As soon as we got out onto the dance floor, though, someone in the band decided it would be funny to play a slow ballad. So I awkwardly put my hands on Sean’s shoulders, and we started moving slowly around the dance floor. I wouldn’t call it dancing, exactly. Gretchen would go berserk if she could see this, I thought with a smile. All my waltzing practice gone to waste.
As we turned around, I saw Conor dancing with someone else—not the girl he came with, and not the three girls who’d pulled him onto the dance floor, but still another. What was it about these brothers? Conor was just as bad as Sean. They were chick magnets! And I for one didn’t want to end up on the family refrigerator.
“So, Sean,” I began. “You know the weekend we’re going away together? That ski trip, up north?”
“Which weekend was that again?” he asked.
We circled again, and I exchanged glances with Conor. “It’s next weekend,” I said.
“Oh. Sorry,” Sean said. “I kind of forgot.”
“No, don’t be sorry—it’s okay. It doesn’t matter if you remember. I—we’re not going,” I said.
“We’re not? Oh. Well, cool.” He waited a second and then said, “Why not?”
I hadn’t thought this through very well yet. Should I tell him the truth, or lie? He might not be my idea of the perfect guy anymore, but he’d been pretty nice to me since I got here. He should at least know how I felt.
“Well, see—”
“Excuse me. May I cut in?” Melissa tapped Sean on the shoulder.
“By all means.” I smiled at her. “Go right ahead.”
Okay, part one of the night accomplished. I’d told Sean about the weekend and he wasn’t completely heartbroken. Maybe I should be depressed about that, but I wasn’t going to bother. He’d never really been able to commit to the idea of going, anyway, and he was obviously happiest around all his friends and potential girlfriends. Maybe he wasn’t ready for just one girl yet—and if he was, it wasn’t me, because I wasn’t the girl for him, anymore than he was the guy for me. I felt badly about it, but I guess that sometimes you have to spend a lot of time with someone to find that out.
Now, for part two: Find Conor and talk to him and tell him he was right. That I couldn’t spend all the time in the world with both of them. That I had to choose. That you didn’t hang around a ton with one guy, but go away for the weekend with someone else (much less his younger brother).
I didn’t see Conor on the dance floor, but it was pretty crowded, so I waited a minute or two until the song was over. Sean and Melissa were dancing, and they looked sort of cute because he was so tall and she was so short.
When the song ended, I looked around for Conor again. Nope.
I walked around the outside of the room, past the Sno-Cone cart and all the chairs, and the clumps of people talking and laughing. I went out into the entryway, wondering if he’d left. Then I headed down the hallway toward the bathrooms, thinking I might as well fix my hair and redo my lipstick before I made my big confession. (Living with Gretchen for a month was definitely having an effect on me.)
On the way down the hall, I stopped to peek into another large room. It was a den, with tall bookshelves, dim green lights, and—
Conor.
Conor was in there talking to the girl he’d come with, and they were leaning against the desk, deep in what must be a very private conversation. Their heads couldn’t have been more than two inches apart. I was trying to decide just how bad it was when Conor turned in my direction; he must have sensed someone in the doorway.
I immediately held my tiny purse in front of my face, as if that would shield me. Then I raced back down the hallway for the front door. I grabbed my jacket from the coat check girl, threw a five-dollar bill at her for the fast service, and raced for the front door.
Unfortunately the ice sculptures in the entry had started to melt, because they were positioned right under a bright chandelier, and there was water on the hardwood floor.
So I wiped out and fell down in the middle of my dramatic exit.
As I’ve said maybe a few times before? Cursed.
A few people rushed over to see if I was all right, but I jumped up and hurried out the door.
Chapter 19
Why did it have to snow tonight? I was thinking as I stomped down Summit Avenue in the slush, my puffy coat over my shoulders, my dress slightly torn where I’d slipped and caught it on my shoe.
