Kelly, Sofie - Sleight of Paw

Owen came over for a quick nuzzle. “Stay off the footstool,” I whispered to him. His response was to bat an errant piece of hair coming out of my hat.

Maggie parked on one of the side streets, and we walked down to the Winterfest site. There were probably twice as many people as on Friday night. More of the lights were on and I could see the course was even bigger than I first realized. Along with the sliding hill, the dogsled circuit, and the rink, there were a puck shoot and a labyrinth.

Maggie tugged on my sleeve. “Let’s do the maze.”

From where we were standing, on a slight incline looking down, the maze, built completely out of frozen snow, looked massive and complicated and scary.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Why?” Maggie asked.

“Because I have a bad sense of direction. Once I get in there I’ll be wandering around all night. Anyway, I thought you wanted to go sliding.” I pointed the hill. “Why don’t we do that before the line gets any longer?”

“Good idea.”

Saved.

I felt kind of silly, but I didn’t want to admit that the maze scared me. It was because of an old movie called The Maze that a bunch of older kids had scared me with the summer I was nine and my parents were doing summer stock in a hundred-year-old, supposedly haunted theater. I had nightmares for months after watching that movie on an old black-and-white TV late at night in one of the back rooms at the theater.

Maggie and I got in line for the hill. As we worked our way to the top I realized it was probably a good idea that I was wearing snow pants, sweats, and long underwear. I also realized it looked like a heck of a lot of fun. I turned out to be right on both counts. We slid until my legs began to wobble.

“I can’t climb that hill again. I need hot chocolate,” I told Maggie, brushing hay and snow off my jacket.

We walked slowly down to the canteen set up by the rink and the puck shoot. I pulled at the front of my parka. I was actually sweating.

“That was fun,” I said to Maggie as we stood in line for our cocoa.

“Yeah, you’re not a bad Saturday night date,” she joked. She looked around. “I haven’t seen Roma. Have you?”

“No,” I said. “But there’s so many people here, it would be easy to miss her.”

Lita was working behind the counter. She caught my eye. “What can I get for you, Kathleen?” she asked.

I held up two fingers. “Two hot chocolates, please, Lita.”

She poured two cups from a huge insulated carafe and dropped a marshmallow in each one before she snapped on the sippy-cup lids. I paid and moved out of the way, handing one cup to Maggie.

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping her hands around the cup and taking a sip. “Oh, that’s good.”

We walked over to the puck shoot and stood watching for a moment. Maggie elbowed me. “Hey, maybe Roma is with Eddie,” she said with a grin.

“How do stupid rumors like that get started?” I said, sipping my hot chocolate.

“There’s usually a grain of truth to them,” Maggie said. “Roma was driving around with Eddie in her SUV. It just wasn’t the real Eddie.”

Did that mean there was a grain of truth to the story that Agatha had left a fortune to Justin?

“Hello,” someone said. Maggie’s face lit up with a slightly mischievous smile and she turned immediately to say hello to Marcus.

I shot her a warning look over my cup, but it was a waste of effort. I turned, “Hi,” I said.

Marcus was wearing the same heavy jacket he’d had on at Wisteria Hill, as well as black ski pants and oversized gloves.

“Have you tried the puck shoot yet?” Maggie asked, gesturing at the game.

He shook his head. “I just got here. How about you?”

“We were on the sliding hill,” I said. I held up my hot chocolate. “We came over here to get warm.”

Beside me, Maggie took a step forward, and I realized we had somehow ended up in the puck-shoot line. “Maggie, how did we get in this line?” I asked.

She looked around. “I’m not sure.” She looked at Marcus. “Do you want to go ahead of us?”

“You’re not going to try it?” he asked.

“Maybe when my fingers get a little warmer. I think I need to at least be able to feel them before I pick up a hockey stick.”

Marcus looked at me. “Hockey is probably not your sport,” he said.

I could hear just a touch of condescension in his voice. At least I thought I could. “I wouldn’t want to make you look bad,” I said lightly.

He laughed.

I would’ve let it go. I really would have, if he hadn’t laughed. “You don’t think I could beat you?”

“I’ve been playing hockey since I could walk,” he said. “It wouldn’t be a fair contest.”

I handed my hot chocolate to Maggie. “I could play left-handed, if that would make you feel better,” I said with a small smile.

We were at the front of the line. The teenage boy running the game handed me a hockey stick and held one out to Marcus. He hesitated.

I had already stepped over the low wooden barrier onto the playing surface. “You coming?” I asked, making sure the challenge was evident in my voice and my posture.

He shrugged, trying to look casual about the whole thing. I could tell from the way he sized up the playing surface and the tightness in his jaw that he wanted to play. Marcus Gordon was competitive.

That was okay. So was I.

The puck shoot was actually more like a game of one-on-one street hockey. The space was snow packed, not too slippery yet. The net was at the far end. Instead of a puck we had a fluorescent pink ball. Marcus took the other stick and stepped onto the snow.

“You have five minutes,” the teenager said. He stepped over the barrier, holding the ball for the face-off. I leaned forward, stick on the ground, and Marcus leaned in, as well, a smile pulling at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Most goals wins,” the young man said. “No head butts. No groin hits. Body checks are okay. Like I said, you got five minutes.” He held the ball up over his head and dropped it.

I got my stick on it first, faked right, went left and whipped the ball into the net with my blistering slap shot. Behind me everyone cheered. I grinned at Marcus.

He didn’t smile back.

It was about to get fun.

He was ready for me on the next face-off. He got the ball first, but when he pulled back his stick to shoot I flicked it away and raced to the net.

Score!

We’d attracted a crowd and they went crazy cheering, and I shamelessly played to them, making a dramatic, sweeping bow.

He beat me on the next face-off, then faked me out by pretending to make a move for the net and instead going backward. It was two-one.

I won the next face-off, literally ducking under him to shoot. Three-one.

Even though I knew I’d won, I went all out the last time. Marcus got the ball first, but when he flicked his eyes away for just a second to set up a shot, I hipchecked him. He lost his balance and toppled over onto the snow.

I went right for the clearest shot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him stretch his stick across the snow to hook me. I timed it perfectly, jumping dramatically over the stick as it swept across the snow, and then whipped my own stick back and scored just as the buzzer sounded.

As they like to say in hockey, the crowd went wild.

To show I was a good sport I walked over to Marcus and offered him a hand up. Because he was a good sport he took it. We got a round of applause as he got to his feet.

“Wow!” Maggie said, as I joined her after several high-fives and a couple of fist bumps. “Where did you learn to play like that?” She handed me my hot chocolate.

“Yeah, where did you learn to play like that?” Marcus asked, brushing snow off his jacket.