Picks and Sticks Read online

  Irina looked at the keen and cautious faces around her, then back to Jane’s eager one.

  “Okay,” she relented. “We will, all of us, we do this for you.”

  Deb picked Jane up after school and took her to the arena. Neither talked. Jane, less experienced at the silent treatment, was the first to break.

  “Mom … I just … I was kinda hopin’ we could stop being mad at each other for a minute …”

  Deb wouldn’t give an inch. “Let’s see how tonight goes,” she said, and they drove on in silence.

  Jane skated that night for all she was worth. She landed the double Lutz/double toe combination repeatedly, a feat that brought cheers from coach and mother. She listened carefully as Leonard rechoreographed the final thirty seconds of her four-­minute senior free skate program. They both knew the original half-­minute of added music to her three-­and-­a-­half minute junior program had been the weakest part of her Senior Divisional competition: time and moves basically tacked on. With Canadians looming, Jane and Leonard needed to work overtime to make the extra moves seamless, dynamic, and elegant.

  Deb and Leonard watched her closely, looking for signs of rebellion, but Jane gave them nothing. She had never skated more enthusiastically. They would have nothing on her. Nothing.

  “That was pretty clean,” said Jane as she skated up to them after the Mozart piano concerto faded away. Al, within earshot, cracked peanut shells with his teeth and spit them on the ground. Ivan swept the stands.

  “Way better. Your balance is back,” said Leonard, handing out a little dollop of praise. “But you wobbled the landing of the combination.”

  “True. I have to land it clean.”

  “You forgot that sweeping arm movement I showed you for the new footwork.”

  “Right. The changes are gonna take some getting used to.”

  “We don’t have time. You have to nail it tomorrow.”

  “I know.” If Jane thought about it, she would start to panic. It was next to impossible to make the new choreography an organic part of her program with the competition just days away. Just give me the pond, she thought.

  “And you kissed your knee on the back sit. Again.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. It’s hard to stop.”

  “We’ve got three days before we leave. Take the morning off. I want to see you after school. Refreshed. We’ll concentrate solely on the new half-­minute.”

  “Oh. All right. Thanks.”

  Jane stifled her joy. The morning off! She glanced up at the clock. A quarter to eight. She had fifteen minutes to make it to the game.

  “Mom … I was wondering … could I go down to Steve’s?”

  “You’re grounded.”

  “Aw, I, uh, promised George I’d help him with some math homework.”

  “He needs all the help he can git,” burbled Al.

  “… And since Leonard’s letting me off tomorrow morning, I thought …”

  “Enough. You’ve got one hour,” Deb allowed.

  “Seriously, Deb?” Leonard guffawed.

  “Two?” Jane pressed.

  “One. And I want to see your homework when it’s done.”

  “Check George’s, too,” Al snorted, cracking another peanut shell with his teeth.

  Jane quickly changed into long underwear and jeans, bundled up, and flung her skating bag over her shoulder. She glanced at Ivan as she left, but he wouldn’t look at her. Irina must have told him, she thought.

  Around the back of the arena, she had a sleigh stacked with her hockey gear. She threw her skate bag on top of the already precarious pile, and started pulling. She walked fast, attempting to keep warm so her muscles wouldn’t stiffen. When she arrived at the pond twenty-­five minutes later, she felt a thrill. Car lights were pointed at it, adding an aura of theatricality to the makeshift event. Jane watched large figures move in and out of the lights’ beams, giant shadows on skates flickering frenetically on the snowbanks. She threw off her coat and began the ritual of putting on her equipment. As she changed in the cold, she could see that Susan had rustled up about eight good Junior C players, including Trevor and George. The game was only just under way. Jane looked for her brother, but did not see him. Some of the guys were joking loudly, attempting to intimidate the girls into a sense of dread.

  “Bring it on!”

  “Hey, OW, she scratched me!”

  Jane had never seen the place so alive, so eerie and ghostly. Her father’s voice wouldn’t make it through this din. As she finished tying her laces, Mike strode up in his equipment.

  “Where’s Ivan?” he demanded.

  “Cleaning the arena. Irina’s here, though,” Jane teased, pointing to the ice.

