Free Hat Trick by W. C. Mack Page A

open.
    I stared at her with one eye. The other one was too busy oozing shampoo to shoot her a dirty look. “Never mind,” I said.
    “
That’s
your apology?”
    “What? You’re the one who blinded me!”
    “And you’re the one who told Mum and Dad about me and Scott.”
    “But it was true.”
    “It was last year, Nugget, and they didn’t need to know about it.”
    “But —”
    “Just like they don’t need to know that you were creeping around in the kitchen last night.”
    Nuts!
    “Fine,” I said.
    She looked at me for a few seconds, waiting for more. But more what?
    “Fine,” I said again. She’d made her point.
    My sister rolled her eyes. “Okay, that’s not an apology either.”
    “I’m sorry, Wendy,” I said, as sincerely as I could while goose bumps popped up all over my body.
    “Apology accepted,” she grunted, turning to walk out of the washroom. She was a dangerous one, that was for sure.
    I waited until I knew she was downstairs before I turned the water back on. By that time, Mum had the dishwasher or something running, so my shower was only lukewarm.
    It wasn’t a great start to the day, and my tutoring session with Eddie Bosko meant it probably wouldn’t end well, either.
    * * *
    When I was finally dressed, I trudged into the kitchen, wishing I’d had practice that morning so I could have taken all my frustrations out on the ice.
    I sat at my usual spot and spread butter on the blueberry waffle that was waiting for me, before loading it up with syrup. As soon as I tasted the first mouthful, I felt a bit better. After all, how bad could life be if something that awesome was just sitting there, ready to be eaten. I cut off another bite and ran it through a puddle of syrup before shoving it into my mouth.
    Mmmm … syrup.
    My hero Jean Ducette’s family was in the maple syrup business, and that made me love it even more than I already did. He was from a tiny town in Quebec, where his family had lived for over a hundred years. A whole century!He had eleven brothers and sisters, and the kids used to be called the Ducette Dozen.
    When he was growing up, the whole family worked to collect sap in the spring. They had these things called sugar shacks where they boiled it to make syrup. They had a big party while they worked and even poured maple syrup on ice to eat for a treat!
    Yum city.
    When Jean grew up, he was an awesome hockey player and he had to decide between the NHL and the syrup business.
    I knew what I’d pick, and it involved a puck. Lucky for me (and the Canucks), he picked hockey, along with three of his brothers, and all four of them became professional players! Their dad had to be the proudest guy on the whole planet. In fact, he was so proud, he made limited edition maple syrup bottles shaped like each of the boys, and sold them at Christmas.
    I talked Mum into buying me the Jean Ducette bottle at Safeway one day. Even though the syrup is probably awesome, I’ll never open it. It’s way too valuable to eat.
    I took a bite of my waffle and closed my eyes while I chewed. My mum was the absolute best cook on the island. I took another bite. Make that the planet.
    “Good?” she asked, drying her hands with a tea towel.
    My mouth was full, so I gave her a thumbs up.
    “I’m glad,” she said, with a laugh. “I’ll make some cookies for you and Eddie to munch on this afternoon.”
    I stopped chewing. Eddie Bosko probably ate cast iron, not cookies.
    “He’ll be here at three-thirty,” she added.
    I almost choked. “Here?” I gasped, through the waffle.
    Mum looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course, here. You guys are going to be studying together.”
    I swallowed hard. “But here?”
    I thought we’d meet at the school library or something. It was bad enough that he was in my locker room and my classroom. Did he really have to be in my living room too? Or my bedroom?
    I didn’t want him to come over and see the “cute” framed photos of me at every age as he