AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another helpful name pronunciation: for you foreign language buffs out there, you'll probably know that "Chatelaine" is really pronounced shah-teh-LAHN, or something like that. For the sake of simplicity in this story, I've used an Americanization. Pronounce the "name" as spelled: CHA-te-lane. Once again, a long chapter. But most of this is my own writing.
A NEW TEAM – CHAPTER EIGHT – A DAY OFF
Saturday was Team USA's day off. Most of the kids had gone to the beach, or the mall, or to check out the local flavor. Portman was spending a little time with Kestle. They were just hanging around the UCLA grounds outside the dorms. So far, Portman had let Kestle do most of the talking. She was quite talkative, he noticed. So far he'd found out that she was twelve years old and hailed from Dearborn, Michigan, where her parents were both engineers for Ford Motor Company.
"So, Kestle," Portman started, breaking Kestle's monologue. "That's not exactly a name you hear every day."
Kestle laughed. "No, it's not," she said. "It's the Swedish word for 'castle.' My parents are into bizarre names. My older sister's name is Chatelaine. You know what that is? It's this old French word for the wife of a castellan. I don't even know what that is! My younger brother is Absolom. Isn't that awful?"
"Absolom?" Portman could barely hold in a laugh. "What do you call him for short? Abs?"
"Yes, actually," Kestle answered. "And Chatelaine is 'Chatty,' even though she's really not.
"So what are your parents' names?" Portman asked, almost fearing the answer.
"Marten and Elizabeth," Kestle answered. "Very mundane names. I kind of wish they'd cared to give my brother and sister and me some boring names like that."
"I'm glad they didn't," Portman said. "I like your name. It's kind of…unusual. You know, it kinda…fits you."
Kestle turned to face him. "It fits me?"
"Yeah." Portman said. "Ya know…" He trailed off. Shoot, now came the time to be gentlemanly and eloquent. He wasn't very good at that. "It just…well, you're too interesting to have a normal name, like, you know, Jane or Kate or anything like that. It sort of makes you…stand out."
Kestle seemed surprised by Portman's little soliloquy. "Nobody's ever told me that before."
"Really?" Portman asked.
"No." Kestle smiled. "Thanks."
A silence developed between the two teenagers as they looked at each other. Portman found that he didn't care. He could have looked into those ice blue eyes all day.
Suddenly a whistle came, breaking the quiet. "Hey! Portman!" Fulton yelled. Portman and Kestle turned around to the other boy, who had his skate bag slung over his shoulder. "Luis and Ken and I are going over to Arrowhead to do some skating. Wanna come?"
Portman looked at Kestle. "You know how to skate?"
Kestle looked a bit embarrassed. "Can't say I do," she admitted. "You guys go ahead and have a good time."
"No way!" Portman said, standing up and dragging her with him. "I'll teach you."
"Teach me?" Kestle asked as Portman pulled her over to Fulton. "To skate?"
"Sure!" Portman said. "What size shoe do you wear?"
"Um…five." Kestle looked very puzzled.
"Good!" Fulton said. "We have some that will fit."
Kaley, Connie, and Julie had decided to spend their Saturday at the beach. At the moment, they were lying on their towels, soaking up some sun.
"Hey, Jules." Connie nudged the goalie. "That boy's looking at you."
Julie took off her sunglasses and squinted in the direction of Connie's finger. "Him? The blond?"
"No!" Connie said. "The guy next to him. The cute tanned one."
Julie continued her search. "Him?"
"Yeah!" Connie said.
"What about him?" Julie asked.
"Come on, Julie!" Kaley sat up and took a break from her sunbathing. "He's hot. Go talk to him!"
"He probably just recognizes me from the Games." Julie laid back down on her towel.
"Uh-uh-uh!" Kaley lifted the other girl up. "Go! Say hi to him or something."
"Come on, guys…" Julie groaned.
"What are you, scared?" Connie asked. "The worst he can say is 'bite me.'"
"Now I feel better," Julie snorted.
"Look, just go over there and say hi," Kaley said. "That's all you have to do! You can run back here afterwards if you want."
Julie sighed and figured this would be the easiest thing. "OK, OK." She got up and walked over to the tan boy, totally aware of Connie and Kaley giggling behind her. "Um, hi," she said to the boy.
