I slam the door on the way out, wondering what it would be like to have normal parents who look after their kids. Or to be an only child like Glenn.

For a change, I cross the bridge, walking fast up the hill, then jogging on the level. The air is cool, dew on the grass, birds yakking in the trees. For the space of three or four minutes, I jog along real easy, my pace smooth, arms pumping, back straight. Takes me by surprise.

I slow to a walk, doing some bicep curls. If I’m in shape at the start of hockey season, I might not hate it so much.

Jog some more, not as smooth this time. Hockey is Floyd’s idea. The National Sport. More pressure is how I see it. At games, the crowd screaming when someone slams you into the boards, Floyd tight-faced if I don’t slam back, yet furious if I get a penalty. I’m no bully on the ice because there’s guys on the other teams a lot heavier than me. It’ll be worse next season because I’ll be on the bottom rung of Midget.

Floyd wants an enforcer for a son, another Brashear or Carcillo. The blood vessels in his forehead throbbed like they were going to burst when he found out Rebecca Sanger and Tiffany Gottrich were on our team.

In Novice and Atom, hockey was okay. We spent most of our time tripping over each other and shooting the puck to the opposing team; goals were scored because the net happened to get in the way. But in Peewee the coach and the parents, including Floyd, decided we were old enough to produce. On the drive to the rink, Floyd would outline what he expected of me. On the drive home, he’d conduct a detailed postmortem of all my failings.

No more high-fives on Beaver Lake.

My watch tells me I’ve been gone twenty-three minutes. I start back, jogging faster, pushing myself. It’d be neat to have one of those fancy belts that carry little flasks of water.

Sweat stings my eyes. Forgot my bandanna. Cassie’s fault. My fifteenth birthday is in December. One year later, I’ll shake the dust of Hilchey River Road off my sneakers forever.

In the meantime, I’ve worked out a strategy for school: keep my marks up until I graduate from grade nine, then pull out all the stops for the first term of grade ten. Can’t hurt to have a brilliant report card for the high school in Halifax.