1
O
of!
He recovers from a block by a burly defenseman.
He’s in the clear.
The puck is coming his way.
He positions his hockey stick and traps it.
Slap. Tap. Tap.
He lines it up.
For a split second, there’s a clearing between him and the goal.
The goalie reaches high.
He shoots low.
Smack!
The puck careens across the ice.
It shoots by the goalie and hits the back of the cage.
Goal!
Jeff Connors raised his arms in victory. His breath came out in a fog in the crisp winter air. It was his second imaginary
goal so far and he wasn’t even halfway to the rink. If he could do as well when he actually got on the ice, he’d be a shoo-in
to make the hockey team.
He’d made the team the year before, no problem. It hadn’t been his playing ability that had kept him out of uniform. No, everyone,
even the coach, had been sorry he’d been sidelined.
Jeff was willing to take some of the blame for what had happened. But he hadn’t had much sympathy from the one person whocould have kept him on the ice. And how was he supposed to feel about that?
Just thinking about Mr. Pearson made him angry all over again. Even now he could hear the tired tone in his English teacher’s
voice. “Well, Mr. Connors,” he had said, “it seems you chose not to heed my last warning. I told you the consequences would
be grave if you didn’t. Much as I hated to do it, I fear you left me with no choice but to send a full report of your current
grades to your coach.”
Jeff still felt as though he’d swallowed a lump of hot coal when he remembered the conversation he’d had with his coach later
that day.
“Mr. Pearson tells me you knew your grades were slipping,” Coach Wallace had said, shaking his head, “but that you didn’t
do anything about it. At least, not that he could see. Well, rules are rules. And thenumber one rule of this school’s sports program is that if your grades fall behind, then you’re off the team. I’m sorry, Jeff,
but you’ll have to turn in your uniform.”
So that afternoon, while all his teammates were lacing up their skates and joking around in the locker room, Jeff had quietly
emptied his locker. He had pretended not to notice how the room fell silent as one by one his friends realized what he was
doing. The one-mile walk home that day had felt like twenty.
Jeff shook his head. That was then and this is now, he thought. Mom, Dad, and the coach are willing to give me another chance.
And I’m doing okay this year.
He tried not to think about the English composition he’d put off writing yesterday. Or the spelling and reading comprehension
test he’d taken two days before. If he didn’t do well on them…
2
J eff put all thoughts of tests and compositions out of his head. Instead, he continued his make-believe game. As he bobbed
and weaved down the street, stick in ready position and his gear bag balanced over his shoulder, he was in a world of his
own.
The puck curled around the boards behind the net and slid free of the tangle of players nearby. It was getting closer. He
just had to dodge this one defenseman and it was his. With a quick lateral move and a jab of his stick
—
“Grrrrrrr…”
The sound of a deep, low growl brought Jeff back to reality. He wasn’t on the ice facing a defenseman. He was on the sidewalk
of a tree-lined street, facing the biggest, meanest-looking dog he’d ever seen!
Jeff sprang back. The dog eyed him, baring its fangs, but didn’t move.
As a five-year-old, Jeff had been bitten by a dog. He’d been nervous around dogs ever since. He usually avoided them so that
people wouldn’t notice. That way, he didn’t have to explain anything to anyone.
Jeff hiked up his duffel bag and was about to move away when he heard a familiar voice call his name.
“Hey, Jeff, you’re not going to leave without me, are you?”
It was his friend Kevin Leach. Jeff realized he was standing right in front of the Leaches’
O
of!
He recovers from a block by a burly defenseman.
He’s in the clear.
The puck is coming his way.
He positions his hockey stick and traps it.
Slap. Tap. Tap.
He lines it up.
For a split second, there’s a clearing between him and the goal.
The goalie reaches high.
He shoots low.
Smack!
The puck careens across the ice.
It shoots by the goalie and hits the back of the cage.
Goal!
Jeff Connors raised his arms in victory. His breath came out in a fog in the crisp winter air. It was his second imaginary
goal so far and he wasn’t even halfway to the rink. If he could do as well when he actually got on the ice, he’d be a shoo-in
to make the hockey team.
He’d made the team the year before, no problem. It hadn’t been his playing ability that had kept him out of uniform. No, everyone,
even the coach, had been sorry he’d been sidelined.
Jeff was willing to take some of the blame for what had happened. But he hadn’t had much sympathy from the one person whocould have kept him on the ice. And how was he supposed to feel about that?
Just thinking about Mr. Pearson made him angry all over again. Even now he could hear the tired tone in his English teacher’s
voice. “Well, Mr. Connors,” he had said, “it seems you chose not to heed my last warning. I told you the consequences would
be grave if you didn’t. Much as I hated to do it, I fear you left me with no choice but to send a full report of your current
grades to your coach.”
Jeff still felt as though he’d swallowed a lump of hot coal when he remembered the conversation he’d had with his coach later
that day.
“Mr. Pearson tells me you knew your grades were slipping,” Coach Wallace had said, shaking his head, “but that you didn’t
do anything about it. At least, not that he could see. Well, rules are rules. And thenumber one rule of this school’s sports program is that if your grades fall behind, then you’re off the team. I’m sorry, Jeff,
but you’ll have to turn in your uniform.”
So that afternoon, while all his teammates were lacing up their skates and joking around in the locker room, Jeff had quietly
emptied his locker. He had pretended not to notice how the room fell silent as one by one his friends realized what he was
doing. The one-mile walk home that day had felt like twenty.
Jeff shook his head. That was then and this is now, he thought. Mom, Dad, and the coach are willing to give me another chance.
And I’m doing okay this year.
He tried not to think about the English composition he’d put off writing yesterday. Or the spelling and reading comprehension
test he’d taken two days before. If he didn’t do well on them…
2
J eff put all thoughts of tests and compositions out of his head. Instead, he continued his make-believe game. As he bobbed
and weaved down the street, stick in ready position and his gear bag balanced over his shoulder, he was in a world of his
own.
The puck curled around the boards behind the net and slid free of the tangle of players nearby. It was getting closer. He
just had to dodge this one defenseman and it was his. With a quick lateral move and a jab of his stick
—
“Grrrrrrr…”
The sound of a deep, low growl brought Jeff back to reality. He wasn’t on the ice facing a defenseman. He was on the sidewalk
of a tree-lined street, facing the biggest, meanest-looking dog he’d ever seen!
Jeff sprang back. The dog eyed him, baring its fangs, but didn’t move.
As a five-year-old, Jeff had been bitten by a dog. He’d been nervous around dogs ever since. He usually avoided them so that
people wouldn’t notice. That way, he didn’t have to explain anything to anyone.
Jeff hiked up his duffel bag and was about to move away when he heard a familiar voice call his name.
“Hey, Jeff, you’re not going to leave without me, are you?”
It was his friend Kevin Leach. Jeff realized he was standing right in front of the Leaches’
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