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with the puck, taking the goalie down with him. This is Ian’s trademark move.
    â€œHey! What are you doing?” yells Cody.
    I turn to see what Cody is complaining about.
    â€œHe’s got my boots!” Cody yells.
    Duncan has a pair of boots in his arms. The other team’s net is gone. All the boots are in one big straight line across the pond.

Chapter Five
    I zoom toward the line of boots. “Duncan! What are you doing ?”
    He looks at me like I’m from Mars.
    â€œIt’s our net, Duncan!” I grab the boots from his arms and throw them onto the ice. “They’re supposed to be in a pile!”
    â€œOh, your net.” Duncan’s face falls.
    â€œCan we get this game going? This isn’t friggin’ Sesame Street ,” Cody yells. He and his friends lean on their sticks, laughing. Why did I agree to let them play?
    â€œDuncan, grab some boots and throw them into the middle.” I start whacking boots with my stick.
    I just want to play hockey.
    Duncan picks the boots up one at a time and carefully places them onto the pile. I know it’s killing him to leave the boots in a mess. As he grabs the last one, he slips on the ice.
    Smack! The sound echoes across the pond. A small crack appears in the ice where Duncan lands.
    I race over and kneel next to him. Duncan looks up with tears in his eyes. “It hurts, it hurts!” He’s holding his right arm.
    â€œOkay, I won’t touch it.”
    Ian skates over. “Is he okay?”
    â€œHis arm hurts. Can you help me get him up?”
    â€œSure.” Ian drops his stick.
    Duncan doesn’t make it easy for us. He sits there like deadweight.
    Ian and I are on either side of him, trying to grab hold of him without touching his sore arm.
    â€œOkay—you got him, Ian?”
    â€œYup. We’re going to get you up there, Puck Getter,” Ian says.
    â€œI’m not Puck Getter , I’m Spider-Man.”
    â€œOkay, Spider-Man…on the count of three, we’re going to lift you. One— two—three! Oh, man,” Ian groans. “You’re heavy!”
    Duncan wails, “My arm, my arm!”
    â€œYou’re not going to die, okay?” I say. Once we have him standing, I brush snow off his jacket.
    â€œThis is a waste of time!” Cody hollers. “When are we going to get this game going?”
    â€œMy arm hurts,” says Duncan.
    â€œYeah. I know, Duncan.” I’m so mad inside, I could scream. “I gotta go.” I can’t look at Ian when I say the words. I grab my boots from the pile and make my way to the side of the pond.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Cody yells.
    â€œWe’re going home,” I bark. “What’s it look like?”
    â€œLosers!”
    â€œWhat is his problem?” I mutter under my breath.
    â€œHe’s mean,” Duncan answers.
    It always amazes me how in some ways Duncan can be completely clueless, and in others so smart.
    â€œ Pst…Pst… ”
    â€œDuncan, knock it off, would ya?”
    â€œ Pst…Pst… ” He completely ignores me.
    It becomes obvious why he’s making the noises. With his good hand, he’s got his fingers spread far apart as he directs his spiderweb toward Cody.
    â€œI’m going to wrap him in my web. He’s a bad guy.”
    Before I can say another word, Duncan bolts from the bench and heads onto the ice.
    The guys have started passing the puck around, but Duncan doesn’t seem to care. He gets right in front of Cody.
    â€œDuncan, stop!” I yell as I scramble after him, wearing one boot and one skate.
    â€œI’ve got you!” Duncan yells. He flings his good arm toward Cody.
    â€œGet him away from me,” Cody yells as he pushes his hands out in front of his face.
    â€œIan, grab him!” I yell.
    Ian skates toward Duncan.
    Cody drops his stick. He looks like he’s ready to punch Duncan. His thick brain