Hat Trick by W. C. Mack

she’d gone and been disappointed by what my teachers had to say.
    “I don’t think so,” I told her.
    “Any teachers you particularly want me to see?”
    “Uh, not that I can think of.” But I could think of one she should avoid. Maybe Mr. Holloway would catch laryngitis over the weekend and have to stay home. Maybe he’d get stuck in an elevator. For a week.
    Anything was possible, right?
    If Mr. Holloway wasn’t there, Mum could just talk to my English teacher, which would be good, and Socials with Mr. Marshall would be okay, too. If she finished off with a chat about my P.E. class, the whole thing could actually be totally fine. And with that, I found myself hoping that for once in my life, parent-teacher interviews might be a breeze.
    But what I should have prepared for was a hurricane.

Chapter Eleven
    By the time game day rolled around on Saturday, I’d missed one of Big Danny Donlin’s questions.
    When he asked which NHL team the first woman had played for, I figured it was a trick question.
    Come on
. Girls in the NHL?
    But it turned out that a woman called Manon Rhéaume had tended goal in a couple of exhibition games for the Tampa Bay Lightning, and won a silver medal for women’s hockey at the Olympics.
    I had to admit, that was pretty cool. Awesome, actually.
    I was learning a lot from my studying, like what city the very first NHL game was played in. My first guess was Toronto, but then I thought it might be Ottawa. It turned out to be Montreal.
    I also read about some stuff I already knew, like who was considered the best defenseman ever.
    Bobby Orr. No doubt about it.
    And if Big Danny Donlin ever asked which team had won the most Stanley Cups?
    I knew it was the Canadiens.
    I could hardly wait until the last day of the contest, when it would be my turn to call in and claim the big prize. My first live Canucks game. My shot from centre ice.
    I was getting closer to the dream every day.
    * * *
    “Ready?” Dad asked, poking his head into my room, where I’d just finished packing my gear for the game.
    “Definitely,” I said, smiling. “I think we’re going to win this one.” My secret plan was going into effect that very morning. That meant Eddie Bosko was going down in flames while I was the star of the game. I couldn’t wait.
    “I hope so,” he said, carrying the bag for me.
    “What if we go undefeated this year?” I asked, following him down the stairs and into the dining room.
    Mum had made French toast, which wasn’t a favourite of mine, but still made the top twenty.
    “Isn’t this your first game?” Wendy asked, rolling her eyes. She was reading some goofy romance book and eating half a grapefruit. Gross, on both counts.
    “So?” I asked.
    “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Nugget.” She stuck her nose back in her book.
    I stared at her for a second, knowing something was wrong, but not quite sure what it was. And then it hit me. She was still in her pyjamas!
    “You aren’t coming to watch?” I asked. Wendy was supposed to show up and throw Eddie’s game off! She was supposed to smile and wink, or whatever it was girls did, so the gorilla would turn into a monkey on the ice. I was counting on it.
    “Come on, Wendy,” Dad called out from the kitchen.
    “Family time,” Mum said, reaching down to squeeze my sister’s shoulders.
    “But I’m reading,” she whined.
    “I’m pretty sure you can read at the rink,” Mum said.
    “Yeah, right.” My laugh sounded panicked, which I was. I needed her to be there! “You won’t be able to keep your eyes off the game.”
    “Give me a break,” Wendy said, laughing.
    “I’m serious,” I told her, trying to build the excitement. “McDonald fakes left, then right! He’s going for it, fans! He’s lining up the puck for a wicked slapshot. Here it comes, here it comes. He shoots, he scores!”
    “We’ll see about that,” she said. “Give me a couple of minutes to get dressed, okay?”
    Yes! Eddie Bosko was toast! I