Picks and Sticks Page 20

  The third period began with a quick goal from Mike. Then Trevor banged one behind Tina, who threw herself backwards onto the puck and had an uncharacteristic temper tantrum. “I CAN’T BELIEVE I LET THAT ONE IN!” she screamed. Jane pulled her up and shook her. “Tina. Tina. Settle down. Settle down. FOCUS ON THE PUCK.”

  The score was 5–3. Down two so fast. Jane fished the puck out, bested Mike at the face-­off, and passed to Susan, but Mike got back, forcing Susan offside, ruining their rush. Gonna have to dig deep, Jane thought. We’ve got to beat them. We’ve just got to. George’s and her conversation from the early morning floated back to the surface of her consciousness: “‘They can have the extra figure skating ice time if they win … ’” And Bobby had said some things, too, to give her hope. “Equal access to ice time …” Where had that one come from? Straight from her mind?

  From somewhere deep inside, or all around, she wasn’t sure, Jane heard it:

  Pass it to your brother, Jane! Don’t hog the puck!

  He has to catch me first!

  Come on, Jane. Pass it to me!

  Impossible girl! Get back here — that’s it, Jane! That landed right on Mike’s stick!

  She looked around and up to the rafters. Nothing but imagination.

  Jane won the face-­off, passed it back to Katherine, and she, Katherine, Susan, Irina, and Karen pressed forward. Jane wound around the goal and stood in front as Irina stick-­handled her way out of a jam in the corner, passed to Katherine at the point, who flicked it to Jane, who, in turn, flipped it in. 5–4. Ivan kept the five of them on.

  Al screamed at the boys, demoralizing them. They sniped at each other, losing their flow. The crowd was going crazy. Jane heard it all and responded in a dim corner of her mind, but it was like she was skating in another time and place. It was like her movements weren’t even her own. Something was whispering to her, directing her movements, telling her where to be.

  Again, she won the face-­off against Mike. He tripped her, and the crowd groaned, but she got right back up again, the puck freed from under her. She pushed it forward and had a single moment to score before the boys could touch it and the referee could penalize Mike. The defenceman, Pierre Groulx, tried to bat at it, but he missed the puck completely. She flew past the goal crease on one leg, waited, waited, waited, drew George out, and lifted a wrist shot past his short side.

  The score was tied. One minute left. Ivan left them on.

  Tiring, but pumped with adrenalin, Jane felt herself pass the puck to Irina, Susan out in front. Jane flew even with Susan. Irina to Susan, Susan to Jane, and Jane missed the pass by inches. She banged hard into the boards. Forty seconds left! Suddenly, she was back in front of George, the puck on her stick. Matagov! She banged at it twice. Goal! 6–5!

  Jane flung her stick into the air, and Susan grabbed her waist, Irina her shoulders. As she lost her balance and fell to the ice, Jane saw Mr. Marsh rush to the glass and flip his hat over the top. Hats reigned down all over the ice surface. But there was still time on the clock. They had to focus. The hats were cleared; Jane took the face-­off, but the boys were in a daze. They barely skated as they watched the girls weave and pass around them. The clock wound down. The boys were done …

  The girls had won!

  In a moment, Jane was on the shoulders of Karen and Susan. The crowd stood en masse. Debris covered the ice, more hats were thrown, and people rushed onto the ice surface. Jane was surrounded by a circle of powder blue and yellow. From her shoulder seat, she looked for her mother in the crowd. The best moment of all: Deb was standing and cheering.

  Thanks, Mom. And Dad, she prayed, and hung on to the shoulders of her teammates. She looked for Mike. He was standing with George in the goal, their heads down, serious. Then they looked up at her, and grinned. Mike’s eyes were his own again.

  The crowd continued to stand as the teams shook hands. The coaches joined in the ritual, Ivan just ahead of Jane.

  “Good game,” he said to Al.

  “You won,” Al said, stunned.

  “Yes. Yes, we did.”

  “Watch your back.”

  “Watch your front.”

  “What?”

  Ivan pointed to the mustard dripped onto Al’s jacket, and moved on down the line. Jane had to duck her head to hide her smile as she shook Al’s hand.

