Reality Check in Detroit (13 page)

One by one, the players skated down ice from center, took their shot, and then skated back to gather on the ice – the ones who had scored, kneeling. Travis only managed a rough count, but it seemed as if there was just about the same number of kneelers in Screech Owls jerseys as in Detroit Motors colors.

There were only four players left to shoot. Travis’s name was called by Mr. D, and he shot out from the boards, scooped up the puck, and raced down the ice, putting a lovely deke on the goaltender but sliding the puck just through the crease, where it slipped off his stick and was lost.

Disappointed, Travis skated back and took up his position along the boards. He sucked in his breath and looked over to see how they were doing on the other side.

Why was Nish skating toward him? he wondered. It was almost his turn. He should be getting his focus, planning his move.

Even behind the face shield, Travis could see that Nish was redder than usual. He could also see tiny white flashes of light behind Nish’s neck guard. He was wearing the bow tie from the Stupid Stop. A good-luck charm?

“What’s up?” Travis asked as Nish came closer.

Nish looked near tears.

“I can’t feel my feet!”

“What?”

“I can’t feel my feet – they’ve gone completely numb!”

Sarah started laughing. “You tied your skates too tight!” she said. “You’re a real boy, after all! Look! Real tears!”

“You cut off the circulation. Your feet are going to fall off!” shouted Sam.

“
Nish-i-kawa, Owls
!” shouted Mr. D.

“What am I gonna do?” Nish whined.

“It’s your shot, Big Boy,” Sarah said. “Give ’em what you got!”

Nish seemed to be crying as he carefully turned his skates and began gliding toward the puck.

Sarah and Sam were still giggling, but Travis felt sorry for Nish. This was his moment of glory. This was the moment Nish had wanted, had waited for, had bragged about, and had promised would come: a shootout opportunity and a chance to perfect his spin-o-rama.

Slowly, Nish picked up the puck. It looked to Travis as if Nish was just learning to skate. He was taking almost baby steps, clearly in too much pain to move faster. Or maybe he couldn’t feel his feet and couldn’t tell them what to do.

Nish gathered some speed as he came across the blue line. Jeremy, in goal for this shot, came out to challenge, expecting Nish to try to deke around him.

Nish made one deke to the right, but Jeremy didn’t go for it. It seemed that Nish was going to go to the left side next and try to tuck the puck past Jeremy. But Jeremy read this perfectly and went with Nish, carefully protecting his net.

Then, suddenly, Nish spun!

He spun like a top, the puck holding on his stick, and Jeremy, now sliding with his pads stacked, simply slid right out of his own crease toward the boards.

The spin held, the puck held, and, in an instant, Nish had roofed a perfect backhander.

The spin-o-rama had worked!

“
Yes
!” screamed Sarah.

“
The spin-o-rama
!” Fahd shouted from the far boards.

Players from both teams hammered their sticks on the ice in salute to Nish, who was making babystep strides back to the benches. Travis could see the tears streaming down his face. And they definitely weren’t tears of joy.

Nish went down on both knees, then flat on his stomach. He let his stick go. Like a giant curling stone, he slid in to the feet of Travis and Sarah.

“My skates!” he whined. “Get ’em off! Get ’em off!”

“
Cuth-bert-son, Motors
!” shouted Mr. D.

Sarah gave Nish a quick whack on the butt with her stick and skated away. Nish was screaming in pain, and Travis bent down and began working feverishly to remove his skates. He didn’t even see Sarah’s shot. He didn’t need to. By the loud rapping of sticks on the ice, he knew she had scored a beauty.

Travis had Nish’s second skate off. Nish was still going the Bobby Orr route – no socks. His bare feet looked red and swollen on the ice. He was sobbing lightly now, but Travis knew his friend was feeling relieved. The circulation was coming back to his feet. He could feel them again. They weren’t going to fall off.

“Did Wi-Fi get it on film?” Nish managed to stammer through his tears, his bow tie still flashing from below his neck guard.

“Maybe,” Travis offered encouragingly, but he really had no idea.

“Smmmith, Owls!”

Travis had both of Nish’s skates in his hands. He was looping the laces together when he looked up. Smitty roared out of the crowd of players, the last shooter of the game, and picked the puck up at center ice.

Travis was mesmerized. As Smitty approached the net, he used that trick only Sarah could do on the Owls. Smitty placed the back of his stick blade on the puck and plucked it up off the ice, turning the blade to hold the puck. He flipped the puck in the air, catching it on the front of his turned blade, and cradled it.

He was coming in on Jeremy, who had no idea what to make of Smitty’s move.

Smitty then did – to perfection – Nish’s spin-o-rama move. Only, he did it with a flourish. As Smitty began his move, he threw the puck in the air and spun in a circle like a top, and – amazingly – he batted the falling puck out of the air right over Jeremy’s shoulder and into the net.

Travis had never seen anything like it. It was the greatest shootout goal ever. The players erupted in cheers and screams of delight.

They began pounding their sticks in appreciation.

“Get me my stick!” Nish whined.

Travis pushed Nish’s stick toward him. What was Nish going to do? Throw it at Smitty?

But no, from flat on the ice, still crying, and with his feet bare, Nish joined in by pounding his stick.

Nish had seen greatness. And even if it wasn’t in his bathroom mirror, he had to acknowledge it.

T
he shinny game and shootout had been the greatest fun the Owls and the Motors had together. The Owls voted to leave all of the new equipment – every single stick, skate, pad – with the Motors, the real Detroit players, like Alex and Wi-Fi, who hadn’t just been hired for the show. Any equipment left over, the new Motors’ coach said, would go to kids in Detroit who couldn’t afford hockey equipment.

The Owls were glad to be returning to their own equipment, glad to be going home. But they were sad to be leaving their new friends. They had new respect for Detroit, new hope for it since people like this lived here.

Smitty had come clean after his amazing display in the shootout. He was more than a year older than the peewee cutoff age. That explained his low-pitched voice. He said he had been approached by the producers, who’d asked him to be the “ringer” to lead the charge of the underdog Detroit Motors as they dramatically came back in the series.

Smitty was, in fact, a far better player than he had ever let on. That was why he did the amazing shootout move. He wanted them all to know what had happened. The producers had said he would not only be the star of the show, but he would be paid five hundred dollars – money he had already given to his mother – and they had also promised there would be scouts from the Canadian junior teams at the games. His hope was to play junior hockey in Canada, as so many promising young players from Michigan had, and then go on to play in the
NHL
. He had been lied to just like everyone else in this “reality” adventure.

They had said their good-byes. Sarah and Cody had exchanged email addresses and promised to stay in touch – whether Cody made it to Hollywood or had to move back to Australia. Alex had given Travis hers. He had blushed. So what? He liked her a lot. And Nish had even given his email to someone: to Wi-Fi, in the hopes that Wi-Fi might find some footage of Nish’s spin-o-rama – anything the Owls’ fame-obsessed defenseman could use for his next demo tape.

Travis was thinking about all of this as Mr. D pulled the Owls’ bus out of the hotel loading area and down onto the street heading toward the tunnel to Windsor.

He decided to take one last long look at the city. He hoped the best for it. He looked for people in the streets and saw someone. It was the homeless man they had first seen on the walk to The Fist, the man Muck had gone back to and left some money with.

And he was wearing a brand-new baby-blue jacket with black leather sleeves.

With the Screech Owls’ crest over the heart, and “
COACH
” on the arm.