The Swap

Chapter 2 Jack

'Yes sir" I say.

I am talking to my father and this is how you talk to my father.

'Yes sir what?" He asks.

"Yes sir I understand" I answer trying not to look at him but trying to seem like I am because you can't really get away with no eye contact when talking with The Captain. I answer with a quick glance but keep my eyes straight ahead staring through the windshield of the truck into the glare of the oncoming headlights and the pitch-black darkness.

We're on our way to hockey-i play year-round. I'm on the Boston Junior Bruins. I made the team last April. I'm the first eighth grader tob ever make the roster, the youngest player in franchise history. Its pretty unbelieveable.

Our first game is Monday night. I have a lot to prove. I have to compete for every shift of every game. I can't take a minute off. I don't want anyone to think I haven't earned my spot--that I got here just because of who my brothers are. I always have to prove myself. Its about battling. I want something working hard for it shouldn't ever be a problem.

My dad isn't speaking. He hasn't said anything in at least ten miles of driving through the dark. In the Captains world, this means my answer was not acceptable. I need to try again.

"I will be more respectful of your time by being on time?" I say. I try to remember what it is he's been lecturing me about what he told me I needed to fix. What I did wrong. I honestly don't really know what I did this time. He was in a bad mood before I even tossed my hockey bag beside in the back of his truck and hopped out into the front beside him.

Let me tell you, there's nothing worst than when my dad gives you the silent treatment. Even though its dark I feel his eyes on me.

I search my brain for the right words. "I'm sorry?" I try again.

Nothing.

The captain reaches for the radio and turns it on. He likes classical music. I think it calms him down.

"Jack." My dad finally speaks. " I don't want to hear 'I'm sorry' its inexcusable behavior. I wont tolorate it. How many times do I have to tell you? Actions speak louder than words. If you want to be a man, you need to get things done. You need to be accountable." He looks over at me.

What I want to say is: Nothing I do is ever good enough. But of course I don't say that. I'm not crazy.

"Jack?" My dad sounds mad. "Jack!" He repeats. "Have you not been listening to anything I've said?"
Exactly! I think to myself but obviously don't say, because I value my life and I don't want my dad to pull the truck over and chew me out for the next fifteen minutes. Instead, I just keep my mouth shut and think about how much fun I had today.

Today was one of the last days of summer, and it was perfect. Me, Owen, Sammy, Demaryius, Dominic, Brandon, Trey-we just chilled at the pool all day and swam and did crazy backflips off the diving board and ate nothing but hot dogs and greasy french fries from the snack bar. The night before, we were all at Owen's for a sleepover and played video games on his sixty-inche flat-screen TV in his man-cave basement paradise.

Now summer is over.

I press my head up against the trucks window and close my eyes. I just try and, like, breathe and not fight with The Captain. Not say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Not screw up.

School is going to start in two days and if I'm not careful my dad might yank me out of Thatcher and make me go to Saint Joe's. Saint Joe's is where all three of my older brothers go and at Saint Joe's you have to wear a collared dress shirt, a striped necktie, and a navy-blue blazer. No jeans. No girls. No thanks. The only reason The Captain is letting me go to Thatcher is because it fits better with my hockey schedule.

No one loves playing hockey as much as I do.

Hockey is one thing The Captain and I agree on.

Hockey is my life. My brothers and I all play. It's just how it is-we all got handed a stick when we were, like, two years old. As soon as I could walk, I was put up on skates, pulling my dad on the ice with an inner-tube tire around my waist. All three of my brothers have already committed to Boston College. I've always been the youngest on my team because my dad wants me to work harder and get better and tougher. There's nithing I'd rather do than play hockey the rest of my life. And there is a plan. I write it down every single night (only after I complete exactly two hundred push-ups, two hundred sit-ups, abd recite the prayer to St. Sebastian seven times). This is what I do. This is who I am. I write it in the red covered spiral notebook I keep tucked under my mattress. My mom told me to do it. She said---

"If you believe it you can achieve it." She told me to write down my goals. And I have ever since.

I write the same three things. Every single night.

1. Play for Boston College

2. Get drafted in the first round of the NHL.

3. Sign an NHL contract.

And you might think its weird to have a secret notebook filled with the same three sentences written down every day since I was ten years old, but whatever. It's my dream and I don't really give a crap if anyone thinks I'm weird about it. I've worked my whole life to take the next step. I'm still young. I still have a lot to work on. When I go to bed, I see myself signing my letter of intent to play for Boston College. I see myself getting drafted, slipping an NHL jersey over my head. I see myself doing everything. In my mind, I've already done it. I just have to go out and do it. Put in the work. Be unstoppable. My dad tells me all the time, "The true test of a man's character is what he does when no one is watching."