threaten, I think they are bluffing.”

  “Finch is itching to get rid of you.”

  “Then why is he still here?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Because they need me. He would have dropped me long ago if he didn’t.”

  “He could easily send Geneviève Côté instead. She’s totally hot. They could send her or Stacey Mueller or whoever’s next and leave you out in the cold!”

  “Then let them! You’re not hearing me, Mike. I don’t care anymore. I’m done with being controlled. I mean, I feel for Mom, I really do, but I have to take control of my own life. And that means pushing things in the direction of hockey.”

  But as she said it, a vision of her mother’s tired eyes flashed before her; Deb’s new stooped way of standing, her face as she came out of the car saying she was dangerous at work … Jane began to breathe shallowly again, guilt crushing her chest, pushing her deep into the bed. All she had to do was think about her mother to feel it. She tried to push back, push that guilty feeling back to the ceiling.

  She whispered, “This is our time. The team’s time. I can just feel it.”

  “This is your time, and you’re throwing it all away.”

  “Well, Mike, you can help me with Mom or not. Just do whatever you want. I can’t talk to you anymore.”

  She jumped off the bed, and ran out before the guilt on the ceiling could squash her.

  Jane bent over her hockey stick, breathing hard. The puck was in the net. She took the final face-­off, but the buzzer rang two seconds later. They had scratched out a win. Their first win! Jane unfurled from her rigid position, and stood up straight, the exhaustion of her limbs beyond anything she had felt yet. Gonna need a day, she promised herself, but remembered Gerald Finch and her mother in that instant. Maybe Mike was right. Another day off figure skating could mean expulsion from Worlds. Even coming here could mean expulsion from Worlds. She dropped her stick and gloves on the ice and skated to the end of the line. As the opposition neared, she surveyed them. Ladies. Women. Lining up to shake their hands. As each woman passed by, she gave Jane an extra pat on the back, that extra look in the eye.

  “Jane Matagov,” said the small, friendly woman walking in her boots at the end of the line. “That was a stunning final goal.”

  “Mayor McCallion.” Jane’s heart skipped a beat. George had done some research and had realized that the Streetsville mayor could be an ally. And that’s what she had become: a small force behind their little game, the first person, it seemed, in any kind of political position in Canada to acknowledge women’s hockey. Her enthusiasm gave Jane hope. “Thanks for hosting this event,” Jane said.

  “Anything to get girls playing,” the mayor bubbled. She held tightly onto Jane’s forearm, forcing Jane to help her off the ice. “How much more money do you need?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You’re going to need a sponsor,” Mayor McCallion said, immediately sounding like the politician she was. “You’re going to need money to help knock down the prejudices of the male establishment. You’re from Parry Sound, for goodness’ sakes. The heart of conservative Ontario. I can’t imagine businessmen there lining up to sponsor a girls’ hockey team. They’ll simply scoff at you. Tell you to stick to ringette …”

  “Not when they know who our coach is.”

  “It’ll take a lot more than that, even if he were the great Soviet Coach Bobrov himself.” Jane smiled to herself. The mayor had obviously followed the Summit Series closely. Ivan’s close enough, she thought.

  “I want all the details of your plans,” Mayor McCallion said as they neared the side of the rink. “I know you’ve got to get back and figure skate, but I want details. I want plans. I want to start a female league across this province. Parry Sound will be the first stop. This is the beginning of something beautiful.”

  Jane stopped for a moment and held tight to the tottering mayor. “But how did you do it?” she asked. “How did you get your team started? These ladies have so much skill. They were just toying with us.”

  “Well, it helps that they have a woman for a mayor. I have influence. But so do you, Jane,” the mayor prodded. “As a figure skating champion, so do you.” Jane smiled faintly, wishing it were true.

  “Come,” Mayor McCallion said, gripping her arm even more tightly. “Get me to that carpet before I land on my head. It’s time for the presentation.”

  “What presentation?”