  “She told me she was coming with her father. I thought you girls would have a coach here. It’s the only reason I agreed to come.”

  Jane shrugged. “Wouldn’t that get in the way of your flirting?”

  “Don’t do this,” begged Mike. “You fly out Friday. Forget about it.”

  “What’re you, my keeper? Come and play.”

  “Mom’ll kill you. And me.”

  Jane glided out onto the ice. “Man, I didn’t know you were such a worry wart. Don’t tell her and she won’t find out. Let me have some fun.” Mike still hesitated. “Come on,” Jane encouraged him, “it’ll be like old times!”

  “Okay. Okay,” Mike acquiesced. “But only so I can watch out for you. Just let me throw on my skates.”

  “Lily!” Jane yelled. “Change of lines!”

  The second she hit the ice, Jane felt a thrill. She almost screamed with joy as Mike swooped in and cornered her. They fought for control of the puck.

  “Come on! Check me!” she goaded, keeping it from him.

  “No way!”

  “I’ve gotten good, eh?”

  “Too good!”

  She turned her back on her anxious, yet aggressive brother, in control of the puck, and stroked into the fray. Jane, Irina, and Susan skated up the ice in a perfectly set-­up rush. The girls burst past the unsuspecting defence, and scored easily on George, who did a somersault into the net as they passed. Jane overskated the net, and her momentum sent her flying headlong into the snowbank behind. She surfaced from beneath the soft snow, blanketed in it, and whooped with delight, helmet askew. She flung herself out and shook off the snow, only to be smothered by her teammates. She disengaged and skated past Mike.

  “Did you see that, Mike?” she hollered.

  “Pretty good!” he said. “Nice rush!”

  A shadow on the sidelines caught her eye. “Hey, Ivan!” she called, stopping as her coach’s face emerged out of the darkness. “Did you see that? What’dya think?”

  Ivan shouted back, “Well done! Do not forget to stop!”

  “Okay!”

  “Shall I referee?” Ivan offered.

  “Yes!” Mike said. “Please. Bring some order to this chaos!”

  There was furtive movement behind Ivan, and Al slithered into the light. His voice was low and deadly. “George here?” he sneered at Jane.

  Jane stared at him, speechless. He must have followed Ivan in his car. He couldn’t possible know about this place …

  “Uh …”

  Al spat. “George in goal?”

  “… Yeah,” Mike said.

  He yelled at his son. “George! Git off!”

  The magic of the evening dissipated instantly. George didn’t hear his father, and Jane skated away, her joy crushed. She swung around to take a half-­hearted face-­off against Trevor, and distractedly watched George. She somehow won the face-­off and gained possession of the puck. She passed it to Susan, blind anger rising within her. Once again, Al was ruining their fun. He would call her mother for sure. They started toward George in goal, a repeat of the previous set-­up as Irina joined their rush. Susan pas
sed to Jane. Head down, angry tears fogging her vision, she moved to flick the puck at George. She slammed into him instead, bounced off, and collided with the goal post. Jane hit the ice hard and careened away. She slid toward the snowbank, and lost consciousness.

  Jane dreamed. Dressed in her mother’s yellow skating dress, she floated on a cloud high above a blue rink. As the cloud touched down onto the ice, a hockey stick glued itself to her hands. Silver pucks appeared. So did two ghostly teams. Jane began to weave among the wraiths, invincible, scoring goals on distant nets even as she performed her double Lutz/double toe loop. Her dad watched, smiling; she was smiling; her mother was with her dad, smiling, too …

  But their smiles faded and Jane’s head felt cold. She realized her cheek was on the ice. She opened her eyes, turned onto her back, and felt intense pain. She cringed and involuntarily yelped. She was surrounded. Ivan and Mike’s faces wavered above her. George knelt by her side. He grabbed her hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Mike’s worry infected her. She shook. She realized her nose was bleeding.

  “That was one of your better twirls,” George quipped. Nervous titters wobbled through the crowd.

  “Oh, man, don’t make me laugh,” Jane gasped. “My ribs hurt.”

  “Great. Where?” Mike demanded.

  “What’d I hit?”

  “George? The goal post? I’m not sure. Can you stand up?”

