Theo was four years old, and he wanted to play for the Ottawa Senators. But he had no skates and no stick. You cannot become a hockey player with empty hands. He knew this, and it made his chest hurt. He searched the whole house for his stick. He looked under his bed and behind the couch. He found dust and one old sock. No stick anywhere. His backwards red cap slid low over his eyes, and he pushed it up. So Theo went outside to look. He walked past a thick patch of green ferns. Something stuck out of the leaves. He pulled it free. It was a tree branch, long and bent at the bottom, curved just like a real hockey stick. The wood was smooth and warm from the sun. "This can be my stick," Theo said. He swung it. It whooshed through the air. Now he needed a puck. He looked for a rock, a bottle cap, anything flat and round. An orange cat watched him from the grass. Beside the cat sat a big black dog, still as a statue. Both animals stared at the fern patch. The dog barked once, sharp, and looked right at the leaves. Theo pushed the ferns apart. Down in the roots, folded tight, sat a green bill of money. He picked it up. It was more than he had ever held. "Whose is this?" he asked. The cat blinked. The dog thumped its tail. Nobody came to claim it. Theo held the branch in one hand and the money in the other. Money could not slide across ice. But money could buy something that did. It could buy real skates. He knew a place. He had pressed his nose to its window many times. The store had a big sign with a skate and a stick painted on it. Behind the glass sat rows of skates and gloves and helmets. Theo walked there fast. The cat and the dog trotted behind him the whole way. When he reached the door, he stopped. The skates in the window shone under the lights. His heart pounded. He pushed the door open and marched to the counter. He could barely see over the top. He reached up and set the money down flat. "I need skates," Theo said. "I'm going to play for the Senators." A person leaned over the counter and looked at the bill. Then they looked at the small boy in the red cap. They counted the money slowly, twice. "This is enough," they said, "but only for one thing. Skates or pads. Not both." Theo's mouth fell open. He had thought money solved everything. Now he had a branch for a stick and just enough for skates. But skates alone would not keep him safe on the ice. And the store would not let a four-year-old rent time at the rink without a grown-up. He held the money tight. He had solved one problem and found a bigger one.

Theo went home with the money still in his fist. He had skates or pads, but not both, and no grown-up to take him to the rink. So he carried his branch outside to practice shooting. The cat and the dog followed and lay down in the grass to watch. He set a bottle cap in the dirt for a puck. He gripped the branch and swung hard. The bark bit into his palms. Splinters poked his skin. Rough knots dug at his fingers. He dropped the branch and shook his hands. "Ow," he said. He looked at the red marks on his palms. He picked the branch up again and tried once more. This time it hurt worse. He could not hold on long enough to shoot straight. The cap barely moved. His dad came around the corner then, carrying a garbage bag in one hand. His black hair stuck out under his backwards cap. His camo crocs slapped the ground. He stopped and watched Theo shake his stinging hands. "That branch is beating you up," Dad said. He crouched and turned the wood over. He ran his thumb along the rough spots. "Too many splinters. We can fix that. But first I could use your help." He held up the garbage bag. "Yard's a mess. You help me pick it up, I'll pay you. Enough for the gear you're still missing." Theo's eyes went wide. Pay meant more money. More money meant pads and skates both. "I'll help," he said. They worked together through the whole yard. Theo grabbed cans and wrappers and dropped them in the bag. His dad lifted the heavy stuff. The dog trotted beside them. The cat watched from a fence post. Theo's back got tired, but he did not stop. When the yard was clean, Dad reached in his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. He pressed them into Theo's sore hand. "You earned that," he said. Then Dad went to the shed and came back with sandpaper. He sat on the step and rubbed it along the branch. Back and forth, over every knot and splinter. The rough wood turned smooth. He handed it back. "Try now," Dad said. Theo gripped the branch. It felt smooth in his palms. No splinters. No sharp bark. He swung, and the branch did not hurt at all. The bottle cap shot across the grass and hit the fence. "Yes!" Theo shouted. The dog barked. The cat's tail flicked. Theo looked at the money in his hand and the smooth stick in the other. His stick was fixed. He had more money now. But he still had no grown-up who could rent him ice time at the rink. A smooth stick and full pockets meant nothing if he could never get on the ice.