Cinderella in Skates

by Carly Syms

  "You're probably right. Let's do it."

  "Great!" she says, clapping her hands together. "We can head downtown after practice Friday."

  "Sounds like a plan."

  She smiles at me and bounces off to the back of the locker room and all I can really think about is how excited I am to surprise Shane.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  January

  Ivy and I hand the security guy dressed in a yellow jacket our tickets and walk through the metal detectors to get into Wisconsin's hockey arena two nights later.

  Shane still doesn't know I'm coming here tonight, and I'm pretty sure I made the right decision not to tell him. Surprising him after the game will be so much fun. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he realizes I'm here.

  We file in among the red-and-white clad fans until we get up to the second level of the arena and find our seats near the first row.

  "Nice view," Ivy says. "I love coming here."

  "Do it a lot?"

  "I grew up in Madison. Wisconsin sports are pretty much in my blood."

  "You sound like my dad."

  "It's fun. Wouldn't give it up for anything."

  "Going to play college hockey?"

  Ivy shrugs, dropping into her seat. "I thought I would but I never got any offers or anything, and the women's team here is really good. Maybe I'll try walking on or something, I don't know."

  "That's rough."

  "Yeah, I guess, but there's always club hockey and stuff. I've been playing for so long that it might be nice to take a break, too."

  "So what's it like, anyway?" I ask, glancing up at the scoreboard to check how much time is left before the game starts.

  "Playing hockey? Or something else?"

  "Hockey. For Coach Dobrov."

  A smirk creeps across Ivy's face. "It's an experience, I'll say that."

  "Uh oh. Should I be scared?"

  "Nah," she says. "You're not going to see much ice time as long as Erica's healthy even if maybe you should."

  I nod and focus on the players warming up on the ice below. "Yeah, you're probably right."

  "No probably about it. I know Coach D and I know Erica. We've been playing together for three years."

  "I don't understand why she's rude to me."

  "Who, Erica?" she asks, and I nod. "That's simple. Like I said before, you're the best back-up goalie we've had around here in awhile. You're still not a threat, but you're the closest thing to one since Erica got to West High."

  I sigh. "I just don't want any problems."

  Ivy waves me off. "Don't worry about it. It'll work out fine."

  "How do you know that?"

  She smiles at me. "It always does. So why'd you want to come here tonight, anyway? Just to see a game?"

  I shrug, wondering whether or not I should tell her about Shane. "Um," I say. "Well, I'm sort of hanging out with one of the guys."

  Her eyes widen. "What? Who?"

  "Shane Stanford."

  "The Golden Stallion?" she asks, and I laugh, thinking back to Coach Van's comments the first day I met him.

  "I guess so."

  "Not bad, Natalie," she says, looking over at me with a grin. "Not bad at all. As far as I'm concerned, you already won now that I know you're with him."

  I laugh and think about our ski trip together. "You know, you might be on to something."

  "Don't screw it up now," she tells me. "He's a catch."

  I find him warming up on the ice and watch as he flicks a shot on net, and I know from the way I still feel tingles in my stomach when I see him that she's right.

  ***

  I'm holding my breath and I don't even realize it as my eyes dart back and forth between the scoreboard clock that's moving way too fast and the action on the ice that's moving way too slow.

  They need this goal. I can't surprise Shane after a loss, not the way I want to, anyway.

  The teams are tied, 3-3, with 1:14 left in the game now. Wisconsin's coach calls a timeout and the players skate over to their bench. Ivy turns to me and shakes her head.

  "Intense," she says.

  "My stomach hurts."

  "Life of a hockey player's girlfriend, I guess," she says with a grin. "Not that I'd know anything about that."

  I smile back and return my attention to the ice to find Shane in his No. 16 jersey. He's downing water just off to the left of the coach when he glances behind him and up into the stands and it's almost as if he's looking right at me. I suppress the urge to wave and look like a fool -- he has no idea I'm up here. He isn't searching for my face in the crowd.

