Ice Magic by Matt Christopher Page A

buttons beneath the hour lights
     was lit. Each button designated a period. The game was composed of three periods. The fourth button was lit in case of a tie
     score, and that was used only when the high school played.
    The buzzer crashed through the sound of gliding, slithering skates. The two referees blew their whistles, and like flies both
     teams scrambled off the ice, leaving only their first lines.
    The Penguins protected the north goal. In front of the net was goalie Ed Courtney;at right forward, Pie; at left forward, Bud Rooney; at center, Terry “the terrible” Mason; at right defense, Chuck Billings;
     and at left defense, Frog Alexander. Watching from behind the boards stood Coach Joe Hayes, wearing a baseball cap and yellow-rimmed
     glasses. Beside him sat the rest of the Penguin roster.
    Phreeet!
went the whistle, and the ref dropped the puck.
    Terry and Ed Kadola, the Bears’ belligerent center, slapped at it, and it skewed across the ice to Bud. Pie sprinted down
     the ice, looking over his shoulder for a pass.
Slap!
Down it came as Bud shot the puck to him.
    Pie hooked it with his stick, saw Terry backskate toward the Bears’ net, and was about to fire the puck to him when a Bears
     defenseman bodychecked him. Another Bear stole the puck and slapped it hard to theother end of the ice. And Pie heard Terry yell, “You slowpoke! We could’ve scored!”
    Almost on the heels of Terry’s chafing remark came a yell from the stands. “Come on, Pie! Show ’em!”
    He didn’t dare waste time looking up to see who the rooter was, but the voice sounded familiar.
    Then another voice yelled his name, and this one he recognized. It was Coach Hayes. “Get down to that blue line, Pie! Hurry!
    He dug the point of his right skate into the ice and bolted toward the line. Across the red center line the Penguins’ two
     defense-men were struggling to wrest the puck away from the Bears’ forwards. Suddenly the puck shot to the side, rammed against
     the boards, and bounced on its edge toward the corner.
    Terry and a Bear hightailed after it. Bothreached it at the same time, collided, and fell. Terry, on his feet first, hooked the blade of his stick around the puck,
     dribbled it behind the Penguins’ net, then shot it up the ice.
    “Pie!” he yelled.
    Pie caught the pass, turned, and headed up the ice toward the Bears’ net. His feet seemed to be swimming in his skates, and
     he wished again that he was wearing a pair that fit snugly. He
knew
he could skate a hundred percent better with tighter-fitting skates.
    He saw the Bears’ defensemen charging toward him, and he pulled back his stick, aiming to sock the puck at the space to the
     right of the Bears’ goaltender.
Swish!
He missed the puck completely. Then
crash!
Down he went as the two defensemen plowed into him.
    Stars danced in front of his eyes as he landed on the ice, both Bears on top of him. The whistle shrilled. The Bears rolled
     off him, and he climbed slowly to his feet, groggy and tired.
    He skated off the ice with the rest of Line 1 and felt a sharp blow against his right elbow. He turned. It was Terry, his
     face shining with sweat.
    “Why don’t you take up tumbling?” he said. “You seem to do that pretty well.”
    “I’ll think about it,” said Pie as he stomped through the open gate. He found a space on the bench and sat down.
    He wasn’t going to tell Terry or anyone else about his oversize skates. They’d laugh him out of the rink.
    For two minutes the second lines of both teams fought but had no success in knocking the puck into the net, and for another
     twominutes the third lines tried unsuccessfully, too. It wasn’t till the first lines went back in that a Bear broke the scoreless
     tie.
    Then the Penguins knotted it up when Terry “the terrible” Mason, after driving down the ice from the red center line, socked
     the puck up into the corner of the net unassisted.
    The rink resounded with a roar as jubilant Penguins