Wild Shot

Wild Shot

Brad scooped up the frozen ball and sent it sailing into the left side of the front of the house. It sounded like a bomb going off. The owner of the house came to the window. Upon seeing him all four of the boys took off.

“You’re gonna get us all in trouble,” panted Ed.

“If you hit that big, expensive picture window,” Keith began.

“You’re going to break it.” finished Sam.

Brad snorted. “I won’t break it, my stick-handling and slapshot are better than that. If I wanted to hit the window, I could!”

“Well, do us a favor okay? Don’t try!”

The boys raced back to the street and started playing two a side again. The man in the picture window watched them for a time.

“I don’t know how long it’s been since I played ball hockey. I’m not sure I ever played in the winter. Usually, I had a puck,” the man said to himself, a trace of envy in his voice.

Suddenly, the neighbor made up his mind. He donned his boots, coat, scarf and hat, grabbed his old hockey stick and ran outside.

“Can I play?” he asked.

The boys looked at each other. They played rock paper scissor for a few rounds, then nodded.

The man ran back and forth between goals, swerving and dodging like he did when he was young. The boys got the ball often enough to score sometimes, so everyone had fun. The neighbor took a hard, wild shot.

The sound of shattering glass made him stop and gape toward his picture window.

“Well, now! I guess I can see how you boys have come close enough to breaking that window to give me heart palpitations. No one to blame but me! Thanks for the game, boys!”