The Bad Luck Skate

THE COOLEST SPORT IN THE WORLD

Hey, Frank, Pete Peterson called, slinging his hockey bag over his shoulder. Here to watch the big game?

Nine-year-old Frank Hardy gave his friend a fist bump. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, he said.

I thought you said Pete was as big as a giant, blurted Frank’s eight-year-old brother, Joe. He had tagged along to watch Pete’s team, the Bayport Checkers, play in the division hockey championship against the Southport Snipers. Frank and Joe didn’t play hockey, but they both loved supporting their friends.

I didn’t say Pete was ‘as big as a giant,’ Frank replied. "I said he played like one."

The beginning of the Checkers’ season had been rough. They’d lost five of their first six games. The players hadn’t been passing to one another. They couldn’t score goals. No one was having fun. That had all changed in October, when Pete moved to town. With his stellar play and leadership, the team had managed to turn their season around by winning thirteen of their last fifteen.

Not only was Pete a whiz on the ice, but he was the kind of kid everyone liked. He and Frank had become friends at school. Over the past few months, Frank had been to most of Pete’s games, and he was looking forward to watching his friend win a championship.

Pete’s not just the team captain, Frank told his brother. He’s the best player in the league.

Shucks, Frank, Pete said. I’m only as good as the team around me.

Frank and Joe knew a lot about being a good team. Working together, a good team could accomplish anything they put their minds to. And what the brothers put their minds to best was solving mysteries.

The boys’ dad, Fenton Hardy, ran his own detective agency in Bayport. Frank and Joe liked to think they were carrying on the family business, solving mysteries of their own. They wrote down everything about their cases, including suspects and clues, in their clue book. The brothers carried it everywhere they went. You never knew when a mystery might pop up.

Out of the way, goon, a girl called from behind the boys. The girl was Joe’s age. She had white skates slung over her shoulder, her hair done up in a ponytail, and she was dragging a small suitcase.

Pete rolled his eyes. My sister, Pam, he told the boys. She has a figure-skating competition on the other rink.

Hi, Pam, called Joe. I didn’t know you skated.

The whole family does, Pam responded. Not that anyone ever watches my skating competitions. They’re too busy watching Pete sniff his skates before every hockey game.

"I do not sniff my skates," Pete protested.

That’s a good thing, Joe said, waving a hand in front of his nose. The smell is bad enough with the skates still in your bag.

You might not be all about the stink, Pam argued, but you’re still weird before you play.

Pete gave his sister a hard look. I have a game-day routine. It helps get me focused and ready to play.

Exactly, Frank agreed. All the best athletes have one. Following a steady game-day routine programs your body to perform when you need it to. That way, you can focus on the important thing—getting a win.

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