Reality Check in Detroit Read Free Page A

shades on, lay back on all his stuff like he was lounging poolside, and started purring. “What can I do? A star has got to shine,” he said.
    “Get used to all your gear now, because you’ll be using it tomorrow. First call is at 7:00 a.m. sharp,” Inez barked as she poked her head back into the room, her phone still attached to her ear.
    All of the Owls nodded, except for Nish, who was now wearing his helmet and was busy trying to slide his jock over his jeans.
    “Oh, and be on time, because we have a twelve-hour day ahead of us,” Inez said, tucking the clipboard under her arm. “And you,” she motioned to Nish, “bring the shades.”
    Travis wasn’t sure he liked hearing Inez encourage Nish. It was something the Owls had learned the hard way. When Nish started getting crazy, it was best to ignore him. Whatever you did, you never encouraged Nish.

4
    N ormally, Travis would have been first on the ice at the Joe Louis Arena. He liked nothing better than to step out onto a clean sheet. He loved to roar down the rink alone and take that first corner, digging in hard and flicking his skates at the end of each stride so that his blades sizzled and, with a bit of luck, tossed up a spray of ice or sometimes even water that had yet to freeze if the Zamboni had just finished.
    He wouldn’t be first today, though: his roommate had spent too much time on his hair and fawning over his new equipment. Nish had even taken the time to draw a crooked star on some hotel stationery, write “44” in the middle of it, and stick it on the bathroom door, claiming the room as his own. He had made them late for the short walk along the waterfront to the players’ entrance at the back of the arena. When they arrived with Mr. D and two other stragglers, Gordie Griffith and Lars Johanssen, Muck and the others were already there.
    They had given their names to the security guard and then walked along the corridor to where Muck and the other Owls were gathered. All the Owls had their new tracksuits and jackets on and were carrying their bags of new equipment and their sticks. Muck stood out like a sore thumb: same old hockey windbreaker, same baggy pants. He had, however, put on a clean shirt.
    Mr. D had a fancy new jacket that had “ MR . D ” and “ MGR ” on the sleeve. Travis knew that somewhere there would be a large, brand-new hockey jacket with “ MUCK ” and “ COACH ” on the arm. Likely hanging in Muck’s closet back at the hotel. Maybe stuffed in a corner, out of sight. Travis wasn’t surprised: the one thing the Owls could absolutely depend on was that Muck would never change.
    “I want you to follow me,” Muck was telling the Owls, “and use your eyes, not your mouths.”
    He stared hard, once, in Nish’s direction and led the Owls down the twisting corridor until they came to a brightly lit area entirely painted in red and white, the colors of the Detroit Red Wings. He stopped in front of a wall with “ HOCKEYTOW N ” written on it in large red letters. “ HOME OF THE 1997, 1998, 2002 & 2008 STANLEY CUP CHAMPIONS .”
    “Wow!” exclaimed Fahd. “Four Stanley Cups.”
    “Eleven,” Muck corrected him. “The Joe replaced the Olympia, the old rink where Gordie Howe and Ted Lindsay won cups. The Red Wings have won eleven times.”
    “Wow again!” said Fahd.
    Travis said nothing. But inside he was glowing. Muck had just mentioned Terrible Ted Lindsay, Travis’s distant relative. Gordie Howe’s line mate. Stanley Cup champion. There were even statues of both Gordie Howe and Ted Lindsay in the Joe.
    “Read the names,” Muck told them, pointing to the list of players that had been on each of the Cups. “The only way I know for a hockey player to live forever is to have your name on this Cup.”
    Nish walked up so close to one of the lists that his nose was almost touching it. He seemed to be squinting, reading furiously.
    “You won’t find ‘Nishikawa’ there!” Sam laughed.
    “It’ll be there one