Racers, go! Go, Racers, go!”
Rocket’s two wingers were sitting next to him. Turner Rogers was a right winger. Brett Downey was on the left. Both were second-year guys. Rocket didn’t know much about them, other than they seemed like good players. Rogers had been a fairly high draft pick, maybe even a second-rounder. He could really skate, and he had a nice shot. He was also a big body and seemed to like the rough stuff. Downey wasn’t the greatest skater, but he played with an edge, full out, had a wicked shot — and he liked to take the body, too. Rocket wondered why they were on the fourth line.
“Let’s go hard,” Rocket said to break the tension.
Rogers gave him a cold look. “I got a text from Straussy before the game,” he said to Downey. “Looks like he’s going to clear waivers.”
“That sucks,” Downey said. “He got a raw deal. The guy’s a winger. He steps up and plays centre and gets burned because of his faceoffs.”
“Can’t believe they’re going with Terrence Day,” Rogers said quietly. “I’ve got nothing against the guy, but … he’s a bit old. Straussy can skate circles around him.”
Rocket grabbed a water bottle and took a long sip. If they were right about Terrence, then Rocket had a good chance of moving up to third line.
If so, then he needed to make that happen soon.
CHAPTER 12
Rocket looked up at the scoreboard. The game was almost over, with seven minutes left in the third.
They’d gotten off to a good start, when C.C. got a quick goal in the first period. Rory had pounded in a rebound off a point shot to make it 2–0 late in the second. Less positive — Rocket’s line had only been out for three shifts all game.
Coach McGill had told them to bring some energy, and that’s what Rocket tried to do. He managed to land a good hit in the neutral zone, and he even got a shot on net. It was from a bad angle, but at least he’d made the goalie react.
A few fans began to chant,
“Go, Racers, go!”
Rocket looked around for them. Then, for the second time since he’d come to Pinewood, he had a good laugh. The four boys who’d been in the Honda Civic were three rows up behind the bench. He hadn’t noticed them before, so he figured they must have snuck down to the expensive seats. They were hard to miss. Crawford and Chaz had painted their faces yellow and black, and Rino and Griff wore tinfoil Stanley Cup hats.
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. The referee pointed to the penalty box — tripping.
“Buy yourself some new glasses, Stripes,” Crawford called out.
“You’ve disappointed me for the last time!” Chaz shouted.
“Total dive!” Crawford yelled. “He flopped like a fish. Look, he’s laughing at you.”
The boys were so into it, it was hilarious. Crawford started falling all over the place to make his point.
Beauclair headed to the penalty box.
“Take the kill for thirty seconds,” Kaufman said.
Rocket wondered who he was talking to.
“Rockwood, are you deaf?” Barker shouted. “He said get out there. C.C. needs a breather.” He pulled Rocket up by his shoulder pads.
Rocket forced his stiff legs to hop over the boards. He almost wished he didn’t have to play. Brutal to take a shift after watching for so long. To make it worse, the faceoff was in the Racers’ end, to the goalie’s right.
The crowd clapped to the music. The referee blew his whistle, and the music stopped. The Ravens’ centre was a big guy. He was lined up slightly on the inside. Rocket figured he was trying to give himself space to pull it back to the defenceman for a quick shot from the top of the circle.
“He’s yours,” Rocket said to Goldsy, nodding to the defenceman.
“Just win it back,” Goldsy growled.
Rocket flushed and bent down for the faceoff. Sure, rookies don’t tell vets what to do. But as centre, it was his job to make sure everyone knew what they had to do after the draw.
The puck dropped. Their sticks flashed — Rocket’s a touch faster. The puck slid
Rocket’s two wingers were sitting next to him. Turner Rogers was a right winger. Brett Downey was on the left. Both were second-year guys. Rocket didn’t know much about them, other than they seemed like good players. Rogers had been a fairly high draft pick, maybe even a second-rounder. He could really skate, and he had a nice shot. He was also a big body and seemed to like the rough stuff. Downey wasn’t the greatest skater, but he played with an edge, full out, had a wicked shot — and he liked to take the body, too. Rocket wondered why they were on the fourth line.
“Let’s go hard,” Rocket said to break the tension.
Rogers gave him a cold look. “I got a text from Straussy before the game,” he said to Downey. “Looks like he’s going to clear waivers.”
“That sucks,” Downey said. “He got a raw deal. The guy’s a winger. He steps up and plays centre and gets burned because of his faceoffs.”
“Can’t believe they’re going with Terrence Day,” Rogers said quietly. “I’ve got nothing against the guy, but … he’s a bit old. Straussy can skate circles around him.”
Rocket grabbed a water bottle and took a long sip. If they were right about Terrence, then Rocket had a good chance of moving up to third line.
If so, then he needed to make that happen soon.
CHAPTER 12
Rocket looked up at the scoreboard. The game was almost over, with seven minutes left in the third.
They’d gotten off to a good start, when C.C. got a quick goal in the first period. Rory had pounded in a rebound off a point shot to make it 2–0 late in the second. Less positive — Rocket’s line had only been out for three shifts all game.
Coach McGill had told them to bring some energy, and that’s what Rocket tried to do. He managed to land a good hit in the neutral zone, and he even got a shot on net. It was from a bad angle, but at least he’d made the goalie react.
A few fans began to chant,
“Go, Racers, go!”
Rocket looked around for them. Then, for the second time since he’d come to Pinewood, he had a good laugh. The four boys who’d been in the Honda Civic were three rows up behind the bench. He hadn’t noticed them before, so he figured they must have snuck down to the expensive seats. They were hard to miss. Crawford and Chaz had painted their faces yellow and black, and Rino and Griff wore tinfoil Stanley Cup hats.
Tweet
. The referee pointed to the penalty box — tripping.
“Buy yourself some new glasses, Stripes,” Crawford called out.
“You’ve disappointed me for the last time!” Chaz shouted.
“Total dive!” Crawford yelled. “He flopped like a fish. Look, he’s laughing at you.”
The boys were so into it, it was hilarious. Crawford started falling all over the place to make his point.
Beauclair headed to the penalty box.
“Take the kill for thirty seconds,” Kaufman said.
Rocket wondered who he was talking to.
“Rockwood, are you deaf?” Barker shouted. “He said get out there. C.C. needs a breather.” He pulled Rocket up by his shoulder pads.
Rocket forced his stiff legs to hop over the boards. He almost wished he didn’t have to play. Brutal to take a shift after watching for so long. To make it worse, the faceoff was in the Racers’ end, to the goalie’s right.
The crowd clapped to the music. The referee blew his whistle, and the music stopped. The Ravens’ centre was a big guy. He was lined up slightly on the inside. Rocket figured he was trying to give himself space to pull it back to the defenceman for a quick shot from the top of the circle.
“He’s yours,” Rocket said to Goldsy, nodding to the defenceman.
“Just win it back,” Goldsy growled.
Rocket flushed and bent down for the faceoff. Sure, rookies don’t tell vets what to do. But as centre, it was his job to make sure everyone knew what they had to do after the draw.
The puck dropped. Their sticks flashed — Rocket’s a touch faster. The puck slid
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