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Mike Jr. spun back around and smiled.
“Ever hold a goalie stick before?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“Come here,” I said. “Check it out. A lot different from a normal hockey stick, huh?”
Mike Jr. walked toward me and I gave him my goalie stick.
The thing was gigantic compared to his slender ten-year-old frame.
I sat there, smiling, remembering when Mike Jr. was a little five-year-old, walking around the locker room with big blue eyes. And I remembered when Coach’s daughter - Lizzy - was just a little two-year-old peanut, clinging to Carrie, afraid to look at any of us hockey players.
“So, you want to grow up and be a goalie?” I asked Mike Jr.
“Yeah,” he said.
“That’s good. You do good in school?”
“Sort of,” he said.
“Well, don’t tell anyone I said this, but goalies are the only smart ones on a hockey team,” I said with a smile. “So, you have to do really good in school. If not, you’ll end up as a defensemen like Matias or Reid.”
Mike Jr. smiled at me.
The locker room door opened again.
“There you are,” Coach bellowed. “Mike Jr., what did I tell you?”
“Hey, Coach, it’s cool,” I said. “We were talking strategy.”
Behind Coach came Carrie and Lizzy.
Then came Alonso and Madison.
She had a camera in her hands.
We looked at each other and we both froze.
“Hey, get a picture of Maverick with the boy,” Alonso said. “That’s a great shot right there.”
“Are you sure?” Madison asked, looking at me.
“Of course we’re sure,” Alonso said. “Right?”
He looked at Coach and Carrie.
Alonso had such a gigantic, mean presence to himself. Like the kind of guy that would sell you a broken-down car at full price, and you’d take the deal just to get him off your back.
“Sure,” I said. “You hold the stick, kid.”
Mike Jr. turned, holding my goalie stick.
Madison took the picture.
A second later a dog came running from behind Madison.
Correction - a puppy.
