Poser by Alison Hughes Page B

machine,” chipped in Chan, blowing on his hands.
    â€œBenches!” said Frey, brushing snow off his enormous backside.
    â€œHow about bleachers for all our fans?” I suggested, gesturing to two elderly ladies at a bus stop across the field.
    None of it happened. But we still have the old equipment, the goals and EXTREME HOCKEY.
    But listen up, sports fans: Big News!
    Now, for the first time in my life, I might have a chance to be on a real hockey team. My school is putting together a team for a citywide junior-high tournament.
    Chan told me about it at lunch.
    â€œSo it’s a few weeks of practices and one tournament,” he said, pushing up his glasses. “And here’s the best thing, Spin. All the guys who really play hockey have provincials that weekend, so they’re not trying out. Mr. Schulz said to get the word out that we really need bodies!”
    They need bodies! Bodies ! I’m a body! This was my kind of team.
    I peppered him with questions.
    â€œAny early-morning practices?” This would be a deal breaker for Mom and Macy.
    â€œThere are two, but my dad says we can pick you up,” said Chan.
    I gnawed on my thumbnail. Where was a pencil when I needed one? I could already hear the crowd chanting, Go, Spin, go !
    â€œChan, you know I’m not very good. You’ve seen me play. Not so good with the turning and the stopping. Or the puck handling or the shooting. Do you think I’d make it?” I asked.
    â€œGeez, Spin, have you been listening?” He spoke slowly. “We...need...bodies. To fill positions. So we can play. Get it? Just show up.”
    â€œYeah, just shut up and show up, Spin,” said Frey through a mouthful of my celery sticks.
    So I did. I showed up.
    And I made the team. I made it!
    Sure, everyone who showed up made the team.
    Sure, my number 13 jersey is faded orange and reeks of years of other guys’ sweat.
    Sure, I still have to find some equipment so I don’t actually die out there.
    Sure, I still have to break it to Mom and Macy, which won’t be pretty.
    But I’m on a hockey team . Playing real hockey. Real shots, real skating.
    Ice, Stick and Puck: The Luke Spinelli Story .

CHAPTER TWELVE
    A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR
    In this chapter, Mr. Spinelli attempted, unsuccessfully, to describe a “gruesome” Valentine’s Day–themed modeling shoot with Clarissa, “Psycho-Freak Girl Model,” during which they were required to freeze a “pucker-pose.”
    In another pose, they were “forced to hold hands and fake-skip together.”
    Due to the extreme distaste (to say nothing of the inappropriate language) our author showed for describing this shoot, it has been omitted.
    He requests that we remind you that he promised to be honest.
    He did not promise to tell you everything.
    Please respect his privacy in this deeply painful matter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    IN WHICH MY MONSTER LIE GROWS AND LURCHES OUT OF CONTROL
    I’m back. If you have any questions about that last chapter, keep them to yourselves.
    Remember: I’m a man on the edge. Things could blow up any chapter here. Like, for example, in this one.
    First thing this morning, Mrs. Walker came on the intercom, all serious and solemn.
    â€œStudents and staff,” she began, “I would like to take this opportunity to announce that our junior-high community will be promoting a new initiative...”
    Do all principals talk like that? All “initiative” this and “strategy” that and blah, blah, blah? I was barely listening. I was busy with my ongoing project of using my Sharpie to turn my blue binder completely black.
    â€œ...committed to social justice, and the support of our family here at Leonard Petrew Junior High...” She was still at it. Ms. McCoy was leaning on her desk, trying to be patient while Mrs. Walker droned on.
    Suddenly, I snapped to attention. What did she just say?
    â€œ...and to support