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running shoes
?” Bedhead asked, still groggy from sleep.
    “Uh, yeah.” I dropped my bag on the bench. All I had to do was keep things running smoothly, and I could handle that. “He’s got some really cool ideas for speed and strength training,” I said, hoping that was enough.
    And that it was true.
    After all, I had some pretty serious doubts about the jump rope.
    “But we’re already fast,” Colin said, shrugging.
    “And strong,” Jeff added.
    “Well, there’s always room for improvement,” I said, opening my bag.
    I put on all of my gear, except for the skates, and the whole time I was doing it nobody said a word.
    “Ready?” I asked, when I’d finished re-tying my shoelaces.
    “This is nuts,” Colin said.
    “It isn’t, Col,” I said, as firmly as I could. “I swear.”
    I led the team out toward the rink, and they were all walking at half speed or less, grunting and groaning the whole way.
    When we reached Dad, I saw that he had cones spread out around the concession area.
    “Okay, guys,” he said, with a quick blast of the whistle. “It’s time for some plyometrics.”
    “Some what?” Kenny asked.
    “Plyometrics,” Dad said.
    All of the faces were still blank.
    Every face but Eddie Bosko’s, anyway.
    “Cool,” he said, shrugging as he walked over to a cone and stood next to it. “We used to do this stuff on the Sharks.”
    “You did?” Bedhead asked.
    “Yeah. It really helps.”
    Yes! Thank you, Bosko!
    A couple of the guys started whispering, and I hoped Bosko’s opinion mattered as much as I thought it did.
    When the whispering built to a kind of excited buzz, Dad’s smile was huge, but only for a second before he got back to business with the whistle.
    “Everybody stand next to a cone, just like Bosko.”
    We all scrambled to find places and waited for more.
    “Do you think we’ll scrimmage today?” Kenny whispered from next to me.
    “Probably,” I told him, crossing my fingers as I thought about “squeezing it in.”
    Dad got us to do a bunch of stretches, just like Coach always did, and I started to think things were going to be more normal than I expected.
    But they weren’t.
    “Okay, I want you to jump over your cone,” Dad said.
    Kenny leaped into the air, like a hurdler, and landed with the cone behind him. He pumped a fist and hissed, “Yes!”
    “I meant with both feet,” Dad said.
    “Huh?” Kenny asked, his jaw dropping. “At the same time?”
    “I’ll show you,” Dad said. He stood in front of a cone with his knees bent. He took a breath and swung his wholebody straight up, tucking his knees into his chest.
    It looked … totally nuts.
    “Seriously, Mr. McDonald?” Colin said.
    “Yup,” Dad said. “I want you boys to get some vertical height going, keeping your knees high.”
    It might have been crazy, but it looked easy enough.
    I was wrong.
    When I tried, I could only get halfway to the top of the cone.
    “Maybe Nugget needs a mini-cone,” Colin said, laughing.
    “Nope,” Dad said, shaking his head. “We’re all in this together.”
    So much for favouritism.
    “Every time I blow the whistle, you jump,” Dad said.
    And just like that, the torture began.
    I watched for a few seconds, seeing Bedhead get some pretty good height while Kenny tripped and fell over.
    I got started and by the fifth try, I was clearing the cone, but panting for breath. By the tenth whistle, my legs were already burning.
    Why did we have to wear all of our gear for this?
    By fifteen jumps, I could taste the sweat above my lip.
    It was killing me, but I saw Bosko jumping smoothly, like he was born doing it. Sure, he was shiny with sweat too, but he was making it look easy.
    That meant I had to step it up. With a grunt, I jumped again. And again. And again.
    When we finally finished, after thirty jumps, Kenny and Jeff both lay down on the floor, gasping for breath.
    Colin was doubled over and Patrick was wincing as he held the cramp in his side.
    Bosko and I