I wasn’t wearing the right shoes in which to stalk off angrily. The shoes had these little pointed toes and these little spiky heels. I was getting snow on my feet and ankles, because not everyone had gotten around to shoveling yet—why would they? It was still snowing. I needed snow boots, not pretty, delicate party shoes.
Shoveling. Why did I even have to think of shoveling, which made me think of Conor, and that day I ran out and nearly tackled him with my hug.
Well, so much for Groundhog Getaway. That wasn’t going to happen. And neither was anything with me and Conor.
Why had I even come? I didn’t do well with fancy parties. Exhibit A: junior prom, where I thought I had a date but it turned out he liked someone else.
Exhibit B: Snow Ball. Where I also thought I had a date, and I did, but I didn’t like him, and the guy I did like showed up with another date.
And they were brothers. Did it get more bizarre than this? Well, probably. But I’d rather be pelted with actual snowballs than go through this night again.
I felt Cinderella-like, nearly losing my shoes with every step. If I had glass slippers, they would have frosted over by now.
So far I’d been passed by one car of guys that honked at me and yelled something, and another car of guys that had whistled—either at me, or the little old lady who passed me going the other direction. She’d given me quite a look, like everyone knew that you didn’t just walk down Summit on the last night of Winter Carnival in a fancy outfit, as if there were a St. Paul city ordinance against it.
This was shaping up to be one of the worst nights of my life. My teensy-tiny purse wasn’t big enough for a cell phone, so I hadn’t even been able to call anyone yet.
Beside me, a car pulled over to the curb, and I pulled my jacket more tightly around me. Leave me alone! I thought. Can’t you see I’m completely miserable?
The horn honked but I ignored it. Maybe I should switch to side streets, I thought. Fewer cars, less harassment. Or maybe I should find a phone and try calling Gretchen. If I cut over to Grand Avenue, I could probably find a coffee shop or a restaurant that was still open. They’d have to take pity on a poor girl like me. Broken-hearted, and steeped in slush. And without my cell.
I heard the car door slam behind me and kept walking. As I heard footsteps behind me in the wet snow, getting closer and closer, I suddenly got nervous. I glanced over my shoulder.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” Conor said.
I just kept walking.
“You know, you on the side of the road, vaguely wandering, me driving past.” He jogged a little to catch up to me. “So, nice night. A little snowy, maybe, but it is the theme and all. Kevin’s parents probably arranged it somehow.”
I laughed, but then stopped myself. “Are you here to rescue me or something?” I asked.
“No. I’m here to see if you want a ride home,” Conor said.
“That’s what you always say,” I complained.
“Hey. I’m all about the rides home,” Conor joked.
I turned to him and felt a small smile creep up at the corners of my mouth. “Ha ha.”
“Well, it was funny,” he said. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”
“No thanks. I mean, thanks but no thanks,” I said, giving him a meaningful look. The last time I’d tried to give him a ride, he’d nearly sprinted away across the parking lot.
“Are we just going to stand here all night quoting each other?” Conor asked. “I mean, not that the material is bad, but I was kind of hoping we could get beyond that.”
<
br /> “Conor! I can’t let you give me a ride—”
“Why not?” he interrupted.
“Because—”
“You don’t like my truck,” he cut in. “I know. It is old, and it is loud, but—”
“No, because—aren’t you supposed to be at the party with someone else? You should really get back there,” I said. “You completely ditched your date. And even though I really really like you and I’m happy to see you, I just don’t think it’s very fair to her that you ran out.”
“I didn’t run out,” Conor said. “I sprinted.”
“Come on.” I pushed him a little bit. “Don’t tell me you’re the kind of person who’d abandon the person they brought, okay? Because you’re not.”
“No, I guess not,” Conor said with a shrug. He was fighting a smile, but I couldn’t figure out why.
“So. Okay. Who is your…uh…who is she?” I asked.
“The love of my life,” Conor said. “What do you think?”
I just stared at him. “Seriously?”
