Hat Trick by W. C. Mack Read Free Book Online

but my red and black striped hockey socks. I ran back up to my room and didn’t see them anywhere. I should have just packed the night before!
    “Are you ready?” Mum called up the stairs.
    “Almost!”
    “I’m trying to sleep!” Wendy shouted from behind her closed door.
    “Sorry,” I called back.
    “Don’t be
sorry
, be
quiet
.”
    “Take it easy, Wend,” Dad said through her door as he passed it. “Nugget, Mum’s waiting.”
    “I know. I’m coming.”
    Where were the stupid socks? I checked under the bed, in my school bag and even in the legs of the jeans I’d dumped on the floor, but I couldn’t find them anywhere.
    “It’s five-thirty!” Mum called from the kitchen.
    “And I’m still trying to sleep!” Wendy shouted.
    “I’m coming,” I muttered, giving up the search and heading back downstairs.
    When I got to the kitchen, my packed lunch was on the table, waiting for me. Next to it was a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast. “I can’t find my hockey socks,” I admitted, reaching for the sandwich.
    “They’re in the wash,” Mum said.
    What?
    “But … I didn’t ask you to wash them.”
    Mum turned to me. Her hands were on her hips. That was never a good sign, and it seemed to be happening an awful lot lately. “No, you didn’t ask me to, but those socks were practically standing up on their own, begging to be clean.”
    “But I need them for practice. Today.”
    “Well, I just put them in the dryer. They’re soaking wet.”
    “But —”
    “Why didn’t you pack your bag last night?” Dad asked, as he poured a cup of coffee.
    Great, they were tag-teaming me, which was something else that seemed to be happening a lot.
    “I was doing homework,” I told him, knowing that wasn’t entirely true.
    “No, you were in here,” Mum said. “Listening to the radio.”
    Did she wash the socks to punish me? And if so, what kind of a crazy family did I belong to?
    “That was only for a few minutes. Just for the contest.”
    “The contest?” Mum asked, frowning.
    “Hockey trivia,” Dad took a sip of his coffee then leaned in to kiss her cheek.
    “A contest,” Mum sighed. “Here’s hoping the grand prize is a passing grade in Math.”
    “Even better,” I told her. “Two tickets to a Canucks game and a chance to shoot from centre ice. For money and prizes.”
    “Is that right?” Dad asked. “A shot from centre? I thought it was just memorabilia.”
    “Nope,” I told him.
    “Rogers Arena, eh? Now that’s a prize!”
    “Don’t encourage him, Gord,” Mum warned.
    It was kind of a strange thing to say, considering parents were supposed to encourage their kids.
    “So, what am I going to do about the socks?” I asked.
    “You only have one pair?” Mum asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me you needed more?”
    “Because I didn’t think you were going to steal them right when I needed them,” I said, taking a bite of my sandwich. I knew it wasn’t the right thing to say as soon as the words were out of my mouth because the temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees.
    In two seconds.
    Oops.
    Mum and Dad both stared at me.
    “Sorry. I meant —”
    “That you’d like to start taking responsibility for your own laundry?” Mum asked in a tone that would have sounded sweet to anyone who didn’t know her.
    But I knew her.
    “Uh —”
    “Or maybe you’d like to pack your own lunches for school?” Dad suggested.
    Neither option sounded very good.
    “Uh …” I wasn’t fast enough, and the tag-teaming ended with Mum.
    “Or maybe it would be best if you stuck to our original plan and got all of your gear in order the night before practice,” she said, one eyebrow raised.
    I nodded. “That would be good.”
    “Yes, it would be,” Dad said. “It’s always good to have a plan.”
    Mum dug her keys out of her purse. “In the meantime, you can grab your new socks from the bottom of your chest of drawers.”
    I started to turn, then stopped in