Chapter Nine: A Declaration of War

The Varsity team brooded in their locker room as they prepared to take on the visiting Blake Bears. Having lost their road opener to Ridgewood Academy – a school that Varsity trounced 9-1 the previous year – the team was in a foul mood. Adam was alone in scoring that game, though his hat trick came at a price: McGill's accusations of puck-hogging on created a great deal of ill-will for the star center; this combined with 'losing' Julie had left Adam feeling isolated like never before.

The bus ride back to Eden Hall had been an ugly one, as the recriminations flew back and forth. Coach Wilson prized aggression in his players, which led to tension during good times and civil war during the bad.

Having returned to their home ice, Adam hoped that Varsity could rally and direct their anger toward the Bears. Failing that, Varsity would only have themselves to beat-up on. And Adam was beginning to get used to that – to the point where part of him actually looked forward to hitting back.

If it's a knuckle sandwich they're craving, I won't let them starve.

Maybe it was his Hawk roots, maybe it was his isolation. Or maybe it was a bit of both. But Adam had re-discovered the 'joy' of a beat-down when it was directed at a deserving target, his Duck-induced pacifism having dissolved in the warlike milieu of Varsity.

"Alright, Ladies," Wilson called out, moving to the center of the locker room. "Bring it in and take a knee – if you're not afraid of making your skirts ride up, that is."

After that meltdown against lowly Ridgewood, the Varsity coach was feeling the heat from the Trustees. Though his rhetoric was seldom lofty, it grew even coarser after that loss.

The team gathered and took a knee around their coach.

"Blake's got a center who's a scoring machine," Wilson announced. "So Banks, we're gonna need a little less flash from you today, and a lot more grit. Think defense!"

After being the lone scorer the previous game, Adam resented his contribution being derided as 'flash,' but he nodded in acceptance. He had learned not to challenge his coach. After privately seeking Wilson out after practice one day to discuss a disagreement over strategy, a furious Adam stomped out of the coaches' office when the old man accused him of having 'too much sand in [his] vagina.'

Wilson continued singling out various players for his mixture of instruction and reproach.

"And Henderson, let me do the coaching. You just stick to your own assignments."

The Varsity captain had drifted beyond the blue line several times to bark instructions at the forwards during the Ridgewood loss – and had found himself offside quite a bit.

"Yes, Coach," Henderson respectfully agreed. "I shall leave the instructing to you."

Dey wouldn't-uh needed da talk if dey weren't such dumb mooks, he added internally.

"And Vanderbilt," Wilson continued. "You're finally slowing down, which is a good thing, but you're still too jumpy. When the other team is about to take a shot, just pause for one second before you make your move. Got it?"

"Got it, Coach."

After imparting a few more words of personalized wisdom, Wilson exhorted his players to 'kick some ass,' to which they roared back a loud 'YEAH!'

Though their uniforms bore the name and colors of the Mighty Ducks, quacking was prohibited in the Wilson regime.

As the team lined-up and began to move out, McGill lingered just long enough to wedge a textbook into the doorframe of the locker room before departing. Once Varsity was out of sight, Larson emerged from the shadows and crept into the deserted locker room with a can of shaving cream in hand.

The white-and-eggplant Varsity first line hit the ice against the all-blue Blake Bears. Varsity's new starting line consisted of Adam at center, McGill and Guy on the wings, and Henderson and Cole on defense.

Adam met his infamous Blake opposite at center ice, anticipating the faceoff. The Blake center won possession of the puck and eluded Adam with a spin move. He took off and sailed a pass ahead to one of his wings, who fired a pass back to the center – who maintained separation from Adam. The center was about to take a shot when Cole extended his stick and tripped him. The super senior defenseman was powerful and intimidating, but lacked quickness, and often resorted to hooking.

"Two minutes, hooking. White number 78," a ref announced before ushering the big blond ox into the penalty box.

The Bears began their power play inside the Varsity zone with a faceoff. This time, McGill took the faceoff against an opposing wing. The Bear won it and passed to his center, who blew right by Adam and took a shot.

The crowd at Eden Hall Arena collectively groaned as the puck sailed in past Scooter.

"Defense, Banks, defense!" Wilson roared from the Varsity bench.

Embarrassed, Adam looked over to Scooter.

"Sorry, man."

"Don't worry about it, Adam. Get 'em next time."

Scooter saw his own tendency toward self-flagellation in Adam, and was quick to offer a bit of an encouragement.

The game resumed with Varsity back to full strength. Adam won the faceoff and broke away from the Blake center with some shifty footwork. He bore down on the Blake goal and faked a shot, passing the puck back to Guy who sent it flying into the net.

