1
They were laughing at him, and Travis Lindsay knew it, and he knew why. He’d been
“creamed.”
But no way was he going to give them any satisfaction from their stupid little trick. He simply sat there, staring straight ahead, pretending not to notice the snickers. Inside, he was laughing right back at them.
Travis had dozed off almost as soon as their bus pulled out of the airport. There had been a delay before the airplane carrying the Screech Owls tookoff. Another delay when it landed and they had to wait for a ground crew and a gate. Then there was a long wait for the luggage carousel to start coughing up the team’s backpacks and hockey equipment. Travis was tired by the time they got on the highway, and the heat on the bus had been turned up too high.
But now Mr. Dillinger, the Screech Owls’ manager, was calling for them all to pay attention. He was standing up near the driver, with two fingers stuck in the sides of his mouth as if they were necessary to hold up his big mustache. He blew sharply – loud as a referee’s whistle – and everyone on the bus stopped giggling at Travis.
“Listen up, now!” Mr. D shouted over the roar of the tires. “You are about to see a sight that no one should miss. We’re going into the Fort Pitt Tunnel, and what you see when we get to the other side is going to take your breath away. Okay? Everyone ready for a treat?”
“
YES!
” several of the Owls shouted at once.
It was dusk on a cold evening in early January. In the brief moment of darkness after they entered the tunnel before the bus’ interior lights came on,Travis deftly cuffed the top of his head to remove the high “ice cream cone” of shaving cream that some smart aleck –
Nish would be a good guess
– had sprayed on him while he slept. He wouldn’t give the others the pleasure of seeing him discover he was walking around with a second head. It was hardly the first time Travis had been “creamed.” Sadly, he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Not so long as Wayne Nishikawa was a member of the Screech Owls.
Travis would bide his time, and then he’d get even with Nish. He had lost count of the number of times a teammate, never Nish, had woken up to find a mound of shaving cream riding light as air on his or her head. How Nish kept thinking this was funny was beyond Travis. Much about Nish was beyond Travis – and beyond most of the Screech Owls, for that matter.
The long tunnel glowed yellow with lights along the ceiling and wall. There were cars ahead, their rear lights flaring red, and cars behind, their sun-bright headlights running along the wall as the tunnel slowly turned. Up ahead, Travis could see an opening, but nothing beyond it.
“Ready?” Mr. D called out, his big mustache bouncing with anticipated delight.
“ READY !”
They shot out of the Fort Pitt Tunnel with night falling, their surroundings suddenly pitch-black after the bright yellow lights of the tunnel they had just come through.
It was snowing lightly, and the headlights of the bus reflected off the large white flakes, surprising and partially blinding those looking through the windshield.
Travis felt as if they were floating on air through the falling snow. It reminded him of “The Magic Carpets of Aladdin” ride at Disney World, a feeling of rising and then falling slowly, effortlessly, silently. And spread out before the Owls through the wide, clear windshield was a city of lights – lights colored blue and red in some of the skyscrapers, lights on the bridges heading over the river, lights from the cars snaking through the streets. It was beautiful.
“Welcome to Pittsburgh!” Mr. D announced, as if he himself had built the city and lit the bridges.
The Screech Owls cheered and shouted out their approval. They were here for the Peewee Winter Classic, the biggest hockey tournament ever to be played on outdoor ice. They would be playing at Heinz Field, home of the Pittsburgh Steelers football club, in front
They were laughing at him, and Travis Lindsay knew it, and he knew why. He’d been
“creamed.”
But no way was he going to give them any satisfaction from their stupid little trick. He simply sat there, staring straight ahead, pretending not to notice the snickers. Inside, he was laughing right back at them.
Travis had dozed off almost as soon as their bus pulled out of the airport. There had been a delay before the airplane carrying the Screech Owls tookoff. Another delay when it landed and they had to wait for a ground crew and a gate. Then there was a long wait for the luggage carousel to start coughing up the team’s backpacks and hockey equipment. Travis was tired by the time they got on the highway, and the heat on the bus had been turned up too high.
But now Mr. Dillinger, the Screech Owls’ manager, was calling for them all to pay attention. He was standing up near the driver, with two fingers stuck in the sides of his mouth as if they were necessary to hold up his big mustache. He blew sharply – loud as a referee’s whistle – and everyone on the bus stopped giggling at Travis.
“Listen up, now!” Mr. D shouted over the roar of the tires. “You are about to see a sight that no one should miss. We’re going into the Fort Pitt Tunnel, and what you see when we get to the other side is going to take your breath away. Okay? Everyone ready for a treat?”
“
YES!
” several of the Owls shouted at once.
It was dusk on a cold evening in early January. In the brief moment of darkness after they entered the tunnel before the bus’ interior lights came on,Travis deftly cuffed the top of his head to remove the high “ice cream cone” of shaving cream that some smart aleck –
Nish would be a good guess
– had sprayed on him while he slept. He wouldn’t give the others the pleasure of seeing him discover he was walking around with a second head. It was hardly the first time Travis had been “creamed.” Sadly, he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Not so long as Wayne Nishikawa was a member of the Screech Owls.
Travis would bide his time, and then he’d get even with Nish. He had lost count of the number of times a teammate, never Nish, had woken up to find a mound of shaving cream riding light as air on his or her head. How Nish kept thinking this was funny was beyond Travis. Much about Nish was beyond Travis – and beyond most of the Screech Owls, for that matter.
The long tunnel glowed yellow with lights along the ceiling and wall. There were cars ahead, their rear lights flaring red, and cars behind, their sun-bright headlights running along the wall as the tunnel slowly turned. Up ahead, Travis could see an opening, but nothing beyond it.
“Ready?” Mr. D called out, his big mustache bouncing with anticipated delight.
“ READY !”
They shot out of the Fort Pitt Tunnel with night falling, their surroundings suddenly pitch-black after the bright yellow lights of the tunnel they had just come through.
It was snowing lightly, and the headlights of the bus reflected off the large white flakes, surprising and partially blinding those looking through the windshield.
Travis felt as if they were floating on air through the falling snow. It reminded him of “The Magic Carpets of Aladdin” ride at Disney World, a feeling of rising and then falling slowly, effortlessly, silently. And spread out before the Owls through the wide, clear windshield was a city of lights – lights colored blue and red in some of the skyscrapers, lights on the bridges heading over the river, lights from the cars snaking through the streets. It was beautiful.
“Welcome to Pittsburgh!” Mr. D announced, as if he himself had built the city and lit the bridges.
The Screech Owls cheered and shouted out their approval. They were here for the Peewee Winter Classic, the biggest hockey tournament ever to be played on outdoor ice. They would be playing at Heinz Field, home of the Pittsburgh Steelers football club, in front
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