There was Ana, staring up at her from the snowbank. Ana had never looked like that before—like she actually wanted somebody to tell her what to do. Vulnerable. Katie’s mom used that word to describe her all the time, but it had never seemed like an Ana word until now.
Katie called down to her. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“I was,” Ana said. “I’m not now. Now I’m sorry.” She nodded toward Mikey, who held up a small, silver circle in each of his hands.
The pocket watches.
“You were telling the truth,” Ana said.
A small anger bit inside Katie. Of course she’d been telling the truth. But then she remembered how much she’d been holding back.
Ana squinted up at her. “Were you asleep? It’s seven o’clock. On a Friday night.”
Friday. Maybe Katie could stay in bed all day tomorrow. She thought of the warmth of her covers. How easy it was now, to fall asleep and float away from the whole world.
“I’m just tired,” she said. “I’ll see you guys later.” And she shut the window before they could pull her back out into the cold. All this mess had started the night she’d gone with them to the pond. How had she ever thought she was built for brave things?
Katie’s sheets had already cooled by the time she slipped back between them. But before she could even warm them back up, the bedroom door creaked open. Two figures stood silhouetted in the doorway, much too small to be her parents. She pulled the covers to her chin.
“Get up,” Ana said. “Um, please.” She turned on the lamp. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll say it a hundred times if you want, but we kind of have to go.” She pressed something round and smooth into Katie’s hand, and Katie felt her own heart begin to wake with the chik-chok of the watch pulsing into her palm.
“Go where?”
Ana had pulled jeans from Katie’s dresser already and was digging through her sock drawer. “To TD Garden. The hockey arena. The game’s about to start.”
“I thought the game was outside. On New Year’s Day. The Winter Wonderland or whatever.”
“Change of plans,” Ana said, tossing the socks to Katie and pulling a Bruins jersey from inside her coat. “Different team, different game. It’s happening tonight.” She dropped her voice. “Your parents don’t exactly know we’re in here, and they don’t exactly know we’re leaving. Hope that’s okay.”
Katie thought of her parents and how little they knew about her life anymore anyway. “That doesn’t matter, but I didn’t say I was going.”
As she shut Katie’s sock drawer, Ana spotted the bracelets on top of the dresser. She split them apart and held one out to Katie. “I made a mistake. A big one. But that doesn’t mean we give up on each other.” Something caught in Ana’s voice. “We need you. I need you.”
There they were. The three words Katie had been longing to hear all week. She looked up, a little hope beginning to wake inside her, but she couldn’t quite take the bracelet. Ana had walked away once. She could do it again.
Mikey slipped his little hand in hers. “I took the watch. I’m sorry too. Ana said if we said sorry, we could be like family again.”
“I said maybe,” Ana said. “Katie still gets to choose.” She piled the clothes up and laid the bracelet on top, then patted Mikey on the back. “Come on, buddy. We’ll wait outside five minutes, but after that, we have to go.” She looked at Katie. “I hope you’ll come. Holy flip, do I hope you’ll come.”
Then they were gone. Katie leaned back against her headboard, the pocket watch growing warm in her hand. She didn’t even need to count as she felt her pulse quicken under the weight of Ana’s choice. Her choice. The slim second hand circled once, twice. She closed her eyes and counted the time as it passed without her.
Three minutes. Her dad’s footsteps below her, but only going to the bathroom.
Four. Back to his study. He wasn’t coming up to see her after all.
As the second hand made its final sweep before her five minutes were up, Katie opened her eyes and studied her choices.
Jeans, jersey, socks, bracelet. A journey into bright lights toward somewhere she’d never been before—and probably shouldn’t go.
Pajamas, sheets, blankets, bed. Dark and warm and safe.
And alone.
As the final seconds ticked away, Katie knew her choice. She threw back the covers that had held her down more and more each day and grabbed the pile of clothes instead. But first, she slipped on the bracelet.
“Wait,” she whispered, hoping that somehow the sound would find its way to Ana’s ears, or her heart. Hoping she wasn’t too late. “I’m coming. I need you too.”
Ana
Chapter 20
ANA LOOKED DOWN at the pocket watch, wishing the five minutes hadn’t already passed.
“Come on, Mikey,” she said. “The game’s starting. We have to get down there.”
In the shelter of the T station, Ana handed Mikey his ticket. “Just stick together and stay behind that couple. Not so close that they notice us, but close enough that we don’t look like we’re here by ourselves.” Ana’s gaze darted around the platform. “It’s so much more crowded than when I practiced. Mikey, don’t you dare let go of me.”
But already, Ana had lost the couple they were going to follow. The ground beneath their feet vibrated as another train pulled away without them on it. None of this was working out how she’d planned it. None of it was working out at all.
Do you believe in yourself, Ana Petrova?
There were still moments when she wasn’t so sure.
Mikey tugged on her coat sleeve. “Ana.”
But she couldn’t move.
“Ana,” he insisted. “Look.”
Ana scanned the platform and there, seeming a little lost but not at all afraid, was her best friend.
“Katie!” Ana pushed through the crowd, against the current, until she and Katie were face-to-face. “You came.”
