Author's Note: after anonymously reading for a long time, I figured this fandom had become dead enough to justify my participation, lol. I've read lots of stories about the "pretty" Ducks, but there doesn't seem to be any about the geekier ones. So here goes nothing, hopefully you'll enjoy it!
Chapter 1
It really happened.
Ted Orion and his JV squad had taken on and defeated the fearsome Eden Hall Warriors, a team whose blood red state championship pennants were so numerous that the rafters at Eden Hall Arena could scarcely fit any more of them. Sure, with the final score 1-0, it was an 'ugly' win, but the packed crowd in the stands had had a blast.
The sixty minutes of brutal, bloody, and stalemated warfare had only been decided in the final seconds, when Greg Goldberg stunned his teammates and himself by landing the decisive blow against Varsity. On the opposite end of the ice, Julie 'the Cat' Gaffney had held the most prolific high school offense in the state of Minnesota to zero goals.
As Gordon Bombay unfurled an Eden Hall Ducks banner, the crowd went wild.
Not only had the hockey game been thrilling in its own right, but as the new colours proved, power in the school was beginning to change hands. For years, the overbearing and snooty Varsity squad led by Rick Riley had lorded over the school. Now, these would-be princelings had gotten de-throned on their own ice, in front of the entire student body.
As if to put an exclamation point on JV's revolution, Luis Mendoza openly madeout with Riley's girlfriend, Mindy Schultz.
Things'll never be the same around here, Goldberg thought with a satisfied grin.
He had been in this moment before, when his hapless District 5 team morphed into the Mighty Ducks and beat the big, bad Hawks in the Pee Wee Championship; and again, when a scrappy Team USA got the better of a talented-but-dirty Icelandic squad at the Junior Goodwill Games.
Putting jerks in their place. It's what we do.
Eventually, the Ducks took their celebration to their dressing room, where they were interrupted by a finger whistle.
Standing in his brown sport coat and khaki slacks, Coach Orion wore an uncharacteristic smile.
"Alright guys, way to play it!" He enthused. "I love me a goose egg, and you guys delivered it, so thank you."
"Ducks rule!" Charlie Conway exclaimed.
At that, his teammates erupted. Orion indulged his players for a few seconds before asking for silence.
"You just beat the best team in the state," Orion continued. "And you did it by playing tough, smart, blue collar hockey. No crazy tricks or gimmicks. Just good, old-fashioned hacking…and grit. I'm proud of you guys, but the work has only just begun."
Charlie eagerly nodded at that, prompting his teammates to voice their agreement. Now with the letter 'C' on his chest, Charlie had gone from being Orion's nemesis to his loyal deputy in a remarkably short period of time.
"Now before I let you go," Orion continued. "There's just one last thing. The game puck."
He fished a puck out of his front trouser pocket. The grizzled old pro believed that democracy was a lousy way to run a country, and an even lousier way to run a hockey team. But he was willing to entertain feedback, as long as his mind had already been made up .
"Goldie should get it," Les Averman spoke up. "I mean, he scored the winning goal, didn't he? How could it possibly be anyone else?"
Goldberg smiled softly at that. He had been best friends with Averman since his family had moved to the Twin Cities from Philadelphia. The two of them had bonded over their mutual sarcasm and their shared experience of growing up with Jewish mothers. So it came as no surprise to Goldberg that Averman was advocating on his behalf.
"I think Julie should get it," Connie Moreau said. "Holding Varsity to zero goals? C'mon, that's gotta be worth the game puck!"
"I agree with Connie," Adam Banks offered.
"Me too!" Dean Portman insisted, not to be outdone.
Goldberg rolled his eyes. At least Connie, as Julie's best friend, had a decent excuse. Portman and Banksie, on the other hand, were just jockeying to get with the pretty goalie.
So pathetic.
"But saving goals is what Julie does," Ken Wu protested. "Goldie went above and beyond by playing a position that he doesn't normally play. And he won for us!"
Heh, between Averman and Ken, I've got the Ducks' Nerd Caucus sewn-up. Cowboy?
Right on cue, Dwayne Robertson chimed in.
