The problem is, my puzzle is a mess, and I have absolutely no idea yet how all the pieces fit together.
CASSIDY
“It is vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility. They must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it.”
—Jane Eyre
“I think I’m going to sneak Chloe into my suitcase when we head back to Wyoming,” says Winky Parker. We’re all sitting around the big dining table at Half Moon Farm, and she’s cutting up a slice of pizza for my little sister, who’s seated next to her in a high chair.
Winky has fallen head over heels in love with Chloe, and it’s obvious that the feeling is mutual. My little sister follows her around the way Coco follows Sophie Fairfax. I guess with two older brothers and no sisters, it’s kind of a treat for Winky to spend time with a toddler.
My stepfather laughs. “You’ll have Murphy to answer to if you try that,” he says. “He’s very protective.”
The dads and brothers have joined us tonight for a Leaning Tower of Pizza feast. We were going to order from Pirate Pete’s, but Mr. Chadwick said he’d had enough of their pizza to last a lifetime—he’s still working part-time making deliveries for them, until he finds a job. “Besides,” he pointed out, “Pete’s menu doesn’t offer prosciutto and arugula, and it rocks.”
He’s right; it does. I reach for another piece and my mother gives me a warning look.
“What? I’m hungry!”
“I know, but that makes six pieces so far. There are other people at this table, Cassidy Ann.”
I stop mid-bite. “You’re counting?”
“Well—”
“Mom! I’m an athlete. I need fuel.”
Mrs. Parker pats my mother’s arm consolingly. “You should see the way we go through food on the ranch. Hard work makes for big appetites.”
“Maybe I’ll sneak Cassidy into your suitcase instead of Chloe,” my mother says. “Sounds like she’d fit right in.” I scowl at her and she adds, “Kidding!” She turns to Winky. “Seriously, though, you can borrow Chloe anytime. In fact, as soon as she’s old enough to fly on her own, I’ll put her on a plane to come visit you.”
“Really?” says Winky. “That would be awesome!”
“AW-SUM! AW-SUM!” shouts Chloe gleefully, banging on her high chair tray with her sippy cup. She’s loving all the attention this week.
“Not to change the subject, but what’s this mystery event tonight?” asks Madison, changing the subject.
“Yes, do tell us—we’re all dying to know,” says her mother.
Everybody’s been bugging Mrs. Wong and Mrs. Chadwick, trying to find out what’s up, but they’ve been really good about fending off questions. Now, though, I figure it’s time to let the cat out of the bag.
“Ladies,” I tell them, “start your engines. We’re going to the rink.”
There’s an excited buzz around the table.
“A skating party?” says Summer.
“I’m definitely up for that, y’all,” says Savannah. “Sounds fun.”
“It’ll be more than just fun,” I reply. “It’s going to be educational, too.”
“Uh-oh,” says my mother. “Please tell me you’re not planning what I think you’re planning.”
I grin. “Tell them, Emma.”
Emma’s been really quiet tonight. Probably because Sophie is sitting on the other side of Stewart and has been talking his ear off through most of dinner. I’ve got a little something that can help fix that, I think. Just wait until Friday morning.
“We’re going to play hockey,” Emma says, gamely mustering some enthusiasm.
My mother groans.
“We’ve been planning it for weeks,” I add. “It’s gonna be epic.”
Mrs. Chadwick looks alarmed. “I haven’t skated for years,” she protests. “And I’ve never played hockey.”
“It’s just like riding a bicycle, Mrs. Chadwick,” I assure her, adding slyly, “or skinny dipping. It’ll all come back to you.”
She tosses an olive at me. “I can see I’m never going to live that one down.”
“Not a chance,” says Mrs. Hawthorne.
“Can I be on your team, Cassidy?” Dylan begs.
“Sorry, dude,” I tell him. “It’s ladies’ night.”
His face falls. “Aw, man!”
“Not to worry,” his father says. “I think you and your brother and I should have a boys-only party at the arcade instead.”
“Honey!” Mrs. Delaney protests. “It’s a school night.”