The boy turned around and smiled at her. Oooh, check out the smile, Julie thought, then inwardly slapped herself. When did I become so boy-crazy? I said hi, now go back to Connie and Kaley. But she couldn't move.
The boy looked at Julie as if trying to remember who she was, and Julie really wished she'd worn a less revealing bathing suit. "Hey, you're Julie Gaffney!" The boy said. "You're on the USA hockey team."
"You remember me?" Julie asked, shocked. "Even though I wear all those pad-all that gear?" She'd discovered that the word "pad" was best avoided around boys.
"Yeah." The boy nodded. "I was at your game last night. You guys are terrific!"
"Thanks," Julie said.
"So, would you like to sit down?" The boy asked.
"Sure." Julie looked over the boy's head to Kaley and Connie, who whispered to each other and emitted dual squeals.
The boy followed Julie's gaze. "Who are you looking at?"
"Friends." Julie lowered herself onto the boy's beach towel. "What's your name?"
"Oh! Sorry." The boy extended his hand and flashed another smile. "Jack Raymond."
"Julie Gaffney." Julie shook Jack's hand. "But you seem to already know that."
"Where you from, Julie?" Jack asked.
"Bangor, Maine," Julie answered. "You?"
"Here, LA," Jack said. "How'd a pretty thing like you get stuck playing goalie?"
Julie smiled. That was quite the story. "Well, I'm the youngest in my family and I have four older brothers," she started. "They were all hockey players and told me I couldn't play hockey because I was a girl. So I decided to show them. And I don't know how I got stuck playing goalie. Just happened."
Jack nodded and looked at the concession stand across the beach. "You ever had a smoothie?"
"Smoothie?" Julie asked. "No."
Jack stood up and took her hand. "Let me be the first to introduce you," he said. "My treat."
Guy, Charlie, and Adam had spent the day at the mall, mostly because it was indoors and had air conditioning. They had absolutely no interest in shopping, but the ice cream stand was good, and it was cooler than outside.
"I'm bored," Guy complained over lunch in the food court. "I don't see how girls can spend a whole day here."
"Go figure." Charlie began poking his straw around his cup in a vain attempt to suck out the last drops of soda. "Hey, Adam, you OK?"
Adam jerked his head over, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming. "Hm?"
"Are you OK?" Charlie repeated. "You've been really quiet."
"Yeah, I'm fine," Adam responded. "Just nervous about tomorrow."
"Yeesh, Adam, that's why we have this day off," Guy said. "To keep us from being nervous tomorrow."
"I'm OK," Adam tried to assure his teammates. "Really." He rubbed his right wrist. It was sore for some reason. Maybe tendonitis, he thought absently. That would really stink.
Charlie playfully punched Adam on the shoulder. "Cheer up,
Adam," he said lightly. "We've kicked everyone's butts so far. Try to be a
little more optimistic about tomorrow, OK?"
Adam nodded. But he wasn't really worried about the game. He was worried about
his dad. If Team USA didn't win, or if they did win and Adam played poorly,
he'd never hear the end of it.
"All right, Kestle, let's try this." Portman gently-gently by Portman standards, anyway-helped Kestle onto the ice. They'd nabbed Kaley's skates from her locker and hoped Kestle wouldn't do anything that would let Kaley know her skates had been borrowed.
"I feel tall in these," Kestle said, grabbing onto Portman's hands for dear life. "Are you sure Kaley won't mind?"
"She'll never know," Portman said as Kestle hesitantly put both feet on the ice. "OK, first thing we do is-"
SPLAT! Kestle fell and hit the ice hard. "Ooch!"
"You OK?" Portman asked, helping her up.
"Oh, yeah, yeah, Dean, I'm-whoops!" Her skates went out from under her again, and this time Portman wound up on top of her.
"Look at them," Ken observed from across the rink. "They're in love."
"How do you know?" Fulton asked.
"I can just tell," Ken said, nodding confidently and watching the Saturday Night Live-esque scene on the other side of the ice.
"I don't think Portman's the type to fall in love," Luis put in, starting to skate.
Ken shook his head. "This girl's got him good."
"All right, all right," Portman laughed as he and Kestle righted themselves. "So now you're standing. Let's-"
"Look out!" Luis slammed into Portman and Kestle full speed, sending both of them sliding over the ice and into the boards.
"Luis!" Portman stood up.
"Sorry," Luis apologized lamely. "I just got out of control."