Katie’s lips drew into a sad smile. “You needed me.”
All the worry rushed out of Ana in one big breath. “You got that right.” She handed Katie the third ticket. “Come on,” she said. “We’ve got to catch the next one.”
And they did. As the train rumbled toward the arena, Ana filled Katie in on her new plan. They poured from the train car with the rest of the crowd and rode the tide of Bruins fans all the way to the stadium.
The game had started already, so Ana had her pick of open ticket windows. “Three, please. Cheapest seats you’ve got.”
The lady printed three tickets and took Ana’s money. “Where are your parents, sweetheart?”
“Gotta go!” Ana said, grabbing the tickets off the counter. “Thanks!”
Inside the arena, the concourse stretched both ways, and Ana froze. She hadn’t thought about this part. She hadn’t thought about a lot of parts, probably.
“What are we going to do?” she muttered. “Where do we even start?”
“Well,” Katie said. “Where’s your dad?”
“He’s on the bench, or on the ice. But there’s no way security would let us down there.”
Katie looked around. “And where do the BGB kids sit?”
Ana pointed to the left. “Behind the benches. But we don’t want to sit there yet.”
Katie nodded. “What if we sit in our own seats for a while and see what’s empty, and then we sit a few sections away and keep an eye on the BGB section? When they leave for the tunnels, we’ll slip in next to them.”
“Yeah,” Ana said, her pulse already slowing a little. “That will work.”
They rode a long escalator up to the balcony and found their portal. And then, from one step to the next through the narrow gap in the concrete, it all hit Ana at once and stole the breath right from her.
The thickness of the air, which never felt quite right for hockey.
The smell of popcorn and pretzels and something like yeast.
The sound of the crowd, rising and falling together like waves.<
br />
She’d never seen the game from this high before, or from this far away.
This used to be my favorite place in the world. Ana looked down at the ice, where the aggression and attack of each play gave way to graceful gliding whenever there was a pause in the action. For years, Ana had imagined herself playing in an arena like this someday, helping earn a gold medal for Team USA. Quitting hockey had left a hole in her life that had been filling in over the last few weeks, but now it bled and ached all over again.
This used to be my dream.
She scanned the jerseys on the visitors’ bench, and there it was.
PETROV.
His hair was longer now, but even by the way he tipped his face up to spray it with water, by the way he tapped his stick on the wall, she knew it was him. For the first time since he’d left, there was her dad, more than just pixels on a screen or a number on a roster. Her actual dad, now in a red jersey.
He used to be my hero.
The chirp of the whistle and the sudden attack of a face-off brought Ana back. The Bruins’ left wing passed the puck to his center, and the center took off. The defenseman rushed in front of him, and they both surged forward. In a blur of black and red and white and gold, the play charged down the ice, fast and fierce.
Two periods passed that way, and Ana’s mind shifted from hockey to her dad to the impossibility of the task in front of her as often as the puck switched possession. They moved closer to the BGB section, but Ana was so wrapped up in the game she barely noticed. When Mikey was hungry, Katie took him for a pretzel. When he had to go to the bathroom, Katie walked him out and guarded the stall. Ana could barely tear her eyes from the ice.
Until the BGB kids began to stir.
“Now,” Katie whispered. “Ready or not, we have to go now.” She tucked their coats under their seats and straightened Mikey’s jersey. “Act exactly as excited as they are.” She looked at Ana. “And try not to look quite so scared, if you can.”
Ana, Katie, and Mikey blended in with the other kids, cool as the arena ice. Except for all the sweat beading up on the back of Ana’s neck. She had never wished so hard to be invisible.
The group wound its way past the security guard and down into the staging area, past the locker room door and into the tunnel. “Okay,” said a college-aged guy with a little too much energy. “This is where we’ll line up. Remember, high fives and quick cheers only, and stay against the wall so they don’t plow you over. They can’t sign anything or stop to talk. As soon as they pass, we’re back up to our seats, all together. Got it?”
Ana’s mouth went dry. She was only guaranteed a few seconds in the wrong tunnel, but it was the best she’d been able to do. Right now, though, it was hard to believe it was enough, even though she’d planned for this part.
She pulled the little notes from her pocket and handed one to Mikey. “High-five this to Markov if I miss, okay, buddy?”
There was a loud cheer from the locker room, then footsteps.
“Here they come,” said the guy. “Step back.”
As if they sensed their team, the crowd began to roar, and the kids in the tunnel cheered even louder. Mikey plugged his ears, and by the time Ana was ready, the players were already rushing past. But not Markov yet. Right?
Right. There he was, dropping his shoulders and rolling his neck. He always got to come out last, Ana remembered, because these were his kids.
We were his kids, she thought.
And he thought so too. When Markov spotted them, his face lit up. He rushed forward and pulled Ana and Mikey against his pads. “I miss you,” he said. Tears stung Ana’s eyes. It was already so much more than she should have hoped for, but so far from enough.
Ana knew in that instant she had to choose between “I miss you too” and what she’d actually come here to say, to do. She couldn’t feel it all at once.