Jess’s father lifts an eyebrow. “And that would be why you’re going to the rink?”
“Oh fine,” she replies, with a rueful smile.
“Gentlemen,” asks Mr. Delaney, looking around the table, “would any of you care to join us?” Mr. Hawthorne and Darcy raise their hands, and so do Stewart and Mr. Chadwick and Mr. Wong. “It’s unanimous, then. To the arcade!”
“After you do the dishes?” Mrs. Delaney suggests hopefully.
Jess’s father makes a long face. “That’s right,” he replies in his best Eeyore voice. “Go ahead, have your fun, and leave us poor boys behind to slave away.” Then he smiles at us. “Of course we’ll do the dishes. Off you go, ladies.”
“I didn’t bring skates,” says Summer as we head for the cars.
“No worries,” I tell her. “I’ve got all the equipment you’ll need waiting at the rink.”
We arrive just as the last skaters are leaving. Mr. Kohler, the rink owner, reminds me to close up tight when we’re done. “Have fun!” he calls as he heads out the door.
“Thanks, Mr. K,” I call back. “We will!”
I lead my grumbling group over to the supply closet, where I have a big pile of hockey pads, protective gear, and jerseys waiting. I brought in all my old stuff a few days ago, plus I borrowed a bunch of things from my teammates, too, so that I’d have enough equipment for everyone.
“Non, merci,” says Sophie, shaking her head when I hand her a stack of gear.
I grin at her. “That’s right, you’ve got the idea,” I reply. “‘No mercy.’ Everyone’s suiting up, everyone’s going out on the ice, no exceptions.”
She shakes her head again.
“No exceptions,” I repeat firmly. “Right, Gigi?”
Megan’s grandmother says something in rapid French to Sophie, who sullenly takes the equipment from me.
“I look like a walrus,” wails Zoe Winchester, after she’s dressed.
“Everybody looks like a walrus when they play hockey,” I tell her. “And nobody cares. Who’s going to see you?” I make a sweeping gesture. “Check it out—no boys. Not a single one. It’s just us girls in here, and we couldn’t care less what you look like.”
“I still look like a walrus,” she mutters.
The person who really looks like a walrus is Mrs. Chadwick, although of course I don’t say that. She’s a lot slimmer than she used to be, but she’s still what my mother calls a “plus-sized gal.” Add the hockey pads and the result is, well, pretty walruslike.
Mr. K gave me the key to the skate rentals, too, and once everyone’s suited up I take them over to be fitted for skates.
“Same size as me,” I say to Megan, surprised, when she asks for hers. “Here, use my skates instead. They’re tons better than the rink’s.”
“Thanks.”
I’m not planning on actually playing tonight. That would give whichever side I’m on an unfair advantage. But I don’t tell my friends that, as I don’t want to start a mutiny. I can tell they’re not totally on board with this whole idea yet.
“I don’t like hockey,” my mother grouses as I help her lace up her skates.
“How would you know? You’ve never really played before.”
“Broom hockey that one time on the Delaneys’ pond,” she mutters.
“That doesn’t count.”
“Someone could get hurt.”
My mother still worries a lot about that, even th
ough I’ve played all these years and am still in one piece.
“Mom, no one is going to get hurt, I promise. Seriously, will you look at these pads? Everyone’s going to have fun, even you. Just wait and see.”
I lace up a pair of rentals and stump around the benches, helping anyone else who needs it. Finally, they’re all dressed and ready.
“Look at us!” crows Mrs. Hawthorne. “We need a picture.”
“Already got that covered,” I tell her, pulling my camera out of my bag. “Grab a stick and line up, okay?”
I snap a group photo, then Savannah takes one with me in it, and then it’s time to go out on the ice.
It’s pretty comical at first. Bailey’s mother takes one step and promptly falls on her behind. Mrs. Williams and Sophie Fairfax both do the same. Others, like Mrs. Wong and Savannah, handle themselves a little more gracefully. We’re a really uneven group in terms of ability, though. I watch for a couple of minutes, then pair everybody up, matching weak skaters with stronger skaters.
