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choked.
    “He’s probably out for a while.”

Chapter Five
    On Wednesday morning, for the first time in my entire life, I wasn’t excited about practice. Sure, I was looking forward to getting out on the ice, since it was my favourite place on the whole planet, but I was feeling kind of weird about Dad coaching.
    I just wanted the guys to like him and understand that there was a method to his madness. I didn’t know exactly what that method was, but I had to believe he knew what he was doing.
    At the same time, I wanted Dad to remember that Coach O’Neal had a system of his own, and that me and the guys were used to doing things a certain way.
    An awesome way that already worked for us.
    When my alarm went off, I stayed under the blankets for a couple of minutes. Just before I rolled out of bed, I decided that I’d have to be the one to keep things on track between Dad and the team. I’d step in when the guys were getting annoyed and I’d speak up when Dad was heading in the wrong direction.
    I didn’t have to choose a side or anything.
    We were a team, and teams didn’t have sides.
    Once I was showered and dressed, I went downstairs, hoping Dad was a little more on the ball than he’d been on Monday morning.
    The hoping paid off.
    There were glasses of orange juice on the table, along with toasted bagels and every kind of spread Mum kept in the pantry.
    “Morning,” Dad said, as he bagged my sandwich for school.
    “Morning,” I said, sitting in my favourite chair.
    I loaded up my bagel with peanut butter and honey, the ultimate combination of salty and sweet. My mouth was watering before I even took the first bite.
    “I’m thinking plyometrics today,” Dad said, joining me at the table with a cup of coffee.
    “Plyo-what?” I asked, stopping the bagel halfway to my mouth.
    “Strength and speed training,” he explained.
    “Cool,” I nodded, lifting the bagel closer.
    “Jumping rope, stairs —”
    “What?” I asked, my mouth suddenly going dry.
    What was he talking about?
    “I was doing some online research last night and put together a nice set of exercises for the guys.”
    “Jumping rope?” I could barely say the words.
    “Don’t look so surprised. A lot of hockey training is done off the ice.”
    Not ours!
    My brain was racing so fast I had to wait a second or two for my mouth to catch up. “Sure, during the off season, but —”
    “During the season too.”
    “Dad,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach. How was he going to convince the guys that we should spend our ice time jumping rope? And how was I supposed to convince them that he wasn’t a lunatic? “I don’t think the guys will be into that.”
    “Plyometrics? Nugget, I guarantee that every NHL team does this stuff.”
    “But Dad —”
    “You won’t believe the results.”
    And he probably wouldn’t believe the reaction.
    I practically dragged my gear to the van, and on the drive to the rink I barely said anything.
    I mean, what could I say?
    *   *   *
    When I walked down the hallway toward the locker room, I heard Colin say, “Man, we better scrimmage today.”
    “Tell me about it,” Jeff said. “What’s the point of practising if we don’t play?”
    “Exactly,” Colin said.
    Oh, brother.
    I walked into the room.
    “Nugget.” Colin glanced at me as he zipped up his bag. “Tell me you talked some sense into your dad.”
    All the other guys turned to stare at me (except for Bosko, who was lacing his skates).
    “Uh —”
    Before I could say anything, Dad was suddenly standing next to me. I didn’t know he’d followed me in.
    Had he heard Colin and Jeff?
    “Skip the skates, guys,” Dad said. “Meet me next to the rink in your running shoes.”
    He was gone in a flash, and when I turned around to face the guys, they all looked as stunned as I was.
    “What’s that about, Nugget?” Colin asked.
    “Yeah,” Kenny said, patting down his cowlick. “That didn’t even make sense.”
    “Did he