  When Jane was even with George, she said, “Good job with Bobby.”

  George leaned into their handshake and whispered, “I figured the only person Dad would listen to would be him. I did some fast talking this morning.”

  “Hope it works from now on.”

  “It will.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “No. You.”

  The teams milled about their end zones, unsure what to do. More media had gathered: the local radio station and CTV News. The reporters slithered onto the ice with their microphones and cameramen, and took over. Jane stood with Mike and Irina watching wordlessly as Deb and Bobby Orr came down the stairs together, chatting. Leonard followed them, still sour-­faced. When the trio reached the boards, Leonard excused himself. Bobby called, “Mike? Jane? Can you come here a second?”

  They quickly joined their hero.

  “Could we talk for a second?”

  “Uh. Yeah. Yes, sir. Sure,” Mike said.

  Bobby smiled at Deb. “Bud Matagov was my favourite player to watch around here,” he said. “We kids idolized him. He’d coach us sometimes. All us younger guys used to follow him around like he was the Pied Piper.”

  “Oh,” said Jane, tongue-­tied.

  “You skate just like him,” Bobby said to Mike. “You do, too,” he chuckled at Jane. “And you’ve got a mental advantage over your brother. He slows right up when he sees you coming.”

  “She’s just coming off an injury,” Mike said.

  “That was ages ago,” Jane contradicted him.

  “He probably doesn’t want to hurt her,” Deb defended.

  “That why he’s still here?” Bobby asked softly.

  “What?” Deb said.

  “I was out of here at fourteen. Down to the Oshawa Generals.”

  “For sure, Mr. Orr,” Mike gushed, “we know all about that.”

  “Call me Bobby.” He looked at Deb. “I could have a scout up here in about a minute,” he told her. “Better think about it, Mom.”

  “I can’t imagine him away,” she said.

  “Spoken like a true mother,” smiled Bobby. “I understand, though, you wanting to hang onto your boy since Bud’s death.”

  “I haven’t even let Jane go to the best figure skating schools,” Deb confessed. “I’ve made the good coaches come to us.”

  “That girl’s a hockey player.” Bobby looked at Deb expectantly. So did Jane.

  “I’ve hated hockey since Bud’s death,” she whispered passionately. “But now … it’s become their passion. Both my kids.” A moment of silence hung in the air around them. Then Bobby said, “Hockey didn’t take Bud away from you. His driving did. Don’t blame the game.”

  Jane gasped. He was speaking her truth.

  “I’ll set something up,” Bobby pressed. “Good, Mike?”

  Mike glanced at his women before he said, “That would be unbelievable.”

  Bobby nodded at the family, then limped away, his knee clearly bothering him.

  Deb looked at Jane. “Well — ” she started.

  Jane jumped in. “Mom. You’re amazing. Thank you for coming. Thank you for not stopping me.”

  “How on earth would it look if the star player’s mother wasn’t in the crowd supporting her girl?”

  Jane stopped for a beat, then said, “Come on, I’ve got to speak to the media.” But as she tugged her mother’s arm, she could see that Deb was struggling with emotion. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  “I’ve held yo
u both back. I’ve been so wrong …”

  “No, no,” Jane soothed.

  “I’ve been competing with a dead person.”

  Jane glanced at Mike, and they smothered their mother in a group hug. “You put us in skates. You’ve given us opportunity. Look how good we are!” Jane said. She could feel her mother shaking and nodding into her shoulder. “Come on,” Jane said, squeezing her mother tight and trying to pull her onto the ice surface. Deb held back.

  “Mom?”

  “I haven’t been listening to you. You have tried and tried to tell me and I have repeatedly listened only to myself.” Deb gestured toward the ice surface. “I finally get it. Like a hammer to the head. Hockey is the dream you need.”

  Jane’s breath was shallow. “Can you listen now, Mom?” she asked. “Really hear?”

  “I can’t guarantee anything, Jane. But I promise to try.”

  Jane hesitated. Her mother seemed almost serene. The exhaustion that had been so evident on her face the last week or two had lifted. Looking at her, Jane had an epiphany. She could make it right for both of them in this moment …

  “How about this …” she said slowly, testing things out. “If I can prove that I can do both sports without wrecking my figure skating career … that is, if Mr. Finch and the CFSA will let me skate …”

  “Then I want you to try.”

