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on every night.”
    “Interesting,” Dad said, grinning as he started to leave. Just before the doorway, he bowed and said in a deep voice, “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll be here all week.”
    Oh, brother.
    I got myself a glass of milk and went upstairs to work on the extra Math assignment, but it wasn’t long before I was reading
Shoot! Third Edition
instead. Where was that stinking fourth edition? I
needed
it.
    For every thing I knew about hockey, there were probably a hundred I didn’t. The very first trivia question had already shown me that. Sure, I knew lots of stats for my favourite players, and I knew more than any of my friends about the old guys from the books I’d read. But if the sweatshirt question was that tough, would I really know the answer for the grand prize?
    I skipped brushing my teeth, put on my pyjamas and climbed into bed. I slowly turned the pages, reading about the old days, when the Canadiens were first nicknamed the Habs and Anaheim didn’t even have a team. Then I read up on specific players, like Mario Lemieux, Sergei Federov, and, of course, Wayne Gretzky, which got me daydreaming.
    What if I wasn’t only an NHL player, but a legend? What would it feel like to have my picture on the cover of a magazine? To see my last name on a fan’s jersey? To be asked for an autograph? What if my family was in the stands, jumping up and down, cheering me on as I fought for the Stanley Cup? Man, I’d be excited enough to just watch a game, but to be a player?
    That would be the most awesome thing on the planet.
    As my eyelids started to get droopy and the words were blurring together, there was a light knock on my door.
    “Are you still awake?” Mum asked, opening it. “It’s after ten, honey.”
    “I was just reading,” I mumbled as my eyes closed.
    “You’ve got practice in the morning, Jonathan. You need to get some sleep.”
    “I will.”
    “Is your homework all done?”
    “Mmmhmm.” I hadn’t finished the extra Mathassignment, but I could probably do it at recess or something.
    “Have you packed your bag for practice?”
    I hadn’t, but I could easily grab my gear in the morning. “Mmmhmm.”
    I felt her hand stroke my forehead then push my hair to the side so she could give me a kiss. “Goodnight, my little nugget,” she whispered.
    For once, I didn’t mind the nickname.
    Nugget McDonald shoots and … he scores!
    I pulled the blankets up to my neck and turned out my reading light, the stats for teams and players still spinning through my head.
    It had been a long, brutal day and I could have easily slept for a hundred years, but my alarm was set for five a.m.

Chapter Five
    When my alarm went off, my eyelids seemed to be stuck together, like someone had attacked me in the middle of the night with a glue stick. I rubbed them hard and rolled out of bed.
    “Are you up?” Mum asked, rapping her knuckles on my door.
    “Mrmph,” was all I could say.
    “Let’s get moving, Jonathan,” she called from farther down the hallway.
    Usually I had no problem getting up for practice, but that morning, it was tough. I felt like all the stuff that was bugging me, from Eddie Bosko to Math trouble, was wrapped around my ankles, and it was hard to lift my feet.
    The bathroom light was way too bright and I had to squint to brush my teeth but luckily, the shower was the perfect temperature. That is, until someone flushed the downstairs toilet.
    “Blargh!” I choked, plastering myself against the tile while I reached to turn the burning hot water off.
    Clean enough, I thought, even though I didn’t have all the shampoo out of my hair. I’d been awake for less than ten minutes, and I already knew it wasn’t going to be my day.
    When I made it back to my room, I threw on my clothes, then hurried down to the mudroom to pack my hockey gear. I crammed it into my bag as fast as I could, so Mum wouldn’t know I hadn’t taken care of it the night before. I found everything I needed