Free Hat Trick by W. C. Mack

Danny Donlin.
    I clicked the radio off with a smile, happy I had it right.
    With Dad’s help the night before, I was two-for-two. A hundred percent, if I felt like putting a Math spin on it. I could practically hear myself winning the contest. I could hear the crowd cheering as I moved to centre ice. I could hear my heart pounding as I lined up my shot.
    I could hear Mum asking Dad if he wanted anything from the kitchen!
    I jumped to the floor, as quiet as a cat, and pushed the stool back into place.
    I tiptoed past the den and ran upstairs as quickly and quietly as I could. And when I was safely behind my closeddoor, I moved
Shoot! Third Edition
to my bedside table and made myself open my Math textbook.

Chapter Eight
    I woke up the next morning at five o’clock and was halfway out of the bed, my toes curling from the cold, when I realized it was Thursday.
    That meant no practice, which stunk.
    I slipped my nearly frozen foot back under the covers. Sleeping in, on the other hand? That didn’t stink a bit. I pulled the blankets tight around me and rolled toward the wall to fall back asleep. Maybe I could finish my dream about skating circles around Eddie Bosko. I’d woken up just as it was getting really good. I closed my eyes and imagined coming to a quick stop and spraying ice in his face. Perfect.
    What seemed like three seconds after I fell asleep, Mom was knocking on my door.
    “Time for school,” she said.
    Already? Sure enough, when I rubbed my eyes and looked at the glowing red lights of my alarm clock, I saw that it was already seven.
    Nuts!
    I’d slept for two whole hours and it felt like I’d barely blinked. I rolled out of bed with a groan and tripped over a pile of dirty laundry that must have sprouted up overnight.
    Sprouted
.
    I rubbed my eyes, thinking of sprouts as I stared at the pile by my feet. If dirty clothes sat for long enough, could something actually grow on them? I frowned.
    Kenny swore the running shoes he’d left soaking wet on his back steps last spring had
mushrooms
on the laces. How gross was that? Gross enough to make me pick up the pile and dump it into the laundry hamper, figuring I was better safe than sorry.
    I left my pyjamas on the bathroom counter and climbed into the shower. Just as I was getting the shampoo out of my hair, I heard the toilet flush again. I wasn’t fast enough to get out of the spray and I got scorched, right on my ribs.
    “Yowch!” I gasped, squishing myself into the tiled corner to escape from the steaming water.
    I was going to have to talk to Mum about this. I waited a few seconds and dipped my fingers under the spray. Whew. Back to the right temperature. I moved back into position and the toilet flushed again.
    Nuts!
    This time, the scalding water got my shoulders.
    “Urgh!” I grunted, cramming into the corner again to wait it out.
    When it cooled down, I tried again. Another flush.
    “Come
on
,” I shrieked.
    Shampoo dripped into my eyes and they stung like crazy. I rubbed them with the backs of my hands while I was squished in the corner, but that only made the stinging worse. When I reached out to check the temperature, thewater was still way too hot. I couldn’t reach the showerhead to turn the spray away from me, so the only choice was to turn it off at the tap.
    Great. Dad would be singing the tiny bubble song again.
    I was totally ticked off and I practically ripped the shower curtain open, trying to find a towel to wrap around my waist. It hurt to open my eyes and when I did, I could only squint, but that was enough.
    Standing next to the toilet, fully dressed, with her book bag on her shoulder and a glare just for me, was Wendy.
    “Too bad. I was ready for another flush,” she said, letting go of the handle.
    “That was you every … I got totally … what did you do that for?”
    She smiled. “Payback.”
    “For what?” I asked, trying to wipe the shampoo out of my eyes again.
    “Are you kidding me?” she asked, jaw dropping