The home crowd roared as Varsity tied it up 1-1.

Satisfied with the play of his first line, Wilson rewarded them with a breather. The second line made their way onto the ice, where the temperamental squad took out their frustration on the Blake Bears. Varsity pounded the Bears with hard checks into the boards, and mauled anyone unfortunate enough to possess the puck.

Fulton intercepted a pass and bore down on the Blake goal like a freight train. He then put on the brakes and fired one of his famous slap-shots. It sounded like a cannon report, and the menacing speed of the puck caused the Blake goalie to flinch; throwing up his glove, he hoped for the best.

The puck whizzed past his head, and Varsity took the 2-1 lead.

Unfortunately for Varsity, an overzealous forward on the second line got penalized for elbowing – granting Blake another power play. Again, the Bears capitalized on their man-advantage and tied the game at 2 apiece.

Varsity and Blake fought like cats and dogs for the remainder of regulation, with neither side giving up a goal and both sides sending players to the penalty box.

Sudden-death overtime came, with Blake winning the faceoff and firing the puck all over the Varsity zone, hoping to optimize their position for a score.

They were a bit too loose with the puck, however, and Adam took off on a fast break after stealing it. One-on-one with the Blake goalie, and he had gotten goals in this situation a thousand times before. But as he was about to take the game-winning shot, he hesitated. Less flash, more grit, he remembered Wilson telling him in the locker room.

McGill had caught up and Adam passed to the former Hawk after faking a shot. McGill fired, but the puck went wide of the net.

Damn it, Adam cursed.

The Bears recovered the puck and brought it back to the Varsity zone. The Varsity defense could not keep up with the Blake attack, and Scooter's nerves seized-up when he realized that he was the only thing standing between his team's first win and a possible OT loss.

A Blake forward fired a shot on goal, and Scooter dove too soon, allowing the game-losing puck to sail in.

Another collective groan from the bleachers.

As the teams lined-up to shake hands, the home crowd at Eden Hall Arena deserted the stands with a swiftness that stunned Fulton.

No one likes a loser.

Though the veteran Duck was unhappy about leaving his team, part of him felt that he would win greater acceptance at the school as result of being on its prestigious Varsity hockey team. But the squad was winless, and the fans were already looking for better things to do with their time.

Adam braced himself for yet another round of finger-pointing and possible fist fights. He had reached the point where he feared Varsity fists less than his own increasing pleasure at inflicting pain on his teammates. There was something deeply satisfying about punching an obnoxious, aggressive loudmouth in the jaw.

But part of him knew that it was wrong for him to enjoy it.

Wilson unlocked the locker room door before turning and going into his own office. He planned on letting it rip on his winless team, but figured that he could maximize the effect of his words by making his players wait in trepidation first.

As the players entered, they could hear the sound of running water.

Guy looked over to the showers and saw a large pile of Varsity street clothes getting soaked under the shower heads. On the opposite wall, the words 'Varsity Sucks' were written in shaving cream.

Cole recognized the prank they inflicted on JV the previous year being turned on them.

"Ducks," he snarled.

Henderson recalled the JV/Varsity prank war from the year before. At the time, he thought it was a moronic waste of time. But he went along with it out of loyalty to Riley. Now Varsity captain himself, he had no interest in taking his team to war with JV – he figured that there were more efficient ways of lording it over their rivals.

And pranking demanded a creativity and a subtlety that the blustering defenseman lacked.

But now things had changed.

JV had appeared to fire the first shot, and Henderson saw an opportunity to unite his deeply-divided team against a common enemy.

"A'ite," he spoke up. "Doze fuckin' mooks want a war, so we'll give 'em one."

The majority of his teammates roared their enthusiastic agreement while Adam, Fulton, and Guy exchanged nervous glances.


An amused Averman looked on as Ryan went about his pre-meal ritual of sucking on Warhead candies while swishing around a mouthful of Surge. The D5er enjoyed the fact that he was no longer the weirdest person on the Ducks, as it made him the butt of far fewer jokes at lunch. Charlie, Linda, Julie, Connie, Goldberg, Russ, Kenny and Dwayne also watched the little show the first line forward put on.

Noticing that he was being watched, Ryan looked up after he swallowed the candy-and-pop cocktail.

"What? It's the only way to make the food here not suck."

The copper-haired forward didn't give anyone a chance to respond before he furiously tore into his baked chicken and mashed potatoes, not wanting to lose the sweet flavor lining that he had plied his taste buds with.

