Going Places by Fran Hurcomb Page B

home an extra year when I was kindergarten age, so I started school later. It works out okay. I’m actually one of the oldest in my grade seven class, which might be why I get good marks.
    Bantam was going to be tough. Some of those boys are really big, and they love bodychecking. It seems like that’s their favorite part of hockey.
    But nothing would ever make me quit hockey. It was the biggest thing in my life. I missed it when the season was finished, and I started dreaming about playing in July or so. In October, a gray time of year in Fort Desperation, the thought of it was all that kept me going. Since we had natural ice in the arena, we wouldn’t be playing indoors till almost Christmas, but the pond behind the school would be frozen any day now, so at least there’d be a chance to play outside until the arena was ready.
    When I got home, Spider, my skinny, long-legged, totally loveable dog was bouncing up and down on his chain beside the woodpile. His ice-blue eyes werefastened on me, pleading for a walk. “Just a sec, boy. Let me grab your leash, and we’ll go,” I said.
    Spider is great. He’s a reject from the sled-dog racing scene. He runs like the wind, but not when he’s in harness. Show him a harness, and he goes on strike. One of the dog mushers from down south gave him to me last year after our local race. I was his last chance, and he knew it.
    I unclipped him and let him run loose. There wasn’t much traffic this time of day. There was never much traffic, come to think of it. We headed to the riverbank, where, with any luck, he might scare up a rabbit for a chase. I liked walking along the riverbank. It was sort of restful, but also interesting. The river was always changing.
    The Mackenzie River is the whole reason for Fort Desperation being here at all. Fort Desperation isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds. I think that the fur traders who founded it almost two hundred years ago were starving to death or something when they named it. But things must have improved, because it’s still here today. About eight hundred people live here now, people of every kind. Lots are Dene or Metis, like me. Some are descendents of the original fur traders.
    But there are also people from all over Canada. There are families from China, India and Europe and even a few old draft dodgers from the United States. Mostly everyone gets along okay.
    The river looked ominous in the fall gloom. A dusting of snow along the shore only made the swift waters look blacker than ever. Hard to believe that in a month or so it would be frozen almost solid. The days were already getting really short. Soon it would be pitch black when I walked to school in the morning and black again an hour after I got home. We were due for our first blizzard too, and all of the boys were totally hyped for snow. For them, it meant only one thing: snowmobiles. They’d be racing everywhere, day and night.
    â€œHey.” From behind me a familiar voice broke the silence. It was Michael Greyeyes, from my hockey team.
    â€œHey, yourself,” I said.
    â€œHow’s it going?”
    â€œNot bad.” There was a long pause while Michael fell in step beside me. I hadn’t seen him much since hockey ended last spring. He had been away for most of the summer, and he’s a grade ahead of me at school.Likethe rest of the boys, he had grown lots. He towered over me now. “Going to play this year?” he asked.
    â€œSure. I mean, what else would I do?”
    â€œYeah. I heard they were going to try and get the ice in earlier this year, so we can actually start before Christmas.”
    â€œThat would be cool.”
    â€œYeah.” There was another long pause. “The pond is starting to freeze. There might be a game on the weekend if the ice is good. Want to play?” he asked.
    â€œSure. Guess I should dig out my skates and get them sharpened.” There was an old sharpening machine