Will lives just a few miles behind me on the other side of the railroad tracks. Not the movie version of “the other side of the tracks,” though—it’s still Watonka. Same dark alleys. Same tiny, plain houses. Around here, even the snow looks like an afterthought: a dingy, threadbare blanket thrown on and stretched thin in the middle, yellow-brown wheatgrass poking through the holes of it like the fingers of a dirty kid.
The guy who answers the door is dressed in stonewashed jeans and a Buffalo Sabres jersey with a white turtleneck underneath. He has the same broad smile and thick, blond hair as Will, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I assume you’re here for William?”
Well, I’m definitely not here for you, Mr. Serious Pants. “Yeah. Yes. I’m Hudson. We’re … friends from school.”
“Friends, huh?” He eyes me suspiciously. Something tells me he’s not the it’s-cool-to-have-friends-of-the-opposite-sex-over-for-no-reason type of parent.
“We have a group project for Monday,” I say. “I mean, the Monday after Christmas break. In English lit. The Scarlet Letter.” Too bad I only brought the paperback—a hardcover would be much better for smacking Will in the head, which he totally deserves for subjecting me to this.
“Upstairs. First door on the left.” The man closes the front door behind me and I head upstairs. From the top landing, I hear Will’s voice, low and muffled through his slightly open bedroom door.
“I’m trying. It’s not that easy. They’re better this year.”
Pause.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Longer pause.
“Don’t worry. You know I want to.”
Pause. Laugh. Pause.
“See you Sunday. Later, Coach.” Will closes the phone and finally notices me in the doorway, his face reddening and quickly recovering.
“Coach?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He tosses the cell onto his desk. “What a jackoff.”
“A jackoff you’re making Sunday plans with?”
“Spaghetti dinner with the family, every weekend. Lucky me, huh?” Will laughs. “What’s in the bag?”
“Tropical Breeze Cupcakes.” I hand him the brown paper shopping bag I brought, a box of six of my latest creations nestled securely inside. “Don’t get too excited—they’re for your mom.”
“You serious?” Will opens the box to inspect the goods.
“You said she liked them. Is she home?”
“She works late at Mercy Hospital. Trauma nurse.”
“Well, these have pineapple and coconut and they’re perfect for a midnight snack. Especially after a long night.”
Will doesn’t say anything for a few seconds—just stares at the cupcakes, totally zoned out. I know my baking skills affect everyone in different ways, but I’ve never seen them hypnotize anyone before. Maybe I should raise my prices.
“Thanks,” Will finally says. “That was really cool of you.” He sets the bag on the floor and hangs my backpack on the hook behind his bedroom door. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in a boy’s room other than Bug’s. It smells like him, that delicious cologne-and-soap smell.
He sits on his half-made bed and offers me the desk chair.
“Seriously, what’s the deal with Dodd?” I ask.
“He’s …” Will leans back on the bed, watching the snow collect in the screen outside his window. “Listen, if I tell you something, you have to swear it doesn’t leave this room.”
“It won’t. I swear.”
Will turns to face me, his eyes dark and serious in a way I