“No, of course not!” Now he playfully shoved me, for a change. “I mean, I do like her. But that’s Janie. We’re pals.”
“But…you came together. Didn’t you?”
“What? Oh, no. We ran into each other when we got here. Bumped into her in the entryway.”
“Oh.” I tried not to smile so much that it hurt, but it was difficult. My mouth kept making this happy shape. It was straining the smile muscles. “Really?” I almost snickered, but I held it back.
“Did you think…wow. You thought we were a couple?” Conor asked.
“Well, I asked Sean if you had a date and he said yes,” I said.
“Like he knows anything about anyone except himself?” Conor said. “The fact he could remember that he was supposed to pick you up is amazing.”
“Come on, give him a break,” I said. “He’s maybe not the best guy…but he’s not the worst.”
“Yeah. Okay. Anyway, do you think that I would ask you out, and then, like, go with someone else?” Conor said.
“I don’t know. I mean…I was going with Sean, when I really wanted to go with you.”
“Aha! I knew it,” Conor said.
“And I came to tell you that, and I saw you walk in together, and you were in the corner of that den, talking to her, and I just assumed…”
“That we were…together together?” Conor laughed. “If you only knew.”
I folded my arms in front of me, which wasn’t a bad idea anyway because I was getting chilly. “Enlighten me.”
“She was upset because she liked someone else there. She was trying to convince me to go talk to him for her.”
“You. A matchmaker? Ha. I thought you said you and Janie were good friends. I mean, doesn’t she know you better than that?”
“Hey. No fair. I did tell her that asking me to ask someone to dance with her was a little, uh, strange.”
“So that’s why you were whispering,” I said.
“Exactly.”
“Hmm.” I tapped my shoe against the slushy pavement—a layer of ice had built up underneath the sole so that I couldn’t really make contact.
“So. Now what?” Conor asked. He reached over and pulled some snow out of my hair. “If you don’t want a ride home, do you want to go somewhere else?”
I nodded, biting my lip. “Yeah. But where?”
We stood there for a minute, not moving, the snow falling lightly. “I have an idea,” Conor said. “Come on.” He reached out for my hand. I took it and we headed for the truck.
“See, Gretchen said I was silly to wear this jacket with this dress. But I think you have to admit that it goes very nicely.” I smoothed my dress and looked at the way it fanned out over the top of my blue rental skates. “I don’t know if I would go with blue, but…”
Conor finished tying his hockey skate laces and stood up. “It works,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, knowing that I probably looked sort of ridiculous. “How did you know this skating rink was open late?”
We stepped through the opening in the boards onto the ice. A few other people were out, enjoying the evening on skates. Romantic music was playing over a loudspeaker in the corner. The snow had stopped, and the air felt almost warm, with no wind.
“I read about it in the paper,” he said. “I knew it was open ‘til midnight on the weekends, through February.”
“You mean, we can come back?” I asked, looking around at the bright lights of downtown St. Paul, the cathedral up on the hill and the Capitol building.
“That depends,” Conor said.
“On what?” I asked.
“Whether you’re staying or not.” He reached for my hand as we circled the far end of the rink. “And don’t shove me when I say this, but I want you to.”
“Really?” I asked. “Because I want to, too.” I blushed as I heard myself say, “tutu.”
Conor’s hand was warm and strong. I stuck my right hand into my pocket to keep it warm—I hadn’t brought any mittens. In my jacket pocket, though, I felt something woolly. “Ooh! My hat!” I cried.
Conor and I glided to a stop. (Okay, he glided to a stop. Then he stopped me.) “Wait. I’ll put it on for you,” he offered. “I wouldn’t want to mess up your hair. It looks really pretty tonight.”
“That’s the, uh, glitter,” I said as Conor took the hat from me. He gently stretched it so that it fit over my head, and he pulled it down to my ears. We stared into each other’s eyes for a second. I’m going to kiss him, I thought. I’m totally about to kiss him.