"I agree with Les and Ken," he declared. "Greg's stickhandling on that play was as good as anybody's!"
Fulton Reed, ever the loyal Bash Brother, sided with Portman and endorsed Julie. Guy Germaine, not on speaking terms with Connie at the moment, sided against her by supporting Goldberg.
Orion looked over to Russ Tyler, who had been uncharacteristically silent.
"Anything to add, Mr. Tyler?"
The boy shrugged.
"Gotta go with Goldie, Coach."
Russ didn't have an argument to make, he simply related more to Goldberg than he did to Julie. Like Russ, Goldberg was a big city boy who struggled with his weight, and endured more than his fair share of bullying. And, just like Russ, Goldberg could dish it out just as well – if not better – than he could take it.
Julie Gaffney, by contrast, was some perfect, pretty little princess who came from the forests of Maine.
Goldberg was keeping track of the votes in his head and realized that it was a tie. That's when he noticed that Charlie hadn't sounded off.
"Captain?" Orion asked.
Charlie hated being put on the spot. For all of his insistence on being captain, Charlie Conway would rather be liked than a leader. This issue had closely divided his team, and if he came down on one side, the other side would be pissed at him. But if he deferred to Orion, he would look like a spineless butt kisser.
Then, he discovered a way out.
"Banksie," Charlie declared. "That diving block was badass," he added approvingly. "Very heroic, and it arguably won us the game."
Goldberg sensed what had driven Charlie's decision, and chuckled.
He'll make an amazing politician some day.
"I respect your opinions," Orion told his team. "And I disagree with them completely."
His players laughed, having come to recognize their strict coach's sense of humour.
"Conway gets the game puck," Orion announced. "His pass to Goldberg was smart, selfless, and exactly what the team needed in that moment. Congratulations, Captain."
Orion handed the puck to Charlie, and the team politely applauded. Goldberg only just managed to keep his eyes from rolling. That familiar feeling of being 'chopped liver' came right back to him – though it had seldom left in the first place.
"Thanks, Coach," Charlie said. "And thanks, guys," he said to his team. "Well, I think I owe you guys a celebration, so let's go to Mickey's – my treat!"
"You mean your mom's treat," Averman corrected.
"Heh, same difference."
But Goldberg was in no mood to celebrate on Charlie's turf. Goldberg had just won the game for JV, and he was getting zero credit for it. Instead, Charlie got the game puck, and Julie got the credit. And of course, Adam got some kudos too.
But Goldberg?
In Pee Wee's, he couldn't skate, so he was put in goal – despite his terror of the puck. Eventually, he got over that fear (with the help of decent padding), and just as he was starting to thrive in the position, the goofy-but-wily Mr. Tibbles had gone and imposed Julie Gaffney on him. A smart, hardworking goalie with laser-like focus and cat-like reflexes, Julie seemed to mock Goldberg just through her mere existence.
After losing the starting spot to her, Goldberg learned how to play as a defenceman, and against all odds, had scored a goal in the critical moment.
But it didn't mean a damn thing to anyone.
Except for Goldberg's friends on the team.
"Hey – anyone who doesn't wanna get salmonella, come on down to Goldberg's Deli," Goldberg said over the din. "That's where I'll be celebratin'."
"Me too," Averman declared.
And with that, Russ, Ken, and Dwayne duly formed their little group with Goldberg and Averman.
Heh, the Ugly Ducklings, Goldberg mused bitterly.
Guy joined them too. He was a little too pretty to really be an Ugly Duckling, but his on-again/off-again relationship with Connie Moreau was in an 'off' phase, so he felt more comfortable around the team's geeks than he did around its beautiful people.
"Alright," Charlie shrugged. "Suit yourselves. Peace."
And with that, the team's rival sub-cliques went their separate ways.
Goldberg's Deli was a modest but successful establishment, and during the lunch hour, it efficiently churned out kosher sandwiches and soups for its legions of loyal customers. Given that Greg and his Ducklings were arriving at around three in the afternoon, the place had quieted down. Just the way he liked it. He had lost track of how many times he had stopped in for a quick bite only to be conscripted into service by his father when the place got busy.