"I'm OK," Kestle picked herself up with no small help from the boards. "Let's try that again."
Dwayne, Goldberg, Jesse, and Averman were spending their day in Beverly Hills. It was quite impressive, especially to three kids who'd never left Minneapolis and one who's never been out of Austin. They'd been on Rodeo Drive, which Dwayne insisted was pronounced "rodeo", as spelled, for about an hour. They were having great fun pulling pranks on the snooty stores, which wouldn't let you in unless you rang a doorbell. So far, the foursome had been refused everywhere because they were "unsupervised children."
"I got one," Goldberg said as they walked up to the hoity-toitiest store yet.
"What?" Dwayne asked.
"You'll see." Goldberg said, pressing the button.
"I'm sorry, we do not allow unsupervised children into the store," a prim female voice said from the speaker.
"I'm sure Uncle Aaron would be very disappointed to know we were treated with such disrespect," Goldberg answered.
"Aaron," the voice said, as if she'd just been stopped in her tracks. "Aaron Spelling?"
"No, Hank Aaron!" Goldberg said sarcastically. "Of course, Aaron Spelling!"
A pause. Then, "I'll be right with you."
"Goldberg!" Dwayne said. "Do you really expect her to believe that?"
"It worked!" Goldberg defended himself.
"We look nothing alike," Averman pointed out.
"Yeah, no one's gonna believe we're even related," Jesse put in.
"Dwayne!" Goldberg exclaimed, looking at the Texan boy. "Take off your jacket! She'll recognize us for sure if you're wearing that."
Dwayne removed his jacket and tied it around his waist just as the saleswoman walked down the long path from the store to where the boys stood. She was probably in her early forties. She was definitely from around here, Goldberg decided. She was wearing a very swank black suit, black heels that could not have been comfortable, and flawless makeup. Her blond hair was pulled into an impeccable style that had to hurt her head. But around here, Goldberg had discovered that style was everything.
"My name is Mary Anne," the saleslady introduced herself. "Follow me, right this way."
The four boys followed Mary Anne somewhat apprehensively into the store. "What are you boys looking for?" She asked.
"Something for my mom," Goldberg said, finding his voice.
Mary Anne opened the door to the shop. "I think I can help you with that," she said. "Now I want you to make yourselves at home. Feel free to get some beverages, and I'll be with you in a moment."
"Beverages?" Jesse asked, looking around.
"Over here," Mary Anne said, indicating four glasses filled with orange juice.
"JC Penney never does this," Averman said, taking one of the glasses.
"Sh!" Goldberg cautioned. "Pretend you know what you're doing." He raised his orange juice glass. "Cheers," he said.
"Cheers," the other three agreed, clinking glasses.
"I know you boys!" A saleslady folding some lacy underwear commented.
Oh, no! Goldberg thought. Busted! "We're Aaron Spelling's nephews," he cut in quickly.
"No!" The lady said. "Team USA hockey! You guys are just great!"
"Thanks," The four answered nervously. Hopefully, this woman wouldn't say anything to Mary Anne.
Mary Anne came back to the room. "Now, a gift for your mother," she said to Goldberg. "You'll want something light and airy. It is summer, after all. I'm going to show you my private collection."
Private collection? Goldberg thought as Mary Anne sat him and his teammates down in a room off to the side. How private?
"Ladies!" Mary Anne called.
Three models came out of a back room wearing skimpy, stylish, very Beverly-Hills-like clothing. Yow, Goldberg thought. My mom's never gonna wear that. When he found his voice, he managed, "Naw, something else."
Mary Anne nodded and brought out three more models. The clothing was even wilder than before. Maybe I should get something, just to see the look on Mom's face…nah, probably too expensive. He shook his head, now completely unable to speak.
After Goldberg had waved the models off three more times, Mary Anne said to them, "Well, gentlemen, did you see anything you liked?"
Goldberg began racking his brain for a creative way to get out of this. "No, I gotta be honest with you," he said. "My mom really needs…a bikini."
Mary Anne narrowed her eyes. "Out," she said. "Now! And don't ever come back here again!"
"Aw, man," Goldberg said as Mary Anne slammed the door shut.
"That was good while it lasted," Jesse said.
"If Coach Bombay finds out about this, we're gonna die," Averman said.
"No, we won't," Goldberg assured him. "Coach Bombay's too busy talking to all those celebrities to be concerned with us."