Hey David Michael,

I hope that you and Andrew are keeping up your batting practice. Don't tell him I said this, but he has pretty weak arms for a four year old. Anyway, I was a bit sad the other day, because I found out that baseball isn't really a popular pastime in Vancouver. I did find my new passion though: Hockey! Sharpen your skates, because when I get back in town we'll get everyone together and I'll show you how to play!

And before you ask, yes, hockey looks like a violent sport, but the skill and discipline required make it an art. That means that it's not an excuse to beat Karen with a stick.

Your sister,

Kristy

On my first morning in Vancouver, all I wanted to do was put on my baseball cap and toss a ball around with someone. I love sightseeing, but the long flight left me worn out, and I just wanted to relax. That's unusual for me, because I'm usually on the go and organizing activities. I'm known around Stoneybrook for my great ideas. However, today I thought a great idea would be to enjoy a game of catch at the nearby beach. I asked Abby, but she had plans to go to the aquarium with Mary Anne, Dawn, Jessi, and Stacey. I even tried asking Claudia, because she didn't want to go to the aquarium with the others. She mumbled something about Stacey overpowering the smell of the fish. I thought it was a weird thing to say, because Stacey always smells like hairspray and suntan lotion. Speaking of smells, I sniffed my armpits. I needed some Speed Stick.

I bumped into Mallory on my way to get my deodorant out of my backpack. She didn't want to play catch, either. She looked at her feet and muttered something about getting Claudia to give her a makeover. I wanted to tell her to stop and think about her actions, because she gave herself a makeover the time we won the lottery and went to California. Every time I hear the words "Mallory" and "makeover" in the same sentence, it brings up the image of Mallory looking like a forty year old drag queen. She's kind of stocky, so she'll probably look like that in thirty years anyway. That's one of the reasons I don't like makeup. Sure, it makes some people like Stacey and Claudia look hot, but it makes people like me (and especially Mallory) look worse. Besides, it's so gunky and gross feeling.

I'm not normally one to mope, but I ended up standing around in the kitchen feeling sorry for myself. Kenzo's wife came into the room, and took an energy bar from one of the cabinets.

"Doesn't anyone around here play baseball?" I asked her. Maybe I could find a pick up game at a park somewhere.

Navi looked thoughtful. "I have some nieces your age, but none of them play softball until Autumn. I think a lot of the athletic girls play hockey in the summer, because it's so cool at the ice rink. One of the rinks has a drop-in girls' hockey session. I can drop you off on my way to work if you'd like. Grab a sweatshirt, and we can go."

I wasn't sure if I wanted to play hockey, but it sounded better than the aquarium with Dawn-the-animal-rights-crusader, or witnessing Claudia play Frankenstein with Mallory. I hadn't brought a sweatshirt of my own, but I knew that Claudia had packed a few because she had thought that Canada would be ice cold. I rummaged through one of her many suitcases, and came up with a red hoodie that had a black K painted on the back. I remembered when she had made it in sixth grade, mistakenly believing that the K stood for 'Claudia.' I cringed a little at her mistake. It's always important to proofread your work. At least Jessi had destroyed Claudia's other misspelled hoodie, the white one that had her logo of three K's that stood for 'Klaudia Kishi Kreation.' She had said that Claudia was being racist, but I don't understand what is so racist about bad spelling. Jessi is a little weird about racism sometimes. At least the sweater was set on fire, so we didn't have to look at Claud's embarrassing spelling in public. People stared uncomfortably at Claudia whenever we went to the mall, because they knew all those words were spelled wrong and I guess they didn't want to tell her. (By the way, Jessi is black. It doesn't matter to us, because she could be purple, and she'd still be a great friend!)

Navi dropped me off at the rink, and I rented a pair of skates. I'm not too good at hockey, but I can skate really well.

A few girls were already skating. One of them called out to me, "If you're here to figure skate, Shorty, you're in the wrong place."

Even though I am the shortest girl in the eighth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School, I cannot stand being called Shorty. I stood a little straighter, trying to look tough.

"What does the K stand for? Kiddo?" asked another.

"Aw, leave her alone," said another. The girl skated over to me. She was tall, and built like a refrigerator. "They call me Big Mel."

I was glad to be included by the person they all regarded as their leader (I wanted to be a part of their impromptu team, because I like teamwork and the things it can accomplish), but I didn't want Big Mel's sympathy. Pity makes me uncomfortable.

"Kristy" I said, by way of introduction.

"Hey, everyone, this is Kris," Big Mel called out. I cringed. I cannot stand being called Kris. I'd almost rather be called Kristin, which is my full name.

"I go by Kristy," I told her firmly. Using a firm voice usually gives me control of the situation. It didn't this time. Mel's voice was even firmer.

"Look, we want to eventually play against the boys" Mel said. "If you were a guy, you'd laugh your ass off if Melanie, Jacqueline, and Kristina invited you to a face-off. Mel, Jack, and Kris would be taken much more seriously."

"Kristin" I mumbled. Mel had a point. Sexism in sports is a sore point with me. I'm tired of guys thinking they can out run, out pitch, and out tackle me when I am clearly the superior athlete.

"If you can skate, you can join us," said a girl who called herself Alex.

I snapped my shoulders back. I love a challenge, and I could taste the sweet juice of victory when I imagined winning against a team of boys. This was bragging rights, this was pure competition, and this was war.

"By the way," I called out to the girl who had asked me what was on my shirt, "The K is for Krusher!" as I skated away to grab a stick.

- - - - - - - - -

My muscles ached terribly on the bus ride back to Kenzo's. We would need a lot of work, and some discipline as well to perform as a team. I wished that I had brought my playbooks from the heyday of the Krushers. I was sure that I could apply the principles of baseball to hockey. Baseball is the ultimate life metaphor.

When I arrived at Kenzo's, things were in a state of disorder. Mallory looked like she had poured glue on herself and rolled around in Claudia's room. Stacey and Dawn had disappeared from the aquarium, and hadn't returned for dinner. Jessi was saying something about the beluga whales being racist because they wouldn't live in the same tank as the orcas, and Janine was trying to explain to her that they were different species and not just different colours. Mary Anne was crying because she and Dawn had an argument before Dawn ran off, and Abby was making Groucho Marx faces to try and comfort her. Claudia was gorging herself from a box of doughnuts, dribbling crumbs down her pleated smock. It made me sad to see them like this. If we were all still members of the Baby Sitters Club, I could have blown my whistle and called them to order. Sadly, the club was disbanded so I had no real jurisdiction, and I had forgotten my whistle at home.

I went into the other room and lay on my sleeping bag. I tossed a baseball from one hand to the other, more determined to make a success out of our hockey team. But first, I needed a new whistle.