But then he slid backward a little bit, out of my reach, and took off his scarf. “Here. This will keep you warmer.” He came closer again, and looped it around my neck. He pulled both ends into a knot at my neck, and just before he finished I put my hands over his.
He made one final, little tug to pull the scarf tightly, and as he did, my skates slid toward him—and we ended up nose to nose.
“Sorry, I—I’m all out of wool items,” Conor stammered as he caught me.
Before he could say anything else, I kissed him. I didn’t care that we were in the center of the rink, that we were probably the only people left, that the spotlight might be on us, that the music had stopped and they were about to close. Conor put his hand on my cheek, and gently moved a strand of my hair off to the side as he leaned into the kiss.
Kissing Conor wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever kissed before. I could easily have gone weak in the knees, except that I didn’t want to fall on the ice in my party dress—not now, anyway. I might miss something.
The spotlights flashed a couple of times, and we broke apart, laughing. “Does that mean they don’t approve?” I said, as Conor leaned over and gave me a kiss on the neck.
“Five minutes, people, five minutes,” the skate rental person announced over the loudspeaker. “Closing in five minutes.”
“Wow. Is it midnight already?” I asked. “We should go. But first…what are you doing on Thursday?” I asked as we started skating over to the benches.
“I don’t know,” Conor said. “I think I have to work.”
“Well, too bad, because you’re coming away with me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really,” I said. “Please?”
“Oh, okay. If I have to. But wait. Am I just going to show up some old boyfriend or something?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Too bad, because I could really get into that.”
“Well, whatever suits you,” I said. As I was stepping off the ice, I stopped for a second and leaned back against him. He kissed the back of my neck, but surprisingly, it didn’t freeze on contact.
“You know what? You’re shivering,” he said as he wrapped his arms more tightly around me, trying to keep me warm.
I wasn’t sure whether it was from the cold, or from what had just happened. “I think my toes got a little frozen, that’s all,” I said.
“I know a place we can go
where it’s really warm,” Conor said. “The bakery.”
I couldn’t get those silly blue rental skates off fast enough. Besides, they really did kill my outfit.
Chapter 20
I tiptoed into the house, holding my stiletto-heeled shoes, and wearing Conor’s wool socks over my stockings. I was carrying a little bag from the bakery, with a few donuts for Brett.
I closed the door as quietly as I could. I was hoping I could sneak upstairs—Gretchen would no doubt have gone to sleep hours ago.
But when I turned around, I saw a light on in the kitchen, and both Sean and Gretchen—even on crutches—jumped up when they saw me.
Bear started to bark when he saw me, and he raced and jumped on me, nearly knocking me over. I dropped the bag of donuts and he was on top of that immediately, but I managed to get them away from him.
“Is Brett up, too?” I joked as I shrugged out of my jacket.
“No, he’s asleep, but we stayed up half the night worrying about you!” Gretchen said.
“What?” I asked.
“I was worried sick about you,” she said. She stared at the socks on my feet. I hoped she wouldn’t ask me about them. I noticed tear stains on her cheeks and felt this sudden stab of very, very intense guilt. You always called. That was our parents’ mantra.
“So was I,” Sean said. “Are you okay?”
I laughed, trying to break the tension. “You were worried? I’m sorry.”
“It’s not funny, Kirsten.” Gretchen sank back down at the kitchen table. “You should have called.”
“Yes. Okay, I probably should have,” I said to Gretchen. “But I didn’t bring my phone. It wouldn’t fit into my purse, remember?”
“Well, I figured that out after I called it five times and I kept hearing this ringing coming from your room,” she said angrily. “How could you not bring your phone?”
“You’re the one who told me I wouldn’t need it—you’re the one who said I should bring this itty-bitty useless purse.” I slammed it down on the counter. Why was she treating me like a twelve-year-old?
“I’m responsible for you when you’re here,” she said. “if you didn’t make it home, I’d have to call Mom and Dad and tell them you were missing, and—”
Icing on the Lake Page 17