“Okay, listen up!” I call out, blowing my whistle to get their attention. “What you’re going to do is circle the rink slowly a few times with your skating buddy, warming up and getting used to the feel of the ice. Some of you haven’t spent much time at the rink”—I look over at my mother, who’s clutching Emma’s arm—“and some of you are used to figure skates, which have toe picks on the end. Hockey skates don’t, as you’ve probably discovered.”
“Yep,” says Mrs. Jacobs, rubbing her rear end.
“Off you go, and take your time. This isn’t a race.”
I take Gigi’s arm—I chose her for my partner since she’s the one I’m most concerned about. I didn’t need to worry, though. She’s steady as a rock.
“This is fun!” she cries after we make our first circuit.
“Told you so,” I reply smugly.
After we’re all warmed up, Emma and I set up for drills. We lead everyone through some basic moves—turning, stopping, that sort of thing—along with some basic stick work.
“You’re doing great!” I tell them as they practice maneuvering around the orange cones. “I’ll make Chicks with Sticks out of you yet!”
“Chicks with Sticks? More like ‘Hicks with Sticks,’” moans Winky a few minutes later, slumping on to the bench. “We stink at this.”
“Speak for yourself,” says Zoe, zipping by. She’s clearly gotten the hang of it.
Winky leaps to her feet and dashes off after her.
“That’s the spirit!” I holler, happy to see that her fuse finally got lit. I’d totally get Winky on a team if she lived here in Concord.
Twenty minutes later I decide they’re ready to play an actual game.
“Here’s how it’s going to work,” I announce, calling everyone over. They circle around me, huffing and puffing. “For starters, I’m sitting this one out. That will even up the numbers, plus we need a ref. As for who’s going to play who—” I gaze at my friends and their mothers, swiftly calculating how best to balance this ragtag bunch.
“How about Concord vs. Wyoming?” suggests Becca.
I shake my head. “I don’t think that would be fair—the Concord group has a little more experience, from what I can tell. I’m thinking mothers vs. daughters.”
“Oh yeah!” says Emma, and Jess lets out a whoop.
“Team Daughters is going to rule!” cries Madison, her dark eyes sparkling under her helmet.
“Don’t count us out yet,” says Gigi, shaking her hockey stick in the air. “Go, Team Moms! And Team Grandmas!”
What follows doesn’t look like any hockey game I’ve ever seen, but it’s one of the most fun sessions I’ve ever had on the ice.
For one thing, hockey doesn’t usually involve this much laughter. And for another, there seems to be some unspoken agreement that anytime anybody falls down, the game stops until the person gets up again. Nobody seems to care all that much about scoring goals at first, either—they’d rather chase one another around.
Eventually, though, everyone settles down to business. I’ve put Mrs. Chadwick in goal, where her walrusness works to her advantage. She’s a little tentative on her skates and she’s not fast, but she’s a take-charge kind of person, and it shows in the determined way that she defends the net.
Down at the other end of the rink, Winky’s playing goalie for Team Daughters. She slaps away shot after shot—taken mostly by Mrs. Delaney, who may be petite like Jess but she’s a powerhouse. Plus, she skates all the time on the pond at Half Moon Farm, so she’s got skills to go with the stamina. Mrs. Parker is surprisingly good, too. She’s almost as athletic as Winky is, and before long she’s racing up and down the rink like a pro.
Mrs. Jacobs and Mrs. Hawthorne are pretty tentative, and Mrs. Williams and my mother are borderline hopeless. Professor Daniels turns out to have a king-size competitive streak. She gives the daughters a run for their money playing defense and fires off Team Mothers’ only goal.
As far as Team Daughters goes, Sophie is fairly useless, which surprises me. I’d thought maybe she’d have some of her cousin Annabelle’s skating pizzazz, but she doesn’t. Megan, Summer, Madison, and Bailey are pretty much just warm bodies, too, but Zoe Winchester shows some promise. So does Savannah. She and Jess get pretty good at slapping the puck back and forth between them, but it’s Emma who makes the team’s only goal. This surprises her so much that she falls down, which makes everybody laugh again.
