Chapter Twenty: A Bittersweet Summer
At Charlie's suggestion, the Minnesota-based Ducks sought refuge from the sweltering July heat at Mickey's Diner. But the diner's air conditioning was not the only draw for the sweaty 13 and 14-year olds. The free milkshakes and sundaes on offer from Casey were hard to say "no" to – especially after a long game of roller hockey. It was the summer of 1996, and the Ducks were due to begin their freshman year of high school that September, but Charlie had a little surprise for his friends.
Once the Ducks were all settled in a cluster of booths, their former captain spoke up.
"Hey guys."
Charlie had shot up about four inches since the Goodwill Games, and he now stood at just under six feet. His reddish-brown hair had also gotten darker, which had the effect of making girls notice his green eyes more than ever before.
"So you probably wanna know why I asked you guys to hang out in 90 degree weather," he continued, drawing murmurs of agreement.
"Because you got adopted by Captain Blood?" Goldberg asked, prompting a few chuckles.
Charlie grinned, but shook his head.
"No, but Coach is definitely involved," he answered. "He's gotten us all scholarships to that prep school he coaches at – Eden Hall."
The news was greeted by a wave of excited murmurs that lasted several seconds until Connie's voice emerged from over the din of her friends.
"When you say 'us all,' does that mean…?"
"…Julie, Portman, Luis, Russ, Ken, and Dwayne," Charlie affirmed.
This clarification drew more excited murmurs. Despite going their separate ways after the 1995 Junior Goodwill Games, Team USA had remained tight through handwritten letters, the occasional long-distance phone call, and that new-fangled thing that the techies were calling "email."
Back in Minnesota, the Ducks had not played together as a single unit during their 8th grade year. Adam had remained separate from his public school teammates by attending Sienna Middle School, and the original Ducks who had gotten cut prior to the Goodwill Games had all taken up other hobbies. The Duncans had returned to figure skating, Terry Hall had gotten into basketball, wisecracking Peter Mark discovered a talent for rhetoric and joined the debate team, and the aptly-named David Karp joined the swim team and saw his baby fat melt away.
The remaining Minnesota-based Ducks actually played against each other from neighboring school districts.
And now the Ducks were to fly together again.
All who were there to hear the news from Charlie were ecstatic, with one exception.
"What's wrong, Jesse?" Adam asked.
The two old rivals had become good friends over the years, and remained in contact even as they played for different schools the season before.
The original D5er turned to face the former Hawk who had been sitting next to him in a booth, across from Connie and Guy. Jesse was unable to hide the disappointment in his sad brown eyes as they met Adam's.
"It's just that….we're moving to Florida next month," the D5er whispered.
Despite the low volume with which Jesse broke the news, all of the Ducks immediately ceased their conversations and trained their eyes upon him, their faces demanding an explanation. Jesse felt a knot in his stomach as he observed the reaction of his friends. This was the conversation that he had been avoiding all summer, hoping the impossible hope that his family would stay in Minnesota if only he just ignored the bad news.
"I'm sorry guys," Jesse continued. "I should have told you much sooner. My dad got a transfer to Tampa, and we're moving in the middle of August."
Charlie's eyebrows flew to the ceiling.
"Sorry, Charlie," Jesse offered. "I'm gonna miss your birthday."
Jesse looked down at the table, desperate to avoid the hurt looks of his friends. He began to hate himself for bursting their bubble when he felt a hand land softly on his shoulder. Turning to his left, Jesse saw a pair of sapphire eyes that looked uncharacteristically soft.
"You know, Jesse," Adam began. "Eden Hall is a boarding school. You can still attend even if your family moves out of state; it's worth mentioning that to your dad."
Jesse eagerly nodded, grateful for the kernel of hope. There was still a chance that he could stay with the Ducks, and the 14-year old desperately clung to that hope. But he knew that his father would be tough to persuade. John Hall was a loving and devoted father, and Jesse would have to make the case of a lifetime to convince the Hall patriarch to allow him to attend school over a thousand miles away from home.
As if reading his former rival's thoughts, Adam continued.
"Look, we'll get as much information about Eden Hall as we can," he declared, looking to his teammates to include them in his plans. "We'll pump your dad so full of positive facts about the school that he'll have no choice but to let you attend."
