Arctic Thunder Read Online Free

unsettled stomach. He brooded as the ground fell away and the buildings of the surrounding area retreated into the distance. They began to circle away from Edmonton as their altitude increased, and Mike’s last glimpse was the town of Leduc as it disappeared below the clouds.
    After some time, they levelled off, and Mike felt the vibrations and sound of the plane settle into a consistent and steady drone. His ears were plugged, and he pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger and blew out air. Bubbles seemed to pop in each eardrum, and his hearing once again felt normal. Despondently, he focused on droplets of condensation that started to form on the outside window due to the altitude. The droplets took shape and grew in size until they became so plump that the wind drew them back in a stream that flowed along the window’s edge and out of sight.
    â€œWhat can I get you?” Mike’s head snapped up as his mother tapped him on the shoulder. A flight attendant stood in the aisle and smiled at him as she motioned at the cart beside her. He opened his mouth to ask for a Pepsi, but the words got stuck in his throat.
    â€œNo thanks,” he finally said as he turned back to the window, realizing at the same time that he actually was quite thirsty.
    Jeannie smiled at the flight attendant. “He’ll have a Pepsi.” Reaching over with her left hand, she twisted the clasp that held Mike’s table tray against the seat in front of him and lowered it, then placed a plastic cup of Pepsi and ice on the white surface.
    After a moment or two, Mike glanced at the cup of Pepsi and then at his mother. She looked up from the magazine she was reading and smiled, then resumed reading. Mike picked up the cup of Pepsi, swirled the liquid a little, and watched as it fizzed and foamed. Then he brought the cup to his mouth and sipped. The Pepsi was cold, and when he swallowed, he enjoyed the icy tang as the carbonated liquid slipped down his throat.
    His mother always knew what he really wanted, and for the first time he experienced a slight glimmer of hope, saw a tentative ray of light in the darkness. Mike got along great with his dad, but it was his mother who seemed to understand him best. She never failed to spot the small thread of positive in a whole blanket of negative. And every time she was right.
    When he started lacrosse, he was six years old and was big for his age. Mike could hardly contain his excitement when his father informed him he was registered in lacrosse, and had begged to go to the rink to watch the game he would soon play. He badgered his father non-stop on the way there with questions about the rules and who would be on his team. When they arrived at the rink, he jumped from the car as soon as they parked and despite warning yells from his dad ran ahead and through the doors. Weaving his way through the crowd of adults, he unwittingly ended up at one of the indoor fields in the huge complex where midget-age players were being evaluated for placement on teams. His mouth dropped open as he stood and watched the players beat one another with their sticks, violently trying to impress the evaluators. As his father approached, he turned, tears streaming down his face, and ran right back out to the car, terrified that the same thing was going to happen to him.
    Eventually, Ben managed to drag him to the rink, and he began to enjoy the game, playing with other boys his age. But he was terrible. Every time he ran he tripped and fell. He couldn’t catch and never remembered to cradle the ball in his stick. It was his mother who held him when he cried after his first game, reassuring him that one day he would be the best player on the floor. She was also the one who practised with him every day when his father was on shift. Jeannie was a short, dark, wiry woman who enjoyed all athletics and loved seeing her son develop a passion for sports as he grew up. It hadn’t happened immediately, but