Chapter 11: Draft Day

Henrik was off the bench and through the penalty box door before I had my jeans up.

He took three hard strides on his crutches, his boot slamming the rubber.

The white light at the end of the tunnel swung away and went out.

Footsteps ran up the concourse stairs.

"Trent!" Henrik roared.

The echo carried it around the whole dark arena.

No one answered.

I stood in the box with my coat open and my heart going like a drum.

"Did he film us?"

"He filmed something." Henrik turned, white-faced. "It's dark. It's a blur. But it's enough."

"Enough for what?"

"For what he wants it for."

The next morning I found out.

At nine the whole hockey team sat in the locker room on benches and folding chairs.

There were forty men and one skater, and Henrik stood at the front on his crutches.

I stood at the back near the door, with a clipboard I had no business holding.

Trent sat in the first row with his arms folded and a small pleased look on his face.

"I have two announcements," Henrik said.

The room settled.

"First. The Winter Showcase on December twelfth is a joint production with the figure skating club. Every player skates in it."

Groans.

"A skating routine?" someone said.

"A hockey team. On the ice. In front of the donors. Doing a thing they're good at, which is skate."

"We're not ballerinas, Cap."

"Good. We need a team. Hanna built the plan. Hanna's co-captain of the Showcase, with me."

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