The other Ducks immediately voiced their agreement with Adam's suggestion, prompting Jesse to smile. The Ducks had beaten the odds against the Hawks and against Iceland by flying together; and even the monstrous challenge of persuading his headstrong father seemed less daunting with the help of his friends.
Adam was so concerned about keeping Jesse in Minnesota for school that he had forgotten all about the unwelcome fact that Portman and Julie were about to re-enter his life. The soft-spoken center still had not gotten over his crush, even after a year of no communication. Nor had he forgotten about the comely goalie's apparent romance with the big Chicago-based defenseman. When Team USA had exchanged their final goodbyes after the campout, Adam had not bothered to ask Julie or Portman for their contact information.
They have each other, after all, he thought bitterly at the time.
But dealing with his freshly-mended heart would have to wait. With Jesse just weeks away from walking out of his life for good unless he took swift and decisive action, Adam Banks had more immediate concerns. He had never been the friend that he felt Jesse deserved, and Adam still hated himself for the way he behaved during those ugly first weeks after leaving the Hawks.
Adam's path forward was difficult, but uncomplicated: he would win-over the formidable John Hall, and in doing so, both redeem himself and keep Jesse where he belonged.
Cake Eater's not gonna let you down, man.
"What?" Jesse asked, amused by Adam's expression.
"Oh, nothing man. Eat your sundae. If you're gonna play for Eden Hall, we gotta get you bulked-up."
"Heh, sure thing...Cake Eater."
"Annoying Little Duckies," McGill seethed as he fired an orange pavement puck at the net in his driveway.
"It seems they can't help but interfere with us," Larson agreed.
The defenseman had been standing off to the side of the net on his rollerblades, watching McGill practice his slap-shot.
Paul Larson had grown a great deal over the past schoolyear, shooting up past six feet and towering over Jake McGill. With his increasingly dark hair and long, powerful frame, Paul Larson was beginning to look more and more like his Old Man. And McGill, like most boys who did their growing early, had found that his height had plateaued; so the big Hawk forward who had been such a tall elementary student was set to be a rather average high school student.
McGill's house was deserted, as per usual, and Larson had been keeping his old friend company while they absorbed the disappointing news about their playing situation for the coming school year.
Gordon Bombay, the JV Hockey Coach at Eden Hall, had persuaded the new Dean, John Buckley, to grant the 'Little Duckies' full scholarships to the prep school, thus displacing the original JV roster – which had included Larson and McGill, among others.
"But at least we get to keep our scholarships," Larson offered, trying to look on the bright side.
McGill nodded as he moved to fish the puck out of the net.
"For now, anyway," he agreed.
All of the kids who had gotten bounced off the JV roster to make room for the Ducks still got to keep their scholarship for the year and attend class. Then, they would be eligible to tryout as walk-ons during their sophomore year. Should they fail to make the cut, their scholarships would be withdrawn, and McGill's family would have to pay for their son to continue attending Eden Hall, while the less-affluent Larson would be forced to attend public school.
The defenseman was desperate to avoid that fate.
His father was sure to explode if Paul blew his opportunity at Eden Hall; and with the boy catching up to his father in size, such an explosion could trigger a fight to the death between the Larson men. Instinctively, Paul found that prospect exciting; but the more rational part of his mind was keen to avoid a fight to the death with his Old Man…at least until the day when he knew for certain that he could get away with it.
Just need a nice, quiet little place where no one will ever find the body.
He grinned as the image of a bludgeoned, dying Bill Larson ran through his head.
The prison guard who had ruled over Paul with an iron fist pathetically pleading for mercy, mercy that his son would deny before gleefully plunging the hammer into his skull one last time.
"Uh…Paul? You okay, man?"
Larson shook his head as he was drawn out of his morbid reverie.
"Of course."
"So with the Little Duckies coming to Eden Hall, I guess that means Banksie will be there too," McGill pointed out.
"And you won't go anywhere near him," Larson hissed. "The last thing I need is for you to mess things up while I try to win him back."
McGill shook his head, but he was not about to argue with the defenseman. He could not wrap his mind around Larson's undying loyalty towards Adam Banks. In the three years since the star center's departure from the Hawks, Larson had seized whatever little opportunity that came his way to entice Adam back into the fold.
