means I miss a lot of school because my hockey team has been red-hot this season and we’ve been invited to a bunch of tourneys and skills seminars,” I explain. Atticus groans and lies down, and Conor scratches an itch behind his ear and falls over again. “ ‘Furthermore, he seems to be coasting in his classes, failing to live up to his full potential.’ That’s because I give everything I’ve got to the game. Duh.”
Atticus sighs and rests his chin on my gear bag. He understands my priorities. Conor chews the bag’s shoulder strap. He has yet to perfect supportive gestures the way Atticus has.
“Good thing I intercepted this note,” I tell them. “It’s the kind of thing that would worry Mom and Dad, and they have enough going on these days without school causing trouble. I know what I’m doing.” Atticus tilts his head, doubtful. Conor snatches the letter from my hand. “That’s what I think: out of sight, out of mind. Thanks, dude.”
I open the second envelope. This letter is a lot more interesting, and I jump up and start pacing as I read because I’m so psyched. The guys follow me back and forth across the kitchen.
“Listen to this: ‘Brookdale Hockey Academy is hosting invitational tryouts for the best and brightest hockey talent. Beginning this fall term, BHA will offer a live-in facility featuring a high-quality classroom education along with daily training for the country’s highest-caliber student athletes. We are pleased to inform you that your son, Ben Duffy, has earned an invitation to apply for admission to our elite program.”
My mind is racing. I’ve heard rumors about a place like this starting up a few hours away. I guess the academy is a go! And they want me! It’s perfect—classes scheduled around practice, living and training with the best players, being coached by brilliant hockey minds. I’ll finally be surrounded by people who get where my head is at and who will encourage my dream of playing pro someday. Not like Mom and Dad, who only nag me about leaving smelly gear in the kitchen and show up late to my games, when they can even make them.
Atticus paws at my leg, and Conor, who studies Atticus like he’s going to be tested later, pounces on my shoe. I stop pacing and grin down at them.
“Best. News. Ever.” Atticus makes a noise that sounds like
Noooooo,
but that can’t be right: he’s always got my back.
I turn my attention back to the letter. “Tryouts are this weekend! Acceptances are being announced next week. That’s fast. Figures—hockey is the fastest game on earth. I have to call Coach, ask around to see if any of the other guys on the team are trying out, and arrange a ride.”
“A ride where?” Dad comes in from the garage. He’s carrying blueprints and paperwork; he must have bought a new house to flip. The Duffy family is on a winning streak today.
I’m so jazzed, I can’t even find the words; I hand over the letter and wait for him to read the words that will change my life forever.
“Boarding school?” Dad frowns at the letter. “We never talked about you going away to school, much less a hockey academy.” He makes air quotes when he says “academy,” as if he doubts it’s a real school. “Mom and I will have to talk this over, Ben. It’s a big decision. Very expensive, too.”
“It’s not a decision, it’s destiny. You know how hard I’ve been working and how I’ve…sacrificed.” I wait and let that sink in; last summer Dad had to go back on his promise to let me go to hockey camp because of the new business. It was a heartbreaker, but I joined a summer league in town and learned a lot, really upped my game. The disappointment about camp helped me develop new skills, and I’ve been working my butt off ever since. “Playing hockey is all I’ve dreamed of and worked for since I was five and got my first skates. Hockey’s not just a game to me, Dad. It’s what I love more than anything else in the world. And this
Atticus sighs and rests his chin on my gear bag. He understands my priorities. Conor chews the bag’s shoulder strap. He has yet to perfect supportive gestures the way Atticus has.
“Good thing I intercepted this note,” I tell them. “It’s the kind of thing that would worry Mom and Dad, and they have enough going on these days without school causing trouble. I know what I’m doing.” Atticus tilts his head, doubtful. Conor snatches the letter from my hand. “That’s what I think: out of sight, out of mind. Thanks, dude.”
I open the second envelope. This letter is a lot more interesting, and I jump up and start pacing as I read because I’m so psyched. The guys follow me back and forth across the kitchen.
“Listen to this: ‘Brookdale Hockey Academy is hosting invitational tryouts for the best and brightest hockey talent. Beginning this fall term, BHA will offer a live-in facility featuring a high-quality classroom education along with daily training for the country’s highest-caliber student athletes. We are pleased to inform you that your son, Ben Duffy, has earned an invitation to apply for admission to our elite program.”
My mind is racing. I’ve heard rumors about a place like this starting up a few hours away. I guess the academy is a go! And they want me! It’s perfect—classes scheduled around practice, living and training with the best players, being coached by brilliant hockey minds. I’ll finally be surrounded by people who get where my head is at and who will encourage my dream of playing pro someday. Not like Mom and Dad, who only nag me about leaving smelly gear in the kitchen and show up late to my games, when they can even make them.
Atticus paws at my leg, and Conor, who studies Atticus like he’s going to be tested later, pounces on my shoe. I stop pacing and grin down at them.
“Best. News. Ever.” Atticus makes a noise that sounds like
Noooooo,
but that can’t be right: he’s always got my back.
I turn my attention back to the letter. “Tryouts are this weekend! Acceptances are being announced next week. That’s fast. Figures—hockey is the fastest game on earth. I have to call Coach, ask around to see if any of the other guys on the team are trying out, and arrange a ride.”
“A ride where?” Dad comes in from the garage. He’s carrying blueprints and paperwork; he must have bought a new house to flip. The Duffy family is on a winning streak today.
I’m so jazzed, I can’t even find the words; I hand over the letter and wait for him to read the words that will change my life forever.
“Boarding school?” Dad frowns at the letter. “We never talked about you going away to school, much less a hockey academy.” He makes air quotes when he says “academy,” as if he doubts it’s a real school. “Mom and I will have to talk this over, Ben. It’s a big decision. Very expensive, too.”
“It’s not a decision, it’s destiny. You know how hard I’ve been working and how I’ve…sacrificed.” I wait and let that sink in; last summer Dad had to go back on his promise to let me go to hockey camp because of the new business. It was a heartbreaker, but I joined a summer league in town and learned a lot, really upped my game. The disappointment about camp helped me develop new skills, and I’ve been working my butt off ever since. “Playing hockey is all I’ve dreamed of and worked for since I was five and got my first skates. Hockey’s not just a game to me, Dad. It’s what I love more than anything else in the world. And this
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