David Goldberg peered over the counter as he heard the bell over the front door ring. He observed his son enter with a group of friends, and knew right away what was expected.
"You're gonna have to work this off, Greg."
"Yeah, yeah. I know, Dad."
Greg knew going in that he was in for a lot of extra shifts at the deli, but he wanted to give his friends a little something for sticking with him.
"You Goldberg's dad?" Asked Russ.
"No, I'm Goldberg's son," David replied.
The wiry business owner cracked a smile and scanned the group of teenagers, expecting some laughs. When he encountered only bewildered silence, he waved a dismissive hand.
Ack, whadda these kids know about humour?
"So what'll it be?" He asked.
One by one, Greg and his friends placed their orders. He wasn't surprised by Russ' reaction to his dad. Given how thin David was, most people were surprised to learn that he was actually related to Greg. Greg's massive mother, Mora, on the other hand, surprised nobody with her relationship to the pot-bellied boy.
But like many people who work with food all day, David Goldberg just didn't have much of an appetite. Greg thought about that.
Maybe I'd lose weight if I worked more hours.
The only problem with that theory was that Greg found the work to be soul-crushingly dull. He had no idea how his father coped, day after day.
"Coz if I didn't, then I'd have to spend all day with your mother – hey!"
Greg chuckled at his shticky impression of his father. He wondered how differently life would have turned out if David had actually made it as a standup comedian. Would David have then gone into acting? Would Greg be the rich son of a Hollywood big shot? What would Greg do if he didn't have hockey, or the Ducks?
Would I really be worse off?
He honestly did not know the answer to that question.
The tables that ringed the periphery of the deli were all two-seaters, but they were easy to lift, so the boys put three of them together and sat at one big table once they got their food.
As Greg started on his pastrami on rye, Russ took in the scene. Here he was, the boy from South Central Los Angeles, eating a late lunch with his friends. Although none of these kids were black, he supposed they weren't all that different from the kids back home. Averman, Goldberg, and Ken were all minorities, after all. Dwayne, a white Texan, wasn't a minority per se, but the earthy kid was definitely a minority at their waspy prep school.
They were all misfits. Except for one.
"Guy Germaine," Russ said.
"What?"
"So what, like you're one of us now?"
"One of us, one of us!" Ken chimed in to the tune of Freaks.
"Gooble-gobble, gooble-gobble!" Averman added for good measure.
"Huh?"
"Heh, the fact that you don't get that reference definitely means you're not 'one of us'," Goldberg declared.
"Hey, can't a guy just eat his lunch in peace?"
"Sorry," Goldberg offered.
"So whadda y'all think the others are doin'?" Dwayne asked.
"Probably eating their ambrosia," Ken shrugged. "Y'know, the food of the gods."
"Portman and Banksie are probably one-upping each other for Julie's attention," Averman speculated.
"Connie is probably telling anyone who'll listen that she's moved on from Guy," Goldberg figured.
"Hey!"
"Sorry," Goldberg offered again. "But you know it's true."
Guy sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right."
"And Charlie is probably admiring his game puck," Goldberg added.
Unlike his Connie remark, Goldberg's Charlie comment contained a note of bitterness that was impossible for his friends not to notice.
"Yeah," Averman nodded. "Coach really screwed you there."
Goldberg shrugged as nonchalantly as he could.
"It is what it is," he said.
Russ, Dwayne, Ken, and Guy decided to head back to campus before it got dark outside. But Averman offered to stay behind with Greg and David to help close the deli for the night. Though it was technically work, Averman loved these moments when he could hang with his best friend and listen to David Goldberg do his uncanny impersonation of Rodney Dangerfield.
Greg seemed embarrassed by his father's shtick, but Averman had no idea why. He had always thought that his 'Uncle Dave' was hilarious. The deli owner certainly had a better comedic repertoire than Averman's own father.
"I'm a podiatrist, that makes me a doctor too!"
Averman shook his head.
All the foot jokes out there, and Dad goes with that one.
"Yeah, yeah," Greg said as David finished one of his bits. "Is it alright if we listen to the radio?"