But none of it ever worked.
"I'm not gonna try to get between you two," McGill offered. "I think you're wasting your time with that little shit, but that's your business."
The forward teed-up and fired, this time hitting the crossbar. With McGill's streak of goals broken, it was now Larson's turn for shots, so the forward passed to the defenseman, who in turn got into position fifteen feet away from the net.
"It is my business," Larson agreed. "And Adam's no little shit. We pushed him away. We just need his obnoxious Little Ducky 'friends' to push him back. And then he'll be mine...I mean...ours again."
The defenseman drew back and fired.
The puck went straight through the middle of the net.
Nice.
But rather than fish his own puck out, he looked to his minion.
"A little help?"
"Oh, right," McGill nodded, then fished the puck out of the net before passing it back to Larson.
Larson received the puck and gave McGill a slight nod. The defenseman was pleased that despite their disagreement over Adam, McGill still knew his place as the junior partner. Now that Larson was the bigger of the two, he could use the threat of physical violence to crush McGill's will whenever the forward got too independent for his own good. As result, Larson was no longer limited to psychological warfare – though he still preferred it to violence.
As Larson teed-up for his next shot, he heard a duck call.
He turned to see the Minnesota-based Little Duckies skate by McGill's driveway in their Flying V. The image vexed him anyway, but seeing Adam in it was especially galling.
One image that was less-than-repulsive, however, was that of Connie Moreau.
Larson had always been aware of the brunette girl duck from their early Pee Wee days, but she never had much of an effect on him. For some reason, he was now feeling a strange draw toward her. The porcelain skin; the silky, chestnut hair; the honey brown eyes.
As he felt his thigh burn beneath the photo of Maria Larson in his front pocket, the boy felt the pull get stronger still.
Porcelain Goddess, he thought. Beautiful, sweet Porcelain Goddess.
"Dumbass Ducks," McGill scoffed, prompting Larson to snap back to reality. "They think everyone wants to hear their gay little call."
Larson nodded.
"Oh well," the defenseman replied. "We'll have plenty of time to shove that call where the sun don't shine once school starts back up."
"Hell yeah!" McGill agreed. "Us against the world?"
"Us against the world!"
The defenseman flashed a genuine smile. He had of course been disappointed by the news that he would not be playing hockey this year; but as he thought about the arrival of his enemies at their new school, the young hunter grew excited at the prospect of stalking and dispatching his prey. A new school with new student blocs, new alliances to make and break, new relationships to exploit, and new twerps to impose his will upon….and those hated Little Duckies.
Larson let out a titter of evil glee.
The Ducks had gathered again at Mickey's, ostensibly to celebrate Charlie's 14th birthday.
Being the first week of August, the celebration was several days early, but Charlie and the others were keen to have the party before Jesse left for Florida. Adam and Jesse had failed in their persuasive efforts, and this gathering felt more like a going away party than a birthday party.
Having cried his eyes out when his father had put his foot down, Jesse resolved to be happy as he said goodbye to his beloved Ducks.
He had been genuinely excited that his friends would get a chance to play together, and he fought back against the natural, spiteful feeling that his situation had aroused. Other peoples' happiness can be a sweet thing when one gets to share in it, but Jesse was learning first hand how one group's happiness can be another person's sour grapes. But he pushed back against this.
Jesse had been the Alpha Duck for years, and he was not about to be remembered as the bitter, selfish Anti-Duck on his way out. So he made a point of wearing a big grin throughout the entire party.
As his friends joked and told stories of their separate adventures during the last school year, Jesse found that he no longer had to force his happiness – it was starting to feel natural. He even felt goodwill toward Russ Tyler – whom Jesse had found grating – the trash-talking Knucklepucker who would get to be with the Ducks in Minnesota while Jesse was adjusting to a whole new world in Florida.
Adam had taken his usual spot next to Jesse once they were in the booth, and he hardly said a word the entire time.
It was normal for Adam Banks to be quiet, but on this occasion, unhappy brooding complemented his silence. He had frequently thought back to his arrival on the Ducks, his violent treatment of Jesse, his eagerness to stay friends with the Hawks while he wore Duck Green, and the sinking feeling that he had not done nearly enough for Jesse over the years to make up for any of that.