  The referee blows his whistle and the players glide back onto the ice, ready for the last minute and change of the game, looking for that lucky bounce, the perfect shot to lift their team to victory.

  The other team wins the face-off and pushes the puck into Wisconsin's zone before one of their players commits a terrible turnover that lands on the stick of a guy I'm pretty sure is Shane's friend Grant from the cabin.

  He passes it up to Shane who skates in toward the opposing goalie. It's going to be a hard shot -- the other team already has its player in front of the net in perfect position to block it -- when Shane completes a no-look pass to one of his teammates so quickly I don't even see the puck come off his stick until it's buried safely in the back of the net behind the goalie, the red light comes on and the horn sounds, though it's hard to hear among the screams of the Wisconsin faithful.

  I realize I'm on my feet screaming with everyone else and I still don't have any idea how the goal happened. Ivy high-fives me then goes back to jumping up and down.

  There are still twenty seconds left on the clock so once the players stop celebrating they line up at center ice for the face-off. Wisconsin wins the draw and dumps the puck into the opposing team's zone and chases after it, sending it around the boards as the clock clicks down.

  And then, just like that, the final horn sounds and the game is over and the Badgers win and the players stream out onto the ice.

  "Hey, I'm going to go find Shane!" I call to Ivy.

  "Getting a ride with him?" she asks.

  I nod. "I think so. See you Monday, okay?"

  She nods as I hurry up the steps to get to the concourse and make my way down toward the Wisconsin locker room.

  I don't even realize how big the smile on my face is -- I'm hardly thinking about anything except Shane, Shane, Shane. It's been so perfect ever since we came back from the cabin and I can't wait to see him, hug him, kiss him, be with him.

  I'm practically running through the arena once I hit the first floor and while I'm hurrying toward the locker room, I can see the ice from my spot on the concourse. A couple of players are still out there -- including one with a big 16 on the back of his jersey.

  Even better! I slam on my brakes and head through the tunnel to get down to ice level so I can see him before he goes into the locker room.

  I jog down the steps to meet him and hurry over toward Wisconsin's bench. Grant from the weekend at the cabin-- I recognize him now that he doesn't have his helmet on during the game -- glances over Shane's shoulder and catches sight of me. He says something to Shane and jerks his head in my direction.

  I stop running as Shane turns around on his skates and looks straight at me. I hold my breath for a second, doubt suddenly overwhelming me that maybe surprising him at one of his games isn't the right move, but when his face breaks out into a smile like I've never seen before, I know I'm right to be here for him.

  "Natalie!" he yells out, skating over to the boards. I run down the remaining steps and around the glass to meet him.

  I'm about to say hi when he reaches out, grabs my face between his hands and kisses me, a toe-curling kiss with his teeth biting down on my bottom lip. I cling to his jersey, pulling him in closer to me. We break apart when Grant and two of Shane's teammates let out low wolf whistles, and I flush with embarrassment.

  "Nice to see you again, Natalie," Grant says with a tea
sing smile.

  I look up at him, sure my cheeks are bright red. "You, too."

  Grant taps one of the other guys on the chest. "Let's go, guys," he says, then glances over at us. "Catch you later."

  He and the other two guys skate off the ice toward the Wisconsin locker room.

  Shane turns to me, the smile not leaving his face. "What are you doing here?"

  I shrug. "Thought I'd surprise you. I guess it worked?"

  He presses his forehead against mine. "It definitely worked." He kisses me again before stepping back. "Come by yourself?"

  "Ivy came with me. She loves Badger hockey."

  He raises an eyebrow. "Ivy?"

  "Girl from the team."

  "Oh, look at you, making friends with your teammates," he says. "I can't think of anyone really smart who called that one."

  "Yeah, yeah. Me neither," I reply. "Don't you have interviews and postgame stuff?"