The game lasts almost an hour and ends in a tie.
“A respectable showing, ladies,” I tell them.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for a respectable shower,” says Mrs. Chadwick, taking off her helmet and running a hand through her sweaty hair.
“We’ll be feeling our legs tomorrow, that’s for sure,” says Mrs. Williams, flopping down on the nearest bench. She puts her arm around Summer. “I can’t believe we’re supposed to walk all over Boston! You may have to carry me on the Freedom Trail.”
Professor Daniels sits down next to them and starts to unlace her skates. “I haven’t had this much exercise in years.”
“Ditto,” agrees Mrs. Hawthorne. “But I haven’t had this much fun in years, either.”
“You should play hockey more often, Mom,” Emma tells her. “There’s an adult league that meets here one evening a week.”
“Really?” Mrs. Hawthorne perks up at this. “Any Concord moms want to check it out with me? Hockey might be a fun change from yoga.”
Emma and I collect all the equipment and put it back in the closet and the skate rental room. The clothing gets stuffed into a giant laundry bag to take home with me, so I can wash everything before returning it to my Lady Shawmut friends. I make one last pass around the rink to make sure there aren’t any stray mittens or trash or anything. The Zamboni crew comes first thing every morning and they like the ice to be free and clear.
The next two days fly by in a flurry of practice sessions and school for me, trips into Boston and shopping for our friends (Winky buys Colonial tricorn hats for her father and her brothers as a joke), and evenings spent with all of us hanging out together. I manage to squeeze in a surprising amount of time with Winky—we stay up late every night before bed talking, and she’s used to getting up early on the ranch so she goes running with me before hockey practice, too. I’ve taken her on some of my favorite routes, including the loop up Monument Street, through Minuteman National Park, and back down Liberty and Lowell to the center of town.
“I love Concord!” she says, throwing her arms out wide as we jog across the Old North Bridge early Friday morning. “It’s epic!”
“How do you feel about epic pranks?” I ask with a grin.
“Bring ’em on!”
“Good, because I hear there’s one planned for an episode of Cooking with Clementine this morning.” I pick up the pace, and she matches me stride for stride as we head for home.
I’m eager to finally put my plan into action. I’ve been texting back
and forth with my Concord friends all week, ironing out the details. Winky’s the only Wyoming friend who knows, though. We figured we’d have a better chance of keeping the prank a secret that way. Summer’s so chatty, she might spill the beans accidentally, and Zoe is, well, Zoe.
After Winky and I shower and dress, we go downstairs to where my mother has set out a light breakfast of muffins along and juice. Our friends are already starting to arrive, along with the camera crew. Everyone is happy and excited, including Megan, which is nice because she’s seemed a little down in the dumps all week.
“Tell them your news,” Gigi prods her.
“I got an email from Flashlite magazine last night!” she says, smiling. “They’ve asked me to help cover Fashion Week for them while I’m in Paris!”
“Seriously?” says Emma, her voice swooping up an octave. “That’s a total dream assignment!”
Megan nods. “I know. Somehow Wolfgang got wind of my trip—”
We all look over at Gigi, who is the picture of innocence.
“—and he’s asked me to revive Fashionista Jane and blog about it.”
Uh-oh, I think, glancing at Mrs. Wong. There could be trouble ahead. Megan’s mother was the one responsible for shutting down the hilariously snarky Fashionista Jane to begin with.
“He said he’s going to call you today to discuss it, Mom,” Megan hurries to add.
“Is he now?” Mrs. Wong replies coolly.
“It’s so exciting!” exclaims Gigi. “My talented granddaughter, reporting on Fashion Week for the world to see! Such an educational opportunity.”
“Mother, stop trying to influence me,” says Mrs. Wong.
“Who, me? I’m just saying.”
“Oh Mrs. Wong, you have to let her do it!” begs Emma. “It would be so much fun—almost as if we were all there with her!”
“We’ll see,” says Mrs. Wong, which is usually mom-speak for “no way.” But maybe for once she means it.
Wish You Were Eyre Page 18