  Jane gasped. “I’ll go to Moscow, Mom. I promise I’ll go to Moscow if you give my hockey your blessing.”

  “You have it already.”

  Jane flung herself at her mother, grabbed her close. Her chest expanded, a strange euphoria emanating from the centre of her heart. She could feel her mother’s heart pounding into her.

  “It’s not just for me, you know, Mom,” she whispered in her ear. “You know that, right?”

  “Of course I know that, darling. That’s the best thing about it, isn’t it? The whole spirit of team play. You just beat the boys with that spirit, didn’t you?” Deb released their embrace and poked her son in the ribs.

  Jane still held on. “What about Mr. Finch and Leonard?”

  “Well, if we can get Gerald to come back up here, you’ll have some proving to do and I’ll have some fast talking to do.”

  “Deal.”

  “But, Jane?” her mother said.

  “Yeah, Mom?”

  “Just don’t expect me to like it. Hockey, I mean. It scares me, for you. Don’t expect that I’ll like it.”

  Jane squeezed tighter. “One step at a time.”

  “Exactly. One step at a time.”

  As Jane approached the cameras with her family, Jonathon Keegan signalled for Ivan to join him. Ivan eyed Jane as she skated nearby. He waved her forward, but out of nowhere, Al strode up to the microphone. Keegan brushed him aside, gesturing for Ivan to come closer. “Excuse me, Coach, no, not you, just the coach of the girls’ team here. Sir, these girls played extraordinarily well!”

  Rejected, Al backed away and skulked in the background, glaring at Ivan. Jane watched him wipe his jacket’s yellow mustard stain with his hand, and she inwardly celebrated Ivan’s return to the arena. Al was powerless now. Bobby would help Ivan. She was sure of it.

  Ivan was shaking the reporter’s hand and introducing himself. “Ivan Stepanov,” he was saying, “assistant coach of Soviet men’s team that recently lost Summit Series.” Jane looked at Al’s slack-­jawed reaction. “If hockey is national sport here in Canada,” Ivan continued in a demanding tone, “then where are the women?” Jonathon Keegan was staring at Ivan. Ivan gestured Jane to his side, and she skated over, stopping just outside the camera’s range. She heard Al let out a tiny squeak.

  Jonathon Keegan began to stumble. “Ah, um, wow, okay, you’re, of course, you’re Ivan Stepanov — ”

  “Look here,” Ivan interrupted, pulling Jane into the hot spot. “Here is star of girls’ team, this wonderful player, Canada’s figure skating champion, Jane Matagov.”

  Jane took off her helmet for the television viewers. The crowd behind her exploded in cheers, chanting, “Mat-­a-­gov! Mat-­a-­gov!”

  “Ja — Jane Matagov?” Keegan tripped out.

  “Dah. Jane Matagov. She has something to say.” Ivan indicated for Jonathon to give Jane the microphone. He did so.

  And, in that moment, Gerald Finch emerged at the front of the surrounding crowd.

  He stood right beside the camera. Jane saw him and their eyes locked. She looked over to her mother. Leonard was back at her side. They were nervously anticipating her speech. She spoke directly to Gerald Finch, and through him, to all Canadians.

  “With this win, we girls are trying to claim the right of young Canadian women to play the game we all love. We, the Parry Sound Trackers, want arena managers across this country to allow girls and women to take to the ice. With sticks. And pucks. I’ve realized over the past few months, by playing this game with this group of amazing people, what team spirit is all about. Don’t get me wrong. There are times when I experience team spirit in figure skating. At the Canadian championships, a close competitor helped me do my best despite my injury, when she could have easily left me to fend for myself. But … ultimately … figure skating is a lonely sport.”

  “Maybe you can become the captain of the figure skating team in Moscow, Jane!” Jonathon enthused, ducking toward the microphone. “Infuse those girls and boys representing this land with the team spirit you’ve learned through playing hockey!”

  Jane looked back at Gerald Finch. She hesitated, then said, “I’m not sure if I’m going to be forgiven.”