Adam's natural reticence made it difficult for him to put into words just how much his friends meant to him, and this was doubly true in Jesse's case.
Because they had been such fierce rivals, Adam felt undeserving of Jesse's friendship, which made it even harder for him to express his feelings. He found the 'Cake Eater' teasing much easier to deal with than acts of kindness. Whether it was providing backup against the Hawks that day in the park, icing his bad wrist, sticking up for Adam and everyone else when Bombay had turned into Captain Blood, or just laughing at his jokes, Adam felt that he had gotten much more out of his friendship with Jesse than he had ever put into it.
This imbalance added to the center's discomfort. With Jesse about to pick up and go a thousand miles away, Adam would never have another chance to balance the scales. As he looked down at the slice of birthday cake that he had barely touched, Adam noticed a sheet of looseleaf paper being shoved in his direction.
"Yo, Cake Eater!"
Adam snapped out of his brooding.
"Yes?"
"Aren't you gonna give me your email address?"
"Oh, of course," Adam seized the pen Jesse offered and scribbled his address onto it.
Jesse chuckled as he looked down at the illegible hieroglyph. It turned out that Adam Banks, Perfect Hockey Player and Perfect Friend had a flaw after all – his penmanship was hideous. This revelation made the original D5er like his former rival even more. He was beginning to think that Adam was too perfect, so he was delighted to discover a flaw of some sort, however minor.
"Could you do that again, this time in English, please?" Jesse teased.
"Oh, right," Adam nodded, then re-wrote his email in a more legible script. "There you go."
"Thanks," Jesse nodded appreciatively.
The two were quiet for a few long seconds before Jesse spoke up again.
"You know, I've been thinking – you remember how you lost your number 9 when you came over to the Ducks?"
"Sure."
"And you're still obsessed with Mike Modano," Jesse added.
Adam chuckled.
"Am I that obvious?"
Jesse returned the grin.
"Yeah, you are. But that's cool. Anyway, I was thinking that when you get to Eden Hall, you could wear Number 9 again. You know…obviously I won't be wearing it."
Adam's eyes widened at the suggestion.
It had never occurred to him that his beloved number 9 was about to become available again. Three years earlier, when he had first put on his Duck 99, Adam wanted nothing more than to wear the number 9 again…as a Hawk. But as devoted as he still remained to Mike Modano, the number 9 had come to symbolize the Hawks and the Golden Trio to Adam – and a lot of memories that he would rather forget.
His stomach turned at the thought of going back to all of that.
"No thanks," Adam replied. "I'm not going back to my Hawk number."
Jesse chuckled at his friend's seriousness, which caused Adam to look hurt.
"Sorry," Jesse offered. "It's just that we all got over that Hawk thing a long time ago," he explained, looking to the Ducks who surrounded them. "Didn't we?"
"YEAH!"
Adam shrugged. Despite being teammates for two-and-a-half years at the Pee Wee level, and despite their shared experience at the Junior Goodwill Games, Adam had never been able to put his Hawk affiliation to bed in his own mind. Against his own will, there had even been days when he found himself missing Paul Larson and Jake McGill. This in turn led to feelings of guilt, shame, self-loathing, and above all, a sense of separateness from the Ducks.
Adam had always felt like an outsider on the team, even after they had embraced him.
But it seemed that all of this was only in his head.
"So you guys really think I'm a Duck?" Adam asked the group.
Confused looks shot up all around.
"Well, yeah," Charlie confirmed. "You played with us for almost three seasons. And McGill gave you a concussion. I always just figured you'd never want to go back to the Hawks after that.
The other Ducks murmured their agreement.
A relieved smile washed over Adam's face. His isolation had only been a figment of his imagination. He never could believe that the Ducks could give him such easy and complete loyalty so willingly. With the Hawks, it had always been "what can you do for me?" Of course, his friendship with Larson and McGill felt like more than the typically Hawkish quid pro quo, but those relationships had blown up spectacularly and completely.
If a friendship like the Golden Trio could dissolve so easily, it only seemed natural that the bond between Adam and the Ducks could not be all that strong.
"So are you gonna wear number 9 again?" Charlie asked.
Adam paused to consider. If Number 9 was not as toxic to his friends as he had thought it was, then where was the harm? And he could not deny that he really loved that number. But would wearing it be disrespectful to Jesse, even if he had offered it?