  “Oh, yeah. No problem. I — I’m okay. I’m okay, Mike. Man, that was really stupid.” Jane hobbled her way to a standing position, attempting to disguise the extent of her pain. Both George and Mike grabbed her under her arms, and she released a tiny scream.

  “What’s wrong?” Mike asked again, his voice laced with fear.

  Awareness came flooding back to her past the ache. “George. Your dad is here. You should get off. He’s really mad.” She darted a pleading look at Ivan. “Ivan. Please. Can you help me?”

  “Move her to the snow,” Ivan ordered.

  The crowd opened up, and the boys helped her across the pond closer to Al, who was yelling, “George! Git over here!”

  “Ugly,” George said, but continued to help Jane.

  “Git off the ice, George! Now! Come on, boys, let’s go! I don’t want yas playin’ here. It’s polluted. These girls have polluted the name of hockey. Any one of youse on my team — outa here!!” The boys stared at their frothing coach, embarrassed. Ivan, nearing his boss, attempted to bring Al back to reality.

  “You cannot take control in this place, Mr. Leblanc. It is for everyone.”

  Al’s eyes were crazed. He took a breath. When he spoke again, his voice was frightening.

  “Give me yer keys, Ivan. Yer fired.” He spat again.

  “What?” Mike said.

  “You can’t do that,” Jane said.

  “Is that right, Princess?” Al’s voice became high, a frightened bark. “George, git yer hands off her!” George jumped back from Jane, and Mike held her close, protective. Horrified, Jane watched Ivan dig through his pockets, staring Al down. He tossed the arena keys to his boss. Then he whispered to Jane, “I help you in one moment.”

  Al threw the keys at George. George couldn’t juggle them and they skittered across the ice. As he retrieved them, his father yelled, “You drive the Zamboni now! Every morning and night! Let’s go!”

  The car lights illuminated George’s miserable face, the wet keys glinting in his hand. “Dad — Dad — you’re acting crazy,” he reasoned, approaching. “… Let me just … I’m just gonna stay … I wanna make sure Jane’s okay.”

  “You clear this ice of these girls, then. Right now!”

  George returned to Jane and, together, he, Mike, and Ivan helped her off the ice and onto the snow. The other girls followed, gestured off by George, and soon the pond was empty of females. Irina came close to Jane, lending her warmth. The boys shuffled around the ice staring at their sticks.

  “Boys. Stay there. You’ve set the lights up so nicely, you ken have a practice,” Al commanded. “Regular drills.” He turned to his son. “Start yer job first thing, George. Ivan, come clear yer stuff out, and that’s the last time I wanna see ya in my arena.” Al stared at Jane. “I got some calls to make,” he shot at her, and tramped away to his car.

  Pain bending her double, Jane heard some of the boys begin the drills, laughing, trying to release the tension. “What are they doin’?” Mike said, disgusted. He let go of Jane and walked to the pond’s edge. “Guys, are you nuts? Get out of here.” They immediately stopped, climbed the snowbanks, and began to take off their gear.

  Jane was feeling very detached from reality. She tried to straighten, and watched the dream-­like scene as if from a great distance, oddly relieved of pain. Her teammates were taking off their skates and equipment. Susan was rushing in slow motion, ridding herself of gear. Irina, still right beside her, calmed her with a touch, and Susan was suddenly before her, saying, “It’s my fault, Jane. It was my stupid idea. I’m responsible.”

  “No. No,” Jane heard herself reply, as Irina also said, “No.”

  “Go home,” Jane continued. “We’ll talk later.” Susan had tears in her eyes and then she was far down the dark road, disappearing into the night.

  George was muttering beside her, free of his goalie equipment. “Did ya hear him? ‘My arena.’ Like it’s his arena. Like he owns the arena. Like he owns this pond?”

  “We can’t let him get away with this,” Mike said, back at Jane’s side.

  “No kidding,” George agreed, and Jane tried to follow their heated discussion on how to derail Al’s plans. Her rattled thoughts floated far away from their angry voices. Dad’ll come over that hill any minute. Or, you know, I think he’s just waiting for me down the road. I’ve gotta go. Mike, we should go — Dad’s down there …

  “What was that, Jane?” George asked, concerned.