  Mayor McCallion ushered Jane to a hastily laid red carpet on which stood a microphone. Jane removed her helmet and waited beside the much smaller woman. Mayor McCallion began to speak to a row of reporters. “On behalf of our fabulous women’s team and the people of Streetsville and Mississauga, I’d like to present these excellent hockey players from Parry Sound with newly minted jerseys that they so obviously need to look like a real team. Thank you for such an exciting game and congratulations on your win. What talent these young skaters have!” She held up a stylish powder blue and yellow jersey in front of Jane, who took it and held it in her tired arms — now new-­shot with energy. As the cameras flashed, a spattering of cheers greeted her from the sparse crowd. The mayor leaned into Jane and whispered, “I took the liberty of designing your logo. Hope you like it.” Jane loved it. “Put it on,” the mayor urged. Jane did so.

  “That’s not all,” Hazel McCallion said into the microphone. “Nora? Nora Blake, ladies and gentlemen.” An energetic, thin, sixty-­year-­old woman, sporting a huge purple hat, a tight dress with feather boa to match, and spiked purple heels, emerged, clashing with the red carpet, and carrying a huge cheque for a thousand dollars.

  “For your team, darling,” Mrs. Nora Blake oozed, passing the large cardboard placard to Jane. “To get you truly started.” Several flashbulbs exploded. Many of the departing crowd stopped to watch. “If you ask my opinion,” Nora continued, “you girls need matching helmets. I suggest canary yellow or cyan. Wait, do they make them in yellow?”

  “This is an incredible gift,” Jane said to the ladies beside her. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Jane felt waves of energy pass through her, and she handed the cheque to Susan, who skated around the rink with it over her head. Women helping women. A fantastic gift.

  The mayor had Jane’s arm again. “Take all your vitamins,” she said. “It’s absolutely ludicrous what you are doing, but you are young.”

  “Iron pills,” Nora advised. “And trust me, sweetheart, I’m all about the figure skating.”

  “Calcium/magnesium supplement,” said Hazel.

  “An apple a day,” Nora countered.

  “Sleep every chance you get,” Hazel said.

  “And forget about school,” Nora whispered, poking Jane’s arm. “Just for the next two months.”

  “All right,” Jane agreed, laughing. She looked out at the few enthusiastic audience members who were encouraging the girls to pass the cheque between them, and do a lap around the rink.<
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  Could this really be the beginning of something beautiful? Jane wondered.

  In the dark of the morning, Jane heard a knock on her door. The team had returned at eleven the night before, after her mother had left for work. Jane had been welcomed home by a note explaining that Deb was needed at the nursing home, and lambasting Jane for her disappearance. At least she didn’t have to face a furious mother right away. She had knocked on Mike’s door, but he wouldn’t respond. Jane had crashed, but here it was not even quarter after four, not even time for her alarm to go off. She roused herself from her bed, got into her clothing, forced her tired legs down the stairs, and opened the door.

  “What, George?” she said sharply as the winds from the blizzard that had greeted them home blasted inside. The janitors at the school would have to do double duty shovelling the ice on a night like this. “What do you want?”

  “It’s in the newspaper,” he gushed, brushing snow off the soggy paper in his hand. Dripping, he directed her to the final page of the Toronto Star sports section. There she was, beaming between Mayor Hazel McCallion and the bright purple Nora Blake, millionaire socialite, the thousand dollar cheque in front of them.

  “Someone’s gonna think I’m accepting a cheque for figure skating,” Jane said, smiling. “I might lose my amateur status.”

  “You’re in hockey gear in this picture,” George said, stating the obvious.

  “The figure skating people are going to be very angry with me.”

  “You probably can’t even accept the gift of a hockey jersey without repercussions, true?”

  “True.”

  “So what are we going to do?” he continued. “It’s public now.”

  “Well,” said Jane, sitting down. “We can hope. It’s the last page. Maybe no one will notice it.”

  “My father reads the sports section from front to back. He’ll blow his top.”

  “We’re screwed, then.” She smiled at George’s discomfort. “We can’t keep it from them,” she said softly. “That’s why we went. To draw attention to ourselves. A little at a time.”