"Hey guys."

A small chorus of 'hey, Tim' greeted the JV center as he took his seat next to Julie in the campus dining hall. His mint blue eyes widened at the sight of Ryan's clean plate; the team had only just sat down and were nowhere near done with their meals. All that had remained of his linemate's were the bones from the chicken.

"Geez, Ryan," Tim began. "Did you even taste any of it?"

"As a matter of fact I did," the ginger forward replied with an air of faux dignity. "The chicken had a sour beginning, followed by a lemony development, and a vanilla finish. As did the potatoes, only with a creamier texture."

"Fair enough," Tim chortled. "You're quiet the gourmet."

Looking around at his teammates, Tim cast a worried and apologetic glance. The confident forward looked a lot like the nervous brother of Rick Riley who had introduced himself to a plainly hostile Duck team. Having only just secured his social status on JV, he worried that he had thrown it all away that weekend at the diner.

"Hey guys," he spoke up. "About me walking out of Mickey's last Saturday…sorry about that."

"Water under a bridge, Tim," Charlie offered.

The JV captain was keen to prevent the weekend's tension from festering into permanent alienation.

"Yeah," Ryan spoke up. "I'm sorry about that little joke I made about you and Julie."

"Don't worry about it, man," Tim replied. "It's all good."

He had been a lot less offended by Ryan's honor-related joke, and more disturbed by the fact that Julie had been hanging out with Adam. Before the Husky game, she had mentioned her plan to hang out with Fulton; but Larson's revelation that she had been with Adam as well came as news to him.

Tim had noticed the frequent glances that Adam had given Julie from the Varsity table over the past few weeks, was he competition?

"Hey, Larson."

Goldberg greeted the taciturn defenseman who replied with a short nod, taking his seat at the end of the table – away from the others.

"Just as chatty as ever," Goldberg mused, to no one in particular.

Seeing Larson reminded Charlie that while the Ryan/Tim fire had just been put out, a more serious one was burning between Portman and Julie. The goalie had committed an unpardonable sin in Portman's eyes by fraternizing with Fulton, and Charlie worried that Portman could become even more isolated and dependent on Larson as result.

This growing dependency was demonstrated as Charlie observed Portman take his seat with Larson, away from the rest of the Ducks.

"Hey, bro," the ex-Bash Brother greeted the ex-Hawk with a genial smile.

Larson looked across the table, his dead eyes sending a chill down Portman's spine.

"You nearly gave up a goal last weekend to the Huskies, Dean. You bit on an obvious draw and left a wide-open lane to the goal. Luckily the Bitch saved your skin," Larson declared, gifting Julie with a harsher nickname than 'Cat.'

"Um…good afternoon to you too, I guess."

The dead eyes continued to drive icy daggers into Portman's soul, and the Chicago-born defenseman couldn't take it for long.

"Sorry, bro," he offered. "I'll play with greater situational awareness next time."

"Good."

The dead eyes had not softened, but at least they were directed at the meat on a plate – not the meat seated across the table. That was how he saw Portman anyway. Meat.

But the protein makes me stronger.

By consuming Dean Portman and Fulton Reed, Larson knew that he had strengthened his own position. He just needed a few more little things to fall into place. And falling into place, they were. Looking down at his overcooked hamburger – and the resulting lack of blood – Larson wished the Eden Hall fare was as flavorful as his human prey.

The two defensemen ate in silence for the next several minutes. As much as Portman enjoyed having a receptive audience for his anti-Fulton rants, he was beginning to wish that Larson spoke more often. He was getting bored just talking about hockey and Fulton with the ex-Hawk; and the long silences for which Larson was infamous were even less tolerable.

Deciding that he could stand the silence no longer, Portman spoke up.

"So, you got a date to Semi's?"

The Semi-Formal was still over a month away, but Portman figured that hot teenage girls were something that any teenage guy would like to talk about.

Larson looked up.

"I've got my eye on someone," he declared, glancing briefly at Connie. "But the timing is not right…just yet."

Over at the Varsity table, McGill had arrived with a large pair of bolt cutters in hand and his usual look of self-satisfaction on his face. Zach Henderson was not amused.

"Real subtle, ya mook," he scoffed. "Walkin' around wid a pair of bolt cutters don't look duh least bit suspicious.

The Varsity captain took pleasure in wiping the smirk off McGill's face. He regarded the new forward as both a dweeb and a liability on offense, so he felt no qualms about making the ex-Hawk procure the bolt cutters needed for Varsity's 'retaliation' against JV.