  “Did I say that out loud?” Jane wondered.

  “Yes, you did,” Mike answered. “Come back to us.” He gently shook her shoulders, snapping her back inside her injured body. She inhaled sharply as the pain returned. “George,” he said. “Help me get her out of here. She’s getting cold.”

  “I help, too,” Irina murmured.

  “I … I’m on it,” George stuttered. “Jane, can I take something off you? I mean … help you with your equipment?”

  “Not yet,” Ivan instructed. “Where is the hurt, Jane?” He reached for her jersey.

  “Don’t touch me,” Jane begged, shivering violently. “I don’t know what I did.” Her rib was throbbing, the pain biting into her.

  “You must let Papa check you,” Irina whispered in her ear. “He know what to do.”

  “No. Please. Let’s just go.” She tried to step away from those surrounding her, but her skate was swallowed by the snow, then her leg, up to the thigh. She cried out in distress.

  “Be careful!” Mike admonished as George and Irina gently pulled her out. “I’m dying!” Jane shrieked as they lifted her. “Man, it hurts.”

  “God! God!” Mike exclaimed.

  Irina brushed the snow off Jane’s leg. Jane became flippant, the ache making her bold. “Let Al call Mom. I don’t care anymore.”

  “That’ll be the end of it for you,” her brother warned.

  “I don’t care what she thinks!”

  “Well, I think you do.”

  “She knows already! I’m done for already! Please shut up, Mike!”

  Ivan came close, calming her, and this time she let him lift her jersey and lightly probe her ribs under the equipment. She flinched at his touch.

  “Can we get skates off you?” he asked.

  Jane shook her head. “I can’t sit.”

  “You can walk in skates?”

  Jane nodded, took a step, and stumbled again. “No,” Ivan said. “Who can drive Jane home?” he asked of th
ose still remaining.

  “I can,” Trevor offered. “Just got my licence.” He began to hurry toward his car.

  “No, wait,” Jane insisted, cringing. “I want George to take me.” She didn’t care that Mike’s face fell. “Please, just, maybe Trevor can take us to the intersection near my house. George and I can walk from there.”

  “Sure. Whatever you want,” said Trevor.

  “I come with you so you do not drive fast. Then, Jane, you go in and lie down,” Ivan instructed. “Go straight to bed, ice on this spot. Mike, you bring her to me in early morning. I will see the damage.” He took off his coat and threw it around her shoulders.

  “What about Al?” Jane asked anxiously.

  “We will see what will happen,” he reassured her. “This is only one man.”

  “I’m going to walk Irina home then, okay, Ivan?” Mike asked. Irina’s eyes searched her father’s for approval. It was as though a jolt of electricity passed between father and daughter. Ivan nodded curtly. “Jane, I’ll meet you at home in twenty minutes,” Mike said. “I’ll look after you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Jane,” Irina said, low. “I see you in morning.” She joined Mike, and Jane immediately felt the absence of her warmth.

  “Trevor, can you pull my sleigh?” she asked, shaking, and tucked Ivan’s coat closer around her shoulder pads.

  “Yep.”

  “Put my equipment on it, Trev,” George ordered. “And the net, too.”

  Ivan and George walked Jane to Trevor’s car, each step excruciating as Trevor followed behind with the over-­laden sleigh. She tried a tiny joke. “I’m gonna need six weeks to recover, Coach.” Ivan shushed her, and she closed her mouth and listened to her teeth chattering. I’m so done, she lamented inwardly.

  Trevor could not close the trunk on the sleigh and all the bulky equipment, and he had to find two lengths of rope: one to tie down the trunk, and one to bind the sleigh and the net to the roof. Momentarily abandoned, Jane watched, twitching, as Ivan and George helped. They finally gathered her into the front seat. Trevor drove ten miles an hour down the icy dirt road, easing the car around as many bumps as he could see. When they got to the intersection near her house, Ivan and George assisted Jane out of the car while Trevor fussed with the too-­tight knots, and again piled the sleigh high with goalie gear, the net, Jane’s figure skating bag, and her empty hockey bag.