repeated. “It’s...um...because—”
“You think I’m a sucker for a pretty face,” she said.
I felt myself blush. I knew I didn’t have a pretty face.
She laughed. “Don’t sweat it. Why not tell me about your trouble and how I can help?”
I nodded and sipped more coffee. The taste hadn’t changed at all. I dumped three spoonfuls of sugar and some cream into it.
“My trouble is that someone has been doing things to make hockey real tough for me,” I said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “During the games?”
“During and after and before.”
“Oh,” she said. I noticed she wasn’t drinking her coffee. “How tough has it been?”
“You probably know I didn’t play last night,” I answered.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “Please don’t take it personally, but I don’t follow hockey.”
I thought about that for a second. “Actually, I think I like that. Some girls chase anybody who plays junior hockey. At least if you help me, I’ll know it won’t be for that reason.”
Tiny circles of red appeared on her cheeks, and she quickly looked down at her coffee. She added some sugar to it.
“What kind of trouble?” she asked without looking up.
I took a breath. This was the hard part. I either trusted her completely and told her everything or I didn’t ask for her help at all.
I told her everything. The cockroaches, the skate rivets, the fiberglass in our long johns, the snapped glove, the phone call to the Henrys, and the way I had been blamed for stealing the wallets.
She watched me as I spoke. She listened carefully until I was finished.
“You are innocent.” She said it like a statement, not like a question.
“I didn’t take the wallets. I don’t even have a girlfriend.”
For some reason those tiny circles of red showed on her cheeks again, and she went back to looking at her coffee.
“How do you think I can help?” she asked. “I don’t know anything about hockey.” She stirred her coffee.
“I have two problems,” I said. “One is that I don’t know where to begin asking questions to find out who’s behind this. Two, even if I knew the questions, I couldn’t ask them. I’m supposed to be in Winnipeg.”
Cheryl took a notebook from the backpack she had dropped onto the chair beside her. She set the notebook on the table and got a pen ready.
“Repeat everything you told me,” she said.
I did. She made notes. Then, for about five minutes, she carefully studied what she had written.
The waitress stopped by to pour more coffee into our cups. It made me grumpy because that meant I’d have to start over trying to finish the horrible stuff.
Cheryl flipped to a different page of her notebook and began writing again.
I poured more sugar and cream into my coffee and stirred.
“All right,” Cheryl finally said. She ripped the page out of her notebook. “You need to answer these questions for me.”
She read them out. “First, why would someone want you off the team? If you can’t answer that, then try to figure out how someone would gain if you were off the team.”
“Gain?”
“Whoever is doing it must have a reason. How will it help this person if you are gone?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe—”
“I want you to think about these questions all day. I want the answers down as a report.”
“Sure—”
She held up a hand to interrupt me again. “Plus, I’d like a list of all the people who are able to get into the players’ dressing room whenever they want. Someone might be able to sneak in once, maybe twice, but any more often is taking a big risk of getting caught. I’d say whoever is doing this is usually allowed in there.”
“They’d only have to get in twice,” I argued. “Once to put the cockroaches in Jason’s duffel bag and once to get at my skates.”
“The wallets,” she reminded me. “Three different wallets stolen at three different times. Plus the time those wallets were put into your duffel bag. And what
“You think I’m a sucker for a pretty face,” she said.
I felt myself blush. I knew I didn’t have a pretty face.
She laughed. “Don’t sweat it. Why not tell me about your trouble and how I can help?”
I nodded and sipped more coffee. The taste hadn’t changed at all. I dumped three spoonfuls of sugar and some cream into it.
“My trouble is that someone has been doing things to make hockey real tough for me,” I said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “During the games?”
“During and after and before.”
“Oh,” she said. I noticed she wasn’t drinking her coffee. “How tough has it been?”
“You probably know I didn’t play last night,” I answered.
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “Please don’t take it personally, but I don’t follow hockey.”
I thought about that for a second. “Actually, I think I like that. Some girls chase anybody who plays junior hockey. At least if you help me, I’ll know it won’t be for that reason.”
Tiny circles of red appeared on her cheeks, and she quickly looked down at her coffee. She added some sugar to it.
“What kind of trouble?” she asked without looking up.
I took a breath. This was the hard part. I either trusted her completely and told her everything or I didn’t ask for her help at all.
I told her everything. The cockroaches, the skate rivets, the fiberglass in our long johns, the snapped glove, the phone call to the Henrys, and the way I had been blamed for stealing the wallets.
She watched me as I spoke. She listened carefully until I was finished.
“You are innocent.” She said it like a statement, not like a question.
“I didn’t take the wallets. I don’t even have a girlfriend.”
For some reason those tiny circles of red showed on her cheeks again, and she went back to looking at her coffee.
“How do you think I can help?” she asked. “I don’t know anything about hockey.” She stirred her coffee.
“I have two problems,” I said. “One is that I don’t know where to begin asking questions to find out who’s behind this. Two, even if I knew the questions, I couldn’t ask them. I’m supposed to be in Winnipeg.”
Cheryl took a notebook from the backpack she had dropped onto the chair beside her. She set the notebook on the table and got a pen ready.
“Repeat everything you told me,” she said.
I did. She made notes. Then, for about five minutes, she carefully studied what she had written.
The waitress stopped by to pour more coffee into our cups. It made me grumpy because that meant I’d have to start over trying to finish the horrible stuff.
Cheryl flipped to a different page of her notebook and began writing again.
I poured more sugar and cream into my coffee and stirred.
“All right,” Cheryl finally said. She ripped the page out of her notebook. “You need to answer these questions for me.”
She read them out. “First, why would someone want you off the team? If you can’t answer that, then try to figure out how someone would gain if you were off the team.”
“Gain?”
“Whoever is doing it must have a reason. How will it help this person if you are gone?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe—”
“I want you to think about these questions all day. I want the answers down as a report.”
“Sure—”
She held up a hand to interrupt me again. “Plus, I’d like a list of all the people who are able to get into the players’ dressing room whenever they want. Someone might be able to sneak in once, maybe twice, but any more often is taking a big risk of getting caught. I’d say whoever is doing this is usually allowed in there.”
“They’d only have to get in twice,” I argued. “Once to put the cockroaches in Jason’s duffel bag and once to get at my skates.”
“The wallets,” she reminded me. “Three different wallets stolen at three different times. Plus the time those wallets were put into your duffel bag. And what
Similar Books
