Undergrounders by David Skuy

meant he didn’t really care.
    “We could win — if all the guys wanted to,” Derrick growled.
    “We can’t score — that’s the problem. All we need is someone to put the puck in the net,” Rasheed said. That was the first time I heard Rasheed say something serious.
    “I keep telling you to move me up to forward and I’ll fill the net,” Collin said, thumping his chest.
    His friends all started dissing Collin real good about that, but it was different from what I was used to because it was kind of nice at the same time, like in a way that made it obvious everyone liked him. I hadn’t heard boys speak to each other like that in a long time; we didn’t in the Underground. I guess I’d sort of forgotten how Reggies talk.
    We all piled onto the ice and began skating around and shooting at the nets. Pretty soon Collin shouted, “Sticks at centre!” I stopped next to him, as the other guys kept goofing around.
    “Don’t be fooled,” Collin said. “They usually really listen to me.”
    I was still so nervous I couldn’t think of what to say.
    “That was kind of a joke,” Collin said.
    My brain finally unlocked itself. “I was gonna wait for something a little better,” I said.
    He laughed. “I’m not warmed up yet,” he said, tossing his stick on the ice, “and how can I when it’s like twenty below?”
    A few of the guys came up and tossed their sticks on top of Collin’s. Rasheed caught my eye and pointed to his stick and I dropped mine on top of his.
    “I’ll divvy them up,” Rasheed said, and he began dividing the sticks into two piles. He threw his together with mine. That’s when I understood. This is how they picked teams. It was supposed to be random. I retrieved my stick and followed Rasheed to the far end.
    “This here is Jacob,” Rasheed said, pointing to a tall kid with a Pittsburgh Penguins tuque. “We play on the same line with Derrick.”
    Jacob tilted his head toward me. The other kid held out his glove and I tapped it with mine. “I’m Matthew. Rasheed tells me you can really bring it.”
    I felt myself blush. I hated that. So lame!
    “Do you play with Rasheed too?” It’s all I could think of saying.
    “Play with these guys?” Matthew said, as if that was ridiculous.
    Rasheed laughed. “We didn’t want him, so he had to play with the Red Wings — who just happen to bethe best team in the league.”
    “Nothing can stop the C-Train,” Collin roared, as he powered down the right side.
    “After him, boys,” Rasheed declared.
    Matthew stepped up to play forward and so did Jacob. I drifted back to play D. Rasheed rode Collin into the boards and the puck squirted free. It squibbed into the corner and I was able to scoop it up and drift behind the net. Matthew was camped out at the wall by the hash marks, and I snapped a pass over. Matthew took a few steps, looked quickly to his left and then backhanded it back to me.
    Derrick swung over to forecheck. Instinctively, I did a head fake, slipped the puck between his skates, and pushed hard to the outside. That Matthew could play; he anticipated my move and was already cutting across their blue line. I passed to him again and he motored over the line down the left side and then dropped it for Rasheed. The slot was wide open, and I scooted in unnoticed by the defenceman who was focused on Jacob. Rasheed feathered a sweet pass right onto my stick.
    The defencemen left Jacob and tried to poke-check me. I shifted the puck to my backhand and took it wide right. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Matthew, who must have continued on to the net. I slid it over and he banged it off the post.
    “He scores!” Rasheed yelled, and he lifted his stick over his head.
    I would have shot the puck into the net. Lucky Matthew shot first. I had forgotten that you had to hitthe post to score.
    Matthew came up from behind and thumped me on the back. “The kid can bring it,” he said, in a big dramatic voice.
    “Nice goal,” I