Power Play by Eric Walters Page B

He shook me slightly.“Look at me,” he said, his voice suddenly more serious, more forceful.
    I looked up, but I had trouble meeting his gaze.
    “You know you’re special to me.”
    What could I say to that? He was my coach, my ticket to the Show, one of the few people in my life who had ever treated me right—he was special to me too, just not in
that
way. How could I tell him that without risking everything?
    “Just remember, I have the power to decide whether Jake … or
anybody
else … has a chance to make it. It all comes down to me.”
    What he was saying was true.
    “So, Cody … Captain Cody … can I count on you?”
    I took a deep breath and then nodded my head. What choice did I have?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    I shifted uneasily in my seat. Coach sat beside me in the booth. Meetings with principals were never happy occasions, and even though it was summer and we were in a restaurant and the guy was dressed in shorts, I didn’t expect this one to be any different. The principal had already sat down with Josh and Jake, and I had no illusions that Coach was saving the best for last. Josh had said it was “no sweat” when he came out, but Coach had told me that he was a really good student. Apparently he was as much a golden boy off the ice as he was on it. Another reason to dislike him.
    In some ways it would have been better if I had gone before Jake. The principal must have asked him about his face. It had stopped bleeding hours earlier, during the carride here, but it still looked like somebody had mugged him. Maybe the principal hadn’t asked, or maybe Jake had actually kept his mouth shut about how it happened. Actually, judging from the silent treatment Jake had given me on the five-hour car ride, the only chance of him keeping quiet was if he was afraid of me. He had
reason
to be afraid of me.
    Finally, after studying my student record, the principal, Mr. Paisley, looked up at me. He smiled, although it didn’t look like a real smile.
    “So, Cody, do you believe in fresh starts?” he asked.
    “I guess I’d better.”
    He laughed. “I guess we’d
all
better,” he said. “This is certainly not a record to be proud of.”
    “Believe me, I’m not proud of it, sir.”
    “That’s good to hear. Some people do pride themselves on being tough guys. There are lots of notations on your record about fighting. Do you see yourself as a tough guy?”
    “I can take care of myself,” I said, and then thought better of it. “But really, I see myself as more of a stupid guy who gets into stupid fights about nothing without thinking.”
    “Like today?” he asked.
    “Like today,” I replied. So much for Jake keeping his mouth shut. But what did I expect? If he’d kept his mouth shut to begin with, none of this would have happened.
    “Impulse control seems to be an issue,” Mr. Paisley said.
    “Not to excuse what happened today,” Coach said, “but he didn’t really start it. He kept his temper the first half-dozen times he was provoked … not that he was
right
in finally reacting the way he did.”
    “I appreciate that you tried to control yourself, but you’re going to have to try harder,” the principal said. “Fighting on school property is an automatic suspension for both parties.”
    “What if I didn’t start it and only swung back?” I asked.
    “
Both
parties. If somebody swings at you, then you are to come down to the office and report them,” Mr. Paisley said.
    “Yeah, I can see how that would work,” I mumbled sarcastically.
    “It
does
work.” He paused. “I know that it’s different from what happens in hockey. I’ve played a little shinny in my time, and I was pretty good, if I do say so myself.”
    I wanted to say, “Yeah, right, that’s why you’re a principal,” but I didn’t. At least I had
some
impulse control.
    “And I know that out there on the ice, you have to take care of yourself. You have to be a tough guy. If somebody drops the gloves, you have no choice