  Jonathon said, “Sorry? Forgiven? What do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t think I’ll be allowed to represent Canada at Worlds.”

  “What? Why not?” Jonathon asked, unable to mask his astonishment.

  “I … I didn’t ask permission of the Canadian Figure Skating Association to play hockey in Mississauga, or against these boys, for that matter. I’ve accepted money on behalf of the team; I’ve accepted this jersey. I don’t think any of it is allowed, so … I’m pretty sure I’m going to be disqualified.” She paused, took a breath, looked at her mother, then directly into the camera’s lens. “But, if I could just say … I’d be honoured to represent Canada at the World Championships in figure skating.” She tried to lighten the seriousness of the situation: “Heck, I’ll even give this jersey back to Streetsville Mayor McCallion if I have to. Just long enough for Worlds to finish, though! Then I’ll be back to the game we all love!”

  President Gerald Finch made his move then. He approached Jane and gently took the microphone out of her hands. She moved to the side, but he kept his arm wrapped around her bulky shoulders.

  “Hello, Canada,” he began, looking into the camera. “I am President Gerald Finch of the CFSA. The powers-­that-­be at the national office have already made a decision. Despite Jane’s breach of behaviour, she has not technically accepted personal monies or gifts that could threaten her amateur status in figure skating. She is wearing a jersey that belongs to a team. It has been determined that, if she will skate for us, Jane Matagov is the person we want representing Canada at the World Figure Skating Championships in Moscow. We think her spirit and athleticism would do us proud. All of us, I think, can learn from this young person and these young ladies who have joined her in their love of sport.”

  Gerald Finch handed the microphone back to Jonathon Keegan who, blinking uncontrollably, trying hard to deal with the live events unfolding around him, said, “There you go, folks! Ivan Stepanov, Bobby Orr, and Jane Matagov, all in one small-­town rink. That’s the connecting spirit of sport for you! Thank you, Jane, for a great afternoon of hockey. Great game, girls! Jane Matagov, folks — uh, Canada’s figure skating champion! Stay tuned for the six o’clock news.”

  Jane skated out of the camera’s light and it faded. Immediately, Deb, Leonard, and Gerald Finch we
re upon her, the team and various spectators fanned out behind. Jane spoke before they could.

  “Mr. Finch, is this for real?”

  “Believe me, I’ve been on damage control. I’ve had to move heaven and earth today to convince certain people.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Like I said, just do us proud.”

  Leonard started up. “Thank God you’re so politically savvy, Gerald. Jane, you should be grateful beyond belief — ”

  “I just said thank you — ”

  “And for crying out loud, your mother and I are your team. And you could have completely blown our chances — ”

  Deb flicked her hand in his face, and Leonard quieted. She turned to her daughter. “Jane,” she asked softly, “I need to be absolutely sure. You do want to figure skate in Moscow, don’t you? You’re not just saying it to make me happy? I only want you to do it if it is what you want.”

  Jane felt emotion wash through her. Her mother understood.

  “Remember when you said if I let go of a dream, I wouldn’t find it again later?” Jane reminded her.

  “Yes …”

  “I think I’ll find it there, Mom.”

  “What?”

  “I just have a feeling.”

  “Which dream, Jane? Which dream are you talking about?”

  “Whichever dream I need.”

  Jane stared at her hockey skates lying at her feet. Beaten up and abandoned, they looked empty and forlorn, scratched and scarred, like the people beside her. Towering over Jane, Mike, Irina, and Ivan as they sat on the dressing room bench was the Russian man in the long winter coat and fur hat who had watched the game. When Jane looked up, she saw that he stood casually, hands in his pockets, despite the emotion of her friends. “Speak in English,” she begged as she scanned the distraught faces of Ivan and Irina.

  Ivan was unable to speak, so Irina stuttered, “This man, Comrade Alexandr Yakovlev, he say he is soon to be Soviet ambassador to Canada. But first, today, he is sent by Soviet government to take Papa back.” Her voice broke. “This, Papa arrange without telling me. He offer to … they say, if Papa come back and coach again … if he return and coach for Motherland, then all is forgiven and KGB will free Mama.”