Read Panic in Pittsburgh for Free Online Page B

for
what
?” Sam demanded.
    “I’m going to streak the final,” Nish said, matter-of-factly. “If there’s fifty thousand people in the stands, I’ll make the
Guinness World Records
.”
    “As what?” Sam sneered. “The world’s stupidest kid?”
    “Laugh if you like,” Nish said. “I’ll streak and I’ll moon them – and no one will ever know it was me.”
    “Then how will you get in the
Guinness
book?” Sarah asked.
    Nish pushed back Jeremy’s mask and winced, his red face steaming like a cooked lobster.
    “My cape,” he said, smiling smugly. He reached back and pulled the sheet up. “This will have a huge
I
on it, for ‘Iceman.’ ”
    “And people will know that?” Sarah asked. “You honestly think that people in the stands will know you’re supposed to be the Iceman?”
    “Not
supposed to be
. I
am
the Iceman!”
    “They still won’t know who you are. All they’ll see is some sick kid in a goalie mask and an old sheet.”
    “Then I won’t have a mask,” Nish argued. “I don’t have to wear it. You watch! I’ll do it Sunday in the final.”
    “Thanks all the same,” Sarah said, turning to go. “But we’d rather not watch.”
    Nish snapped the goalie mask back down in place and took off, his sheet snapping behind himin the quick wind, then dropping down and entangling in his skate.
    He went down with a thud, spinning on his stomach toward the far net.
    The girls were in pain they were laughing so hard. Sarah could barely speak.
    “Good thing the Iceman is wearing those gauchies!”

13
    Travis woke with a start.
    Where was he? Oh yeah, Pittsburgh. What time was it? Heck, what
day
was it?
    He lay with his head cradled deep in a pillow, not moving. Every time he opened his eyes in the semidarkness, it was as if new information flowed into his brain. It slowly came back. The injury. The doctors. The quiet room. The closed curtains. The slow but sure recovery. It no longer made him dizzy to sit up. He no longer felt illwalking to the washroom. He was eating well and hungry again.
Breakfast? Lunch? Dinner?
He wasn’t certain which one was next.
    He felt a lot better, but it seemed he’d been dreaming far more than he’d been awake the past few days. Some of the dreams had been silly – a dog that could talk, jet-propelled hockey skates, a permanent, year-round rink in his backyard – and some had been frightening – his head splitting open from pain, his family lost, him never playing hockey again.
    The sound of a door slamming in the hall reminded him of another door being banged, and then another dream he’d had came flooding back. The argument about what day to do something. The talk about the key that would be copied. The plan to use the Incline up Mount Washington so as not to be noticed. The guy faking he was just a hockey player carrying his stick and equipment bag off to practice or a game.
    It made no sense. It had to be another of those silly dreams.
    Travis got up and went to the window to pull back the curtains. He winced when the sharpsunlight poured in, but there was no pain. There was no pain, no nausea, no sense that he needed to lie back down right away in the dark.
    His eyes slowly adjusted and he looked out. He could see down toward the river and across to the city of Pittsburgh. He felt truly good for the first time since he had been knocked cold. He wanted to go out. It was the first time he had felt this, and it made him smile.
    He was getting better. And getting better fast. Maybe, he thought, he could even play if the Screech Owls were still alive in the tournament. But then he remembered what the doctor had said, how he needed to be cleared by his own doctor back in Tamarack. He knew Muck and Mr. D would never do something so foolish as to put an injured player back in the lineup.
    He turned to go to the washroom and jumped back. A pain like fire shot through his foot.
    He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down. In the light streaming in through the