“Like Dad told you that.”
“No, she did.”
I tapped my highlighter against the edge of the book on my desk. “She said that straight-out?”
“Well, during our conversation she implied that she was a combination of worried about and angry at Dad.”
This surprised me. Grandma Madison never let on that she knew anything about Dad’s up- and downhill trips, but then again, I wasn’t the grandchild she called all the time—Jim was.
“She also said it was important that we fill up the house with as much life as possible during the holidays, you know, without Mom.”
We were both silent a while before I moved the conversation away from this sad place. “I don’t think of Grandma Madison as someone likely to liven things up,” I said.
Jim snickered. “But at least with her around you won’t have to cook Thanksgiving dinner by yourself.”
“True. Though she isn’t very fun to cook with.”
“I’ll help.”
“Right, Jim. Like I haven’t heard that one before. The last time you tried to make something we actually had a small fire.”
“That was not my fault.”
“On that note, I’ll be going.”
Jim laughed. “You know I’m kidding. But I’ll leave you alone. Love you.”
“Love you, too, and I can’t wait to see you.”
“I know. Until Tuesday, then, Rosey girl, less than a week away.”
I clicked end, just as a sharp sadness about Mom hit me hard and fast. I tried to focus on my schoolwork to distract myself, which didn’t help much at all, but then I remembered what Krupa had said earlier today, about seeing a new spark in me, and I felt a little brighter, only a little, but it was enough to make a difference.
17
TAKE IT HOME
On Friday night MacAfee Arena was even more crowded with hockey fans than the weekend before, if that were even possible. While Krupa waited by the teams’ boxes to sing the anthem, I made my way up through the stands to find Kecia and claim our seats.
“You’re staying, right?” Kecia asked as I squeezed by her onto the bench.
“Yes. Both of us.”
“That’s great.”
I set my bag down to save the spot meant for Krupa. Cheerleaders surrounded us on all sides and people smiled when they saw me and said hello, as if there hadn’t been a period when I’d stopped hanging out with everyone. No one seemed to hold a grudge that I’d quit, and in fact it was the opposite. Amber Johnson, a fellow junior, even gave me a hug and said, “Stop being such a stranger. We’ve missed you.”
“Thanks,” I said. I was beginning to realize that avoiding the cheerleaders might have been a mistake, especially since they were acting like we were still friends. Maybe they were right, and we were.
Kecia reached under her seat and pulled a cup off the floor. “Hot chocolate,” she explained, cradling it close to her lips so she could blow on it, while steam rose up from the little circle at the top. It smelled good and I considered asking for a sip. Tonight I was prepared for the cold with gloves, a warm coat, and a scarf, but hot chocolate seemed like an even better idea to deal with the freezing arena. “It’s part of the ritual,” she added.
“The ritual?”
“You always get up and dance when they play music.”
“Yes, I remember from last week.”
“And you always get hot chocolate. For some reason it tastes better at a hockey game.”
“Maybe because they set the rink temperature to arctic conditions.”
Kecia laughed. “They kind of do, don’t they?”
I held up my mittened hands. “Just slightly.”
Kecia looked at me. “I just want to second what Amber said—we really do miss you.”
“Yeah?”
“When you just up and quit, we devoted an entire practice to discussing what to do.” She paused. “You know, um, because of the circumstances.”
The circumstances.
Kecia took another sip of her hot chocolate. “But you seemed to want to be left alone so we didn’t pry.”
“At the time I did, or thought I did,” I admitted. “I guess cheerleading always seemed more about Chris and me than just me.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” she said, and I wondered whether she was right. Chris was the reason I tried out freshman year, an excuse to be even closer to him at his games, but maybe there were other reasons for me to go back. “Anyway, you still have a spot on the squad if you want it. After all, nobody can flip like you do.”
“Thanks. That’s good to know,” I said. It was nice to feel wanted, but I wasn’t ready to commit to anything one way or the other.
The buzzer sounded, signaling that the game was about to start, and people stood for the anthem. The two teams took the ice, some players hopping straight over the wall and others passing through the narrow, low door in each of the team boxes. They circled the rink as Krupa made her way out, and this time when the players removed their helmets I was prepared to see Will. Even so, I felt butterflies.
By the time Krupa finished and reached our seats the game was already two minutes into the first period and Will had scored the first goal of the night. People were cheering wildly. “Look at you,” she said as I clapped, my eyes following Will’s jersey. “Miss Hockey Enthusiast.”
“I’m just being a good fan.”
“You should’ve seen Rose last week,” Kecia said.
Krupa nudged me. “Can you at least tear yourself away from the ice long enough to explain to me what’s going on?”
“I think I can do that,” I said, trying to remember what I’d learned so far. As I alternated my attention between Krupa and the game, I did my best to explain what it meant to be offsides, what icing was, high sticking, too, and other reasons why players ended up in the penalty box. It wasn’t long before Krupa was cheering as much as everyone else and wincing when there was a fight or if the players thundered into the boards.
“I’m not sure I can say I like hockey yet, but it is riveting,” she said at the start of the first break. Kecia and a few other cheerleaders went to stand in line at the bathrooms, and once they were out of earshot she added, “Speaking of riveting, who is number six?”