She tucked the note into his glove. “Can you give this to him?” she asked. “I don’t know how. But tell him we’ll be in the old training room after the third period.”
Markov nodded, and the coach bellowed at him down the tunnel.
Then he was gone.
Ana thought she might be sick. “We can’t go back up there,” she whispered. “Katie, please. I forgot to plan this part, but we have to stay down here somehow.”
Katie just nodded. They stepped in line with the group, but when they reached a corner, she grabbed Ana and Mikey’s arms and pulled them back. “Here,” she said, and they ducked behind a cart full of folding chairs.
“What’s next?” Katie asked, once they’d caught their breath.
Ana thought for a second. “We have to get to the old training room. It’s going to be remodeled into a players’ lounge, so it should be empty. But I’m betting there’s still a monitor in there.”
“How are we supposed to sneak all the way to the old training room?” Mikey asked.
Katie thought for a second. “We’re not,” she said. “If you’re sneaking around, they always ask questions. Just act like you belong and everybody will think you do.” Now Ana only had to come up with half the answers. She wanted to cry with relief that Katie was here.
So they strolled to the old training room like it was their own front door. They hardly saw a soul, and the few people they did see were way too busy to worry about somebody else’s kids. With the training room door safely shut behind them, they settled in to watch the rest of the third period on a monitor in the corner.
When the clock ran out, it should have been the end of the game, but the score was still tied. Ana hadn’t planned on overtime.
Still, if Markov had given her dad the note, he could be coming any second. She’d said “after the third period,” not “after the game,” and Markov was always so careful with his words. There was only a short break before overtime—not even enough time to smooth the ice. But enough time to walk down the tunnel. He had to come.
Ana watched the seconds tick down until overtime would start. He had to come he had to come he had to come he had to come.
She didn’t give up until the puck dropped.
He hadn’t come.
“So this is overtime?” Katie asked.
Ana swallowed hard. “Sudden death. They set the clock for five more minutes, but if anybody scores, it’s over. If nobody scores, they have a shootout.”
“And then what?” Mikey asked. “Ana, what do we do next?”
Ana dropped her head into her hands. A sinking, sick feeling inside told her he probably wasn’t coming after the game either. “Can’t it be your turn to figure out the next move?” she muttered. She felt the gentle weight of Katie’s arm around her.
“Maybe he’ll come,” she said. “Let’s wait and watch. He might give you a signal or something.”
Ana tilted her face toward the screen, wanting to believe that Katie could be right. That she had been right all along, and everything would be okay somehow.
After three incredible saves by the Red Wings’ goalie, the play shifted. Ana’s dad poised himself at the wall, ready to go onto the ice. Then seamlessly, the line changed and his turn had come.
Somehow, Ana knew what would happen even as the play was unfolding. He’ll be in position right on time. The center’s their best scorer, so the defense will cheat away, and he’ll have an open look.
Just as she’d predicted, the defense cheated toward the center, and her dad was left wide open. Even the goalie wasn’t paying any attention to him.
Nobody’s worried about him at all. He’s only been gone half a season, and the Bruins have already forgotten how good he used to be.
But his teammate knew. He sent a perfect, whip-quick pass between the defenders. Even as her dad wound up for the one-timer, Ana couldn’t decide if she wanted him to score the goal, if she wanted him to win the game, but she knew he would.
The rubber hit the back of the net, and the horn blared, and Ana couldn’t help it—she was proud of him.
But only for a second. As the
team rushed onto the ice to celebrate, something else caught her eye from the corner of the screen.
Somebody small was following them out onto the ice.
Mikey.
Ana
Chapter 21
MIKEY HAD NEVER looked so small—a dot of color against all that white, barely half the height of the players on their skates. The Bruins and the refs saw him right away and started toward him, but the Red Wings were too busy celebrating to pay any attention.
“STOP!” Ana screamed at the screen, but over the blare of the goal horn, she barely heard herself.
In the terrible space of half a second, the Red Wings split apart and sprinted for their bench with their eyes on the scoreboard, and the crush of their bodies hit Mikey with the force of a freight train. His little body slid across the ice and into the boards, and finally, finally, the skaters were still.
Ana tore her gaze from the monitor and raced for the tunnel, where a guard waited.
“Please,” she begged as Katie caught up. “There’s a kid on the ice. He’s my little brother.” She tugged at the guard’s radio. “Just ask. They’ll tell you. We have to get out there.”
“Ana,” said a voice from behind the guard.
Markov.
The guard turned and startled.
“Let them come,” Markov said. “Quickly.”
They followed him through the tunnel and out onto the ice. Ana shoe-skated across and pushed her way between the massive bodies to the center of the hovering circle.
Mikey wasn’t bruised or bleeding; none of his limbs stuck out at impossible angles. But Ana was almost sick to see him lying so still and gray. The medics were already all over him, calling for a smaller brace to strap around his neck and barking at the crowd to stand back. Ana held Mikey’s hand as they loaded him onto the stretcher and wouldn’t let go even when the crowd parted and they began to move toward the ambulance.
Then she felt a hand on her own shoulder. Markov again. “Ana, I’m so sorry. I did not see him.” He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jersey.
“I know,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
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