A full thirty seconds later, Adam gave his answer.
"I guess you could say that, Charlie." Adam said before looking to Jesse. "I'll wear a 9. In fact, I'll wear two 9s. One for each of us," he clarified, alluding to the two 9s in 99.
Jesse grinned as he gave Adam an appreciative hug.
Eventually, Jesse had to leave his Ducks one last time. Amid all the hugs and promises to stay in touch, there was not a single dry eye among the bunch. And no eyes were wetter than the sapphire ones belonging to Adam Banks.
Dean John Buckley peered over his bifocals and flashed a disappointed schoolmaster look at his former pupil and current JV hockey coach, Gordon Bombay.
Despite having taken office just two months earlier, Buckley had already mastered the "headmaster's glare." His pale blue eyes studied Gordon, who had been sitting across from him in the Dean's private office. Buckley had made his mark on his new territory, moving out all of the scowling marble busts belonging to his predecessor and bringing in his colony of Brazilian fire ants along with a hanging skeleton.
Buckley had been the school's biology teacher for over thirty years, and some habits just could not be broken – including his penchant for wearing nerdy red bowties and matching suspenders. But his stately head of parted gray hair, chiseled face, and tall, trim frame made him look the part of dignified headmaster while his clothes still screamed 'eccentric science teacher'.
"Look, Dean, I'm sorry to drop this on you so suddenly," Gordon offered. "And I really hope that it won't jeopardize the Ducks' scholarships."
"It won't," Buckley replied. "I'm just disappointed, Gordon."
The younger man let out a sigh.
"I know."
Gordon had accepted a six-figure salary with the Junior Goodwill Committee and was due to leave for California soon. This had not been part of the plan. Gordon was meant to coach his popular Mighty Ducks at Eden Hall and bring a wave of adoring press with him, thus enhancing the school's prestige and strengthening Buckley's position as Dean.
Buckley had already been having difficulties with his Board of Trustees, and he needed to do something big to silence the dissenters. He had fought Tom Riley tooth-and-nail to extend scholarships to the Ducks, and now Gordon Bombay was about to leave him high and dry.
"I know, this isn't the best way for me to show my gratitude," Gordon conceded. "But I've got a truly excellent replacement lined up – the best, in fact."
"Oh?"
"Ever hear of Ted Orion?"
Buckley nodded.
"Sure. Retired wing for the North Stars," the Dean answered. "Not the best guy on the ice, but one of the smartest – and one of the toughest. He still lives in Minnesota?"
"Yes, he does," Gordon confirmed. "He stayed behind when the North Stars moved to Dallas, for his daughter. Oh, and that's another thing – Ted really wants to coach here, but he won't do it unless the arena is made handicap-accessible."
The headmaster's glare returned as the former pupil mentioned the need for expensive new construction.
"Don't worry, sir," Gordon pleaded. "I'll pay for it out of my own pocket if you agree to sign Ted."
"Heh, well if we can get that little promise notarized, I'll give him a call today," Buckley offered.
"Deal!" Gordon agreed, standing up and extending his hand, which Buckley shook.
"But you'll make it for the team's introduction, won't you?" Buckley asked. "I've got a huge press conference planned, and I'm sure your kids would love to hear your plans from your own mouth."
Gordon winced slightly. Breaking the news to his players would be a thousand times more difficult than it had been to his soon-to-be former boss. But the younger man knew that he owed it to his kids, tempting though it was to quietly slip away.
"Of course I will. Wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Good," Buckley smiled broadly. "Now, would you be kind enough to give me Ted's contact information?" He asked, extending a yellow legal pad and a fountain pen toward his outgoing JV coach.
"Sure," Gordon grabbed the pen and scribbled the information down.
"Thank you," Buckley took the pad. "Now we'll just have the secretary type up your agreement to pay for the ramps, then we'll head off to the notary's, and we'll be all squared!"
Gordon chuckled.
"The notary, really? Where's the trust?"
Buckley flashed a faux-affable grin as he began ushering Gordon into the outer office, where a secretary was plugging away on her computer.
"I took your word of honor before, only to have you walk out on me three weeks before the start of term."
"Heh, fair enough," Gordon conceded with an impish smile.