  He shakes his head. "I'm good tonight. Hey, when do you have to be home?"

  "Not 'til later."

  "I have an idea. Take a seat, I'll be right back."

  I drop down onto the team's empty bench littered with stray water bottles and torn up shreds of paper, and watch Shane skate off the ice.

  He comes back a few minutes later with a pair of ice skates in his hands.

  "Lace 'em up," he says, passing them to me.

  "What?"

  "Just do it."

  I slip out of my winter boots and lace up the skates in record time.

  "Come on, then," Shane says when I'm done.

  "On the ice?"

  He rolls his eyes and grins. "No, Nat, I want you to find your way home wearing the ice skates."

  "But this is your rink."

  He shrugs. "Yeah, it is, and I want you to skate with me."

  "I'm not in the mood to practice."

  He holds up both of his empty hands. "I don't even have my stick."

  I smile and walk out onto the ice, hardly believing I'm about to skate at the University of Wisconsin's arena.

  Shane takes my hand and we easily glide around the edge of the rink, just the two of us, ice skating, no hockey, no business, no whistles, no practice.

  Just us.

  And I like it a lot.

  I drop Shane's hand and skate out to the center of the rink where the giant red motion W is emblazoned on the ice and look at it for a few seconds. My dad played college hockey in this building, on this ice, and that's a pretty cool thing for me to think about now that I can sort of play the sport he loves so much.

  I sit down right in the middle of the motion W when Shane skates over and drops down next to me.

  "If you freeze your butt off, it isn't my fault this time," he says, and I smile, thinking back to how bruised it felt after our skiing adventure.

  "This is so cool," I say.

  He leans back and stares up at the rafters decorated with the countless banners displaying Wisconsin's hockey and basketball accomplishments.

  "I'm glad you like it. Sometimes I forget to enjoy it."

  I take in everything around me and then my eyes wander over to the gorgeous, sweaty guy in the hockey jersey lying next to me on the ice. I'm not sure what it is that comes over me but I roll onto my side, lean closer to me and press my lips against his.

  He reaches his arms around me and pulls me down on top of him, our skates tangling together and I can hardly feel the wetness the ice left on the back of my pants as the heat from Shane's lips fills me from scalp to toes.

  "We better go," he says after a few minutes. "They're going to need to fix the rink after the game and I don't need a lecture from coach later about making out at center ice."

  I grin, push myself off him and get to my feet with ease before I start skating over to the bench to get back into my boots.

  "What?" I say when I glance back at him and realize he's just watching me.

  "Nothing, nothing." He skates toward me and picks up his stick resting against the boards. "Just crazy how much of a natural you are on the ice now. Almost like you were made for it or something."

  "Well, we both know that isn't true," I say with a smile. "I'm still a desert girl through and through."

  His eyes narrow. "Still?"

  I drop down onto the bench and glance up at him. "What do you mean, still? You think that'll change?"

  He shakes his head. "No, but I thought maybe you'd start to see that there can be some Wisconsin in you, too."

  "I'm on a hockey team," I say with a laugh. "I'm pretty sure that's got to count for something."

  He smiles back at me. "I guess you're right."

  "Kind of funny, though, isn't it?"

  "What is?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

  "That it's the Wisconsin side of me that's going to get me back to Arizona faster."

  "Yeah," Shane says, glancing up at the rafters. "I guess you could call it funny."

  "What else would it be?"

  He shrugs. "I don't know. I just can't believe you still want to run away from this place."

  "Shane, I'd want to run from anywhere that isn't Arizona. You know that."

  "Yeah, but I thought maybe Wisconsin would be different."

  "I don't see why."

  He stares hard at me. "You don't see that?"

  "It's a place, Shane. It's just not the right one for me. It doesn't have the palm trees and cacti and mountains and rattlesnakes."

  "But there are some things Wisconsin has that Arizona doesn't."

  I raise an eyebrow. "Like what?"