I studied the metal beams crisscrossing high above us and contemplated my answer. “It’s Will Doniger,” I said finally.
“The landscaping guy from your house? The senior?”
“That’s him.”
“Huh,” she said.
“Krupa,” I warned—her wheels were already turning, I was certain. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Then help me understand the sudden interest.”
I shrugged. “He helped me dig the new flower bed.”
“For the peonies? And you are just telling me this now?”
“Yes, for the peonies, and calm down, it’s totally minor.”
“It is not, considering what it means to you. That was awfully nice of him.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Krupa watching me, her brow furrowed.
“It’s his job.”
She looked smug. “Did he get paid for it?”
I made a face. “Not exactly.”
“Very interesting. Did he know why you were doing it?”
“What is this, twenty questions?”
“Stop stalling.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Sort of. He knew my mother some, I guess. I mean, I think somewhere deep down he understood.”
“He understood deep down,” she repeated.
I turned to her, exasperated. “Will you stop searching for hidden meaning, please?”
“He’s really good-looking,” was Krupa’s nonanswer. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
I shrugged. “You can’t even see him under all that gear.”
Understanding dawned on her face. “Is he the real reason we’re here tonight?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head even though this was more or less a li
e. “We’re here because you had to get your hundred bucks and because Kecia invited us and because last week was fun and I could use a little fun as you of all people keep reminding me.”
“Hey, don’t get all defensive on me now. I was just curious.”
Thankfully, the buzzer sounded ending the break, and the players started lining up to wait for the second period to begin. When Kecia returned she didn’t even bother to sit, and she didn’t need to because barely thirty seconds in, Will and two other Lewis players were nearly in a fight.
“I think your new friend is about to get punished for almost killing someone,” Krupa said, and I punched her shoulder. “Hey!” she protested.
“You seriously need to calm down.”
“Doniger spends half the game in the penalty box,” Kecia explained, giving Krupa and me a strange look before turning back to the ice. The rest of period two passed without Krupa making any other comments that might embarrass me, a fact for which I was grateful. At the beginning of the second break, once again techno blared through the arena. Everyone jumped up to dance, and like last week I sat there, frozen.
This time, Krupa came to my rescue. “Let’s go somewhere.”
“Great idea,” I said, and we made our way across the bench, doing our best to avoid flailing arms. On the stairs, I stopped and turned back. What I saw made me feel a pang for the days before my life changed so drastically. The cheerleaders looked like they were having the time of their lives, their gloves and scarves and hats a moving rainbow of color, and for a minute I wished I was dancing alongside everyone else. Would I ever feel that carefree again? “Let’s get hot chocolate,” I suggested, thinking that at least there were other, simple things I could enjoy. “Apparently, it’s a tradition.”
“Sounds good, my treat,” Krupa offered. “I’m the one getting paid to be here anyway.”
“True.”
We pushed through the crowd to the snack bar and inched our way up to the counter. My eyes were fixed on the cups going by, the steam rising in thin wisps through the cold air, and I sighed in anticipation.
“Thinking about number six?” Krupa asked.
“You need to stop,” I said, and shot her a look of warning. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions. Besides, it hasn’t been that long since Chris and I broke up.”
“It won’t always be that way,” Krupa said as we reached the front of the line.
She ordered and paid and we stepped to the side to wait. When our hot chocolates arrived I grabbed them off the counter and handed one to Krupa. The third period began and we rushed back to our seats. The score had been tied all night at 1–1 and when the timer on the board reached the game’s final minute nothing had changed. The crowd was tense and, much to the Lewis fans’ dismay, at the very last second a player from the opposing team slipped the puck by the Lewis goalie and we lost, 2–1, in an upset. The arena fell silent, stunned by this unexpected finish, and the Lewis players skated off in different directions, their shoulders hunched in defeat. The big padded gloves on Will’s hands were up around his head, his helmet off, tossed to the side on the ice, his face hidden.
Krupa turned to Kecia and me. “That was disappointing.”
“No kidding,” Kecia said. “I guess there won’t be any celebrating tonight.”
“Do you mind if Rose and I meet you outside in about ten minutes?”
“Sure,” Kecia said, and headed down the stairs with the rest of the cheerleaders.
I blocked Krupa from exiting the row. “Where are we going?”
“To wait by the locker room,” she said, and pushed past me.
“Stop scheming,” I begged as she yanked me along. “What has gotten into you?”
“Stop accusing me of stuff. Besides, I’m sure Will could use some consolation after losing his game.”
I didn’t even bother to respond.
We reached the crowd outside the locker room. Mrs. Doniger noticed me and waved. I hoped Krupa didn’t see her, but then she asked, “Who’s that?”
“If you must know, it’s Will’s mother.”
“Perfect,” Krupa said, and walked toward her. There was no choice but to follow.
“Hi, Mrs. Doniger,” I said. “Nice to see you again. This, ah, is my friend Krupa.”
“Hello, Rose. It’s nice to meet you, Krupa.”
“Hi,” Krupa said, and launched into something entirely unexpected. “So I need to run and I was wondering—the car is kind of full, and since Will and Rose are friends …” Her voice trailed off.
I wanted to kill her.
“Oh, of course. I’m sure he’d be happy to give Rose a ride,” Mrs. Doniger said, and smiled at me. She waited for me to say something, and I opened my mouth but no words came.
Krupa’s eyes danced. “Okay, great! Gotta go, call me later, Rose,” she said, and ran off before I could protest. I watched as she disappeared across the arena and when I turned around again Will was standing there.
My cheeks caught fire. “Hi,” I said to him. “Sorry about the game.”
He shook his head, obviously upset. “Yeah. Thanks for coming.”
“Rose needs a ride home,” his mother said, before I could excuse myself and escape. “You can take her, right?”
“Oh, sure. I’ll drive you,” he said without any hesitation.
Maybe Krupa wasn’t so crazy after all.
18
I STAND CORRECTED
My second time in Will’s truck turned out to be a lot less silent.
As we crossed the parking lot and Will unlocked my door, I realized I was nervous to be alone with him. It felt as if something was shifting between us. By the time I put my seat belt on, he had the engine running. The darkness made me aware of everything Will and I did, each step, each movement. His iPod was lying on the bench between us, and while the truck idled, he fiddled with the wires attached to the contraption rigged into the dashboard. His hand brushed the leg of my jeans. When the screen lit up and the sounds of Radiohead came from the speakers, I didn’t even feel the urge to ask that he turn it off. Will put his arm across the seat so he could look behind him and back out. “What?” he asked, when he saw I was staring.
“Radiohead?” I asked.
“You don’t like them.”
“No, that’s not it. I just imagined you’d have different musical tastes.”
“You’ve been imagining my musical tastes?”
I’d left myself open for that one. “No. But if I took the time to predict your listening habits, Radiohead would not make the list.”
“So what would?”
We waited at the light to exit the parking lot. “I don’t know. Something metal probably.”
He looked left before turning down the street. “You think I’m a metalhead,” he said with some offense.
“I didn’t say that. But … it’s just … you’re …” I stopped.
“I’m what?”
“You have this way about you,” I said, immediately wanting to backtrack again. “Scratch that. It has something to do with how you play hockey.”
“And how do I play hockey?” He tried to sound casual but I could hear the curiosity in his tone.
My fingers tapped the seat and I thought through what I wanted to say this time. “You’re kind of brutal out there.”
He laughed at this assessment. “Brutal?”
I thought about the version of Will I saw on the ice, versus what I knew of him elsewhere. “During a game you’re different from how you act outside the rink. Don’t get me wrong—it’s a good thing. It scores you goals and wins and all that stuff.”
“Not tonight.”
“Well, maybe not every time,” I said. “Anyway, I would’ve picked different music to match that feeling I get when I’m watching you play.”
“You get a feeling?” A smirk appeared on Will’s face as he drove and there was laughter in his voice. “What sort of feeling?”
I glared at him. “I get a feeling that you’re a metalhea
d.”
“There’s some classic rock on there,” he admitted, and picked up his iPod again, clicking through the menu until the sounds of Van Halen blared from the speakers.
“You’re kidding me,” I said. “Please.”
Will grinned and turned it down. “I only listen to this stuff upon request.”
“I did not request Van Halen.”
“I think you did.”
He tapped the outside pocket of my bag. The iPod was visible. “So what’s on yours?” he asked.
I thought about it for a moment and realized at least a small part of me wanted to share it with him. “So far a lot of Nina Simone and some Ella Fitzgerald. That’s all I know at this point. I haven’t listened to everything yet.”
“What do you mean? How do you not know what’s on it?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. He glanced at me, his eyes a question. “Someone else uploaded the songs,” I explained.
“It was a gift.”
“You could say that.”
“From Chris Williams,” he guessed.
“Definitely not,” I answered quickly. “So here’s the deal: I don’t listen to music. Not since April, at least.”
“Not at all?”
“Well, technically we’re listening right now.”
“You know what I meant.”
“I haven’t chosen to,” I clarified. “I used to be obsessed with every new band and making the perfect playlist and that sort of thing, so I’m trying to get over the aversion. And I will, I mean, I already am.” I pulled out the iPod from my bag and stared at it. “It’s been hard, though.”
“Because of your mother,” he guessed.
I nodded. “Lots of things make me sad, but music makes me really sad, and I don’t want to get emotional all the time anymore so I cut it completely out of my life. But my friend Krupa has me on a recovery program of sorts. We listen to one song per day together.”
Will reached for his iPod and pressed pause. The screen went dark so the only noise left was from the engine revving up and slowing down as we passed through stop signs. Eventually the town square came into view. It wasn’t even Thanksgiving and everything was already lit up for Christmas. Long strands of tiny white lights were wrapped around lampposts and strung across the front windows of the stores and restaurants. Even the long row of bushes that circled the center green sparkled white. Despite how pretty it was, I couldn’t help wishing the holidays would pass unnoticed this year. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said as the lights receded behind us.
SURVIVAL KIT Page 9