"Feh. I get no respect, no respect at all," David intoned, drawing laughs from Averman.
Greg went ahead and switched the radio on to the local rock station. As Yes' Owner of a Lonely Heart filled the all-but-abandoned deli, the men at work heard the front door ring.
"Sorry, we're clo…oh, hey baby doll," David greeted his daughter.
Amy Goldberg rolled her eyes at her father's nickname. If the brown eyes in the family were genetic, so was their sarcastic roll.
Averman snapped to attention and lost control of the mop he had been working.
"Amy," he greeted her.
"Lester," she replied.
She was the only one who didn't call him 'Averman' or 'Les,' but he didn't care. Even his God-awful first name sounded good coming from her.
Amy was the Goldberg who didn't look like a Goldberg. She was tall, especially for a girl. Just under six feet. Her long, muscular legs made her a formidable basketball player, and while the rest of her family was somewhat swarthy, Amy had clear, alabaster skin. Now a senior in high school, she was about to commit to play basketball at some college in Ohio that Averman had never heard of. But the fact that she had gotten a full scholarship to a college impressed him.
Then again, she had always impressed him. That was why he had always behaved like such a perfect angel whenever she babysat him as a kid.
"Gross," said Goldberg.
Averman threw a bony elbow into his friend's ribs.
"Hey!"
"What's your problem?" David demanded of the boys.
"Nothing, Uncle Dave," Averman said. "Greg's just excited to see his sister. And who could possibly blame him?"
Amy giggled at that, leaving Averman with the feeling that he had just scored twenty goals in a single game.
"Did you forget already, Dad?" Amy asked. "You called me. You said you needed me to drive Greg and Lester back to campus."
"I did?" David asked, momentarily puzzled. "Oh, right. Yes, would you be a dear? Thank you."
The boys put away their aprons and said their goodnights to David before joining Amy in the warm October evening. The seventeen year old wore stonewashed jeans that clung tightly to her figure, with a red high school basketball jacket over her white tank top. As they approached Amy's old Mercury station wagon, Averman noted with relief that Amy had a friend of hers seated up front.
The boys piled into the back, and Amy started the engine. At once, her friend, the aptly-named Gabby, started to talk. This had the effect of leaving Greg and Averman in a world of their own, but neither of them said a word.
Averman, however, had known his best friend long enough to understand what Goldberg was saying even when he wasn't speaking.
"I know what you're thinking," Averman said.
"Do you?"
"Yes, and to prove you wrong, you and me are going out when we get back to campus. After hours."
Goldberg raised an eyebrow.
"You'll see when we get there."
That was all that Averman would volunteer. Goldberg was intrigued. Eventually, Amy stopped the station wagon in front of Eden Hall's main gate and the boys got out.
"Alright, so where're we going?" Goldberg asked.
"Give it a minute," Averman said. "We need to wait for Amy to disappear. Haven't you ever snuck out before?"
Greg gifted Averman with yet another 'Goldberg eye roll.' Averman had lost count of how many of those he had received that day, but he didn't care. His best friend thought he was a wimp with a hopeless and pathetic crush on Amy, and Averman was eager to prove just how much of a man he was.
Without full awareness of what he was doing, Averman raised an invisible cigarette to his lips and took a drag. Goldberg laughed out loud. While real cigarettes looked at least somewhat badass, invisible cigs did not.
Eventually, Amy's Mercury disappeared, and Averman began to walk. Goldberg followed.
"Ok, Amy's gone," Goldberg observed. "Now can you tell me where we're going?"
"Oh, just a little old place for a bit of culture."
"Huh?"
"An adult entertainment store."
Goldberg laughed again at his friend's antics.
"And are you a regular at this fine establishment?"
"As a matter of fact, I am," Averman said, somewhat haughtily.
"Well, I'll believe it when I see it."
They were still minors, so getting hold of pornography wasn't as easy as strolling in and slapping a few bucks down on the counter. These places, at least in theory, required I.D. Government-issued proof of adulthood. Something Averman and Goldberg both lacked. Or at least, Goldberg thought Averman lacked.
Does Les really have the connections to score a fake I.D?
He liked Averman anyway, but Goldberg was beginning to wonder if his friend was cooler than he thought.
Meanwhile, as they walked, Averman cursed his ego.
How the hell did I get into this mess? Oh, right. I had to prove something to my best friend.
The only 'cards' in his wallet were his learner's permit, his student I.D, and his library card. As Averman thought about his library card, he cursed the unfairness and stupidity of the law.
These places should be like libraries. Why the exclusiveness? Why the puritanical rules? Teens are the only ones who need this stuff. Adult guys have wives and girlfriends. What do they need a place like this for?
But as the telltale neon sign came into view, Averman realized that there was no going back. He took a deep breath, then led the way across the street.
The building was a squat, three story square with a short stairway leading down from the sidewalk and into the porn store. Averman was relieved to discover that there wasn't some gigantic bouncer standing outside, waiting to toss minors into the street.
He entered with Goldberg, and nearly gagged from the smell of stale cigarette smoke, but he managed to keep it together. The shop was small, but it was packed full of illicit goodness. Movies, magazines, even books.
Books?! They make actual books out of this stuff?
Averman was astonished.
A few other patrons shot quick glances at the pair of minors, but quickly looked away. Nobody was eager for eye contact in this establishment.
"Well, Greg. Pick out whatever you like, my treat."
"Huh?"
Goldberg was clearly overwhelmed by the situation, much to Averman's satisfaction.
"Meanwhile, I shall peruse the literature," Averman smoothly declared.
Goldberg came to his senses as he watched Averman disappear. He then turned and began examining the racks.
I guess you don't use the word 'shelf' in a place like this.
Goldberg's eyes widened as he examined the video cassette sleeves. Each title and image was more depraved than the last.
So hard to choose just one.
He briefly considered grabbing everything that he could carry, but decided against taking advantage of Averman's generosity. Eventually, he settled on a voluptuous blonde nurse with a sultry smile. Goldberg figured that Averman would laugh at his clichéd tastes, but there was no denying that Goldberg had a specific type.
The goalie regrouped with his friend, who had turned out to be underwhelmed by the books, and ended up settling for a tame-but-reliable issue of Play Boy.
"Ah, the Shiksa Goddess," Averman chuckled, eyeing Goldberg's video.
"Oh? And where'd you get the magazine? At the retirement home?"
"Heh, nice parry," Averman offered. "Anyway, let's check out."
As the boys approached the counter, Averman felt his confidence evaporate. But he knew that his only chance was to play it cool. Sure enough, the only person in the shop willing to make eye contact was the cashier. And he didn't look like the trusting type.
Averman swallowed nervously.
"Will that be all?" The cashier asked.
Averman nodded.
"How old are you?"
"Twelve."
Goldberg's eyes widened in horror, and Averman was too shocked to react. He had no idea what made him say "twelve." It just came out.
At that moment, the hard-looking cashier cracked a smile.
"Heh, you're alright." He rang the pair up and sent them on their way.
Averman couldn't believe it. He had gotten away with it.
"Dude, that was awesome!" Goldberg enthused out on the street. "You were like James Bond in there!"
"Yeah, well, all in a day," Averman shrugged.
They sped-walked back toward campus, and arrived well past lockdown time. With the front gate locked, Averman briefly considered scaling the fence, but realized that was an impossibility with Goldberg.
"Well, I always wanted to see the woods at night," Averman declared, beckoning Goldberg to follow.
Given the impromptu nature of their little adventure, neither boy had thought to bring a flashlight. But luckily it was a full moon that night, so there was just enough light to guide them through the woods and onto the manicured lawns of Eden Hall. From there, they entered the boys' dormitory and crept past the campus security guard who was asleep at his desk, then made their way up to the room they shared.
"Well, Gregory, we did it!"
"We sure did, Lester!"
The pair of old friends were too tired to do anything but go to bed at that point. Between the battle royale with Varsity, cleanup work at the deli, and their forbidden adventure on foot, the day had taken a lot out of both boys. But they slept well.