  "Like me," he snaps, and I feel all the air rush out of my lungs, my heart sinking to my toes.. I haven't realized we've been talking about us in this conversation.

  "Shane, that's not what I was talking about. You know that."

  "I know," he says. "But it doesn't really change anything, does it? You'd still rather go back to Arizona for all of those reasons than stay here with me."

  "It was always in my plans," I say quietly.

  He laughs and throws his hands up in the hair. "Plans can change, Nat, even when you don't realize it's happening. I know that better than anyone." He taps his hockey stick against the ice, and I know he's thinking of the draft.

  "I'm sorry," I tell him because I don't know what else to say. "I love this. I love us. But I love home, too."

  "Yeah." His voice is quiet. "I get it. Sorry. I shouldn't get so upset about this. I knew the whole time you were going to move back. It just kills me that I'm the one who helped you leave sooner."

  "Shane, I -- "

  "You don't have to say anything else. It's fine. I know it makes you happy," he tells me, and he wraps his arm around my shoulder and kisses the side of my head. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I pull into the empty arena parking lot ten minutes late the next morning. I hadn't gotten to bed until almost two after Shane finally dropped me off around one. I'd seen his apartment and met his roommates and it was clear they all knew about me, which only made me happier. He'd mentioned the barbecue they planned to throw tonight and asked me to be there.

  I'm sure Shane will be waiting for me with a lecture about the importance of being on time or at least how I should've let him know I'm running late but I've been so frazzled that I haven't even had a chance to look at my phone since my alarm went off.

  I can't remember the last time I felt so happy for such a long time. Ever since that first night of our ski trip, though, it's like I've been non-stop smiles. Even my parents have noticed, and I'm pretty sure they're both full of smug satisfaction that I'm this happy while living in Wisconsin after all the crap I gave them about the move and how it would doom me to a life of misery.

  I'm surprised when I don't see Shane hanging out on the ice or by the bench when I walk into the rink. I head over to the bench, drop my bag on the floor and pull out my skates. But instead of slipping out of my boots, I reach into the outer pocket of my bag to dig out my cell phone.

  I'v
e missed a call from Shane and there's no voicemail but he's sent me a text, too:

  Nat - sorry to do this but I can't coach you anymore. Good luck, you'll be great.

  I read the text four times, the crease in my forehead deepening with each word, before I come close to realizing what he's saying. It's not just that he's canceling practice today -- he's giving up on me all together.

  Bile rises up in my throat and I try to take a few deep breaths and hope they'll steady me but no luck. I sink down onto the bench, legs shaking, knees weak.

  Shane's gone.

  And it doesn't sound like he's coming back.

  I start typing and deleting several different messages to him when it becomes clear to me that I have no idea what I want to say. All I know is that I don't understand why.

  So that's what I send back. Just that one simple word.

  And as I sit there, skates laying long forgotten beside me, I feel the pit in my stomach grow as I clutch my phone with white knuckles, cursing the invention of text messaging and how simple it makes it for people to avoid real conversations, real emotions.

  My phone vibrates in my hand and I'm surprised he's responded so quickly.

  It's complicated but I have a lot going on. Just not a good time.

  It's a cop-out answer and I know it isn't the truth, but I want so much to believe that he's just too busy to deal with coaching me right now, and that it has nothing to do with us.

  I stare down at the screen, the words blurring in front of my face. My phone vibrates again:

  We did what we had to do. You're on the team. You'll make it back to AZ like you want.

  I don't know what to say. I thought we were both clear that this went beyond just making the team for me now. I thought we were both on board with that. Obviously, I'd been wrong.

  The only question left is how wrong.

  OK, I type with shaking hands. I'll see you later for the cook out.

  I set my phone down on the bench and toss my skates back into my bag. If Shane's not coming, then I really don't feel like getting suited up in all my goalie gear. It's not like there's really anything I can do other than conditioning drills without his help, anyway.