"I guess I'll just put them in my backpack," McGill offered with uncharacteristic self-consciousness.

"Good plan," Henderson huffed. "And you sure your guy's reliable?"

McGill nodded.

"He's the only one who can get us in."

Henderson returned the nod – unable to assuage his own doubts about the plan, but unable to come up with anything better. Before he was about to share the plan with his team, he looked over at the three Varsity Ducks. They were JV-blooded and the Varsity captain did not trust them. To avoid any leaks, he spoke up.

"As for you, Curly, an' Moe," he began, looking at Adam, Fulton, and Guy, "dis is gonna be a team effort. We don't need yous guys goin' to your Little Ducky friends an' revealin' duh plan. So get lost."

The three friends wanted to stay put and find out what Henderson had up his sleeve, but it was clear that the Varsity captain would not allow that.

He continued to stare the trio down.

After several long seconds, Adam got to his feet, followed by Fulton and Guy.

"And one more ting," Henderson called out as the trio turned to leave. "If duh tree uh-yous tip duh Little Duckies awff, me an' Cole will beat yous guys til yous piss blood. Cah-peesh?"

Against his considerable self-discipline and less-considerable instinct for self-preservation, Adam laughed out loud.

"What duh fuck's so funny?"

"Nothing, man," Adam replied. "I capiche, paisan."

"Huh?"

The mind is such a terrible thing to waste.

"Er, nothing. Stacy's got a nice rack, don't she?"

"Ah," Henderson replied with a grin. "Now you're speakin' my language. I knew you wasn't gay. But you're still a Duck, so bounce."

With their belligerent captain having given them a billigerent farewell, the trio surveyed the dining hall, looking for a place to sit. The seating arrangements reflected Eden Hall's rigid social structure, with the various sport teams making up the Jock clique each occupying their own tables. The Preps, Goths, Nerds, and Beautiful People each had their own piece of turf as well. Even unaffiliated lone wolves stuck together, as they had no other choice; but their table was full.

There was plenty of room at the Nerd table, however. Based out of the AV Room, the Nerds were Eden Hall's smallest, weakest, and most despised clique. Naturally, they had room to spare at their table, so the trio made their way over. The terrified nerds saw three Varsity hockey players approach and quickly emptied out their wallets, making a pile and pushing it toward the end of the table.

Adam, Fulton, and Guy simultaneously gave the nerds confused looks.

"Please, just take the money and go," Milton Meyers, the clique's leader squeaked out.

The boy was a year older than his three visitors – but much shorter, fatter, and weaker. He had a mess of greasy dark hair, and thick black glasses, but a clearer complexion than most of his acne-ridden friends.

"What are you talking about?" Asked Guy.

"Why else would you be here?" Milton replied. "Jocks demand money, and we give it to them to avoid a beating. That's how it works."

He wasn't sure if the hockey players were genuine in their confusion or just toying with him. But there was nothing he could do either way. Milton's few friends looked on with worry.

"Sounds like you've been hanging out with the wrong jocks," Adam offered. "I know this is awkward, but can we sit? If not, we'll just find someplace else. No sweat."

Milton raised a suspicious eyebrow.

These guys are way too nice, there must be a catch.

But he gave a reluctant nod, and the three sat down.

"Let's just get this out of the way," Adam pushed the pile of cash back toward the nerds and set his tray down.

He noticed the suspicious looks.

"Come on guys. We don't want your money, relax."

Milton grabbed the pile and began redistributing the cash to his friends.

The combination of nerds and a mountain of cash proved irresistible to Kevin Schultz, a linebacker with the school's football team; so he approached the table with the expectation of easy money.

"Hey, what's the rush, Moneybags? Send that green my way."

Fulton rose from his seat and approached the linebacker. The hockey player looked massive compared to most of JV, but about average compared to most of the football players.

But he could still fuck Schultz up, and the football player knew it.

"Leave them alone," Fulton ordered the bully.

Schultz scoffed.

"Whatever, nerd lover."

The football player turned and left.

Fulton sat back down, waving away the money Milton tried to give him as payment for service rendered.

"If you really want to pay me, help me with my math homework."

The nerd flashed a smile full of metal.

"My specialty, kind sir. Let's have a look."

As Milton helped Fulton, Guy turned to Adam.

"I think we should warn the Ducks about Varsity."

Adam nodded.

"No need for both of us to go. You stay put."

Guy was the smallest of the three friends, and Adam could not forget the savage hit that the blond forward took at last year's JV/Varsity scrimmage. He wasn't sure if Henderson would follow up on his threats, but just in case, he didn't want to risk Guy getting clobbered.

But Guy was having none of it.

"I'll go with you."

Adam shook his head.

"No, Guy. Henderson is less likely to notice one of us. He'll probably see both of us if we go together."

Guy was about to protest, but reluctantly nodded.

"Okay, just be quick."

Without wasting a second, Adam got up and approached the JV table. He noticed that Julie was laughing at something that Tim had said, and she playfully slapped his arm.

Adam cringed. As if he deserves her.

"Banks, what's up man?" Charlie asked.

Adam quickly looked back to the Varsity table and saw that he hadn't been observed.

"I don't have much time guys, so I'm just going to get straight to it. Varsity is planning a revenge prank. I don't know what – something to do with bolt cutters – but it's probably coming today after practice."

Charlie gave his old friend a puzzled look.

"Revenge prank? I don't remember pranking them in the first place."

Adam wasn't sure if Charlie was being honest, but he had no love for Varsity, so it didn't matter to him if the Ducks pranked them. But he didn't want them to get hurt either.

Especially one Duck in particular.

"Whatever, Charlie. The important thing is that Henderson thinks you pranked them. He's out for blood, watch out."

Before any of the Ducks could question their former teammate, Adam turned and left, hoping that he was quick enough to avoid the notice of his new captain. He did not see the angry eyes of Zach Henderson staring him down from across the dining hall.

"Cole, it's on," The Varsity captain informed his enforcer. "Banks is gonna get it."


Larson walked ahead of his team after practice and discovered with some annoyance that Varsity had forgotten to remove the textbook that he had used to leave the door wedged open.

Amateurs.

JV made their way into their locker room and were greeted by the sound of running water. The Ducks looked over to see their clothes, books, backpacks, everything soaking under the shower heads. They noticed that the culprits had even broken the padlocks on the lockers so they could get everything in the shower.

On the wall opposite the shower heads, the words 'Varsity Eats Duck Meat' taunted JV in shaving cream.

"Those Varsity punks," Ryan growled.

The fiery ginger was even angrier when he saw that someone had made off with his bottles of Surge.

"We have to hit them back," Larson declared, being greeted with a roar of approval by most of the Ducks.

Charlie ran a hand through his thick dark hair.

"I don't know, Larson. I know Banks warned us that something was coming, but this doesn't make sense."

The JV captain believed his Varsity counterpart to be a loud and aggressive jerk, but a loud and aggressive jerk who preferred threatening fights to actually being in them. Despite Varsity's reputation for brawling amongst themselves, Henderson's face was remarkably clear of bruises – unlike most of his teammates.

Besides, Charlie did not want to rush into a war that he knew would leave Adam, Fulton, and Guy in the crossfire.

But Larson scoffed.

"That's right. Just go to Henderson and politely ask him if Varsity ruined our stuff. That'll get you real far."

Charlie glared up at the gigantic defenseman.

"Look, I'm the captain; and I say calm down and wait while I find out what's up."

"Yes, Charlie, you are the captain," Larson affirmed. "And I will happily follow your lead once you decide to take the lead. In the meantime, I'm gonna hit those pricks back." He added before turning to his teammates. "Who's with me?"

Every Duck with the exception of Charlie, Connie and Julie roared their approval.

Larson looked back to Charlie.

"The ship is waiting for its captain."

"And I stand by what I said about calming down and waiting," Charlie stood firm.

Julie, who also worried about her Varsity friends, had gone over to Charlie and patted him on the back in support. Connie, shaken by the fact that Guy hadn't given her a warning about the shower prank, found herself standing alone between Charlie and Julie on the one hand, and everyone else on the other.

"Suit yourself, Charlie." Larson pointedly refused to address the captain by his title. "We'll be ready whenever you are ready to support your team."

Charlie didn't bother to retrieve most of his soggy possessions. He put on a pair of squeaky sneakers and stormed out of the locker room.

As the Ducks proceeded to wring the water out of their stuff, Larson noticed that Connie had been standing alone.

Good.

"It was nice of Banks to give us that heads-up," he began as he approached the brunette forward. "I'm sure Guy would have done the same thing. He probably just had more important things to do."

Julie immediately swooped in.

"Come on, Connie. We're going. I'll explain later."

Before Connie could reply, she found herself practically being dragged away from Larson by Julie. If the goalie's back had not been turned to the ex-Hawk, the murderous look that he shot 'the Bitch' would have chilled her to the bone.

Aware that he was betraying emotion, Larson permitted himself a sly grin before sliding on his mask of stoicism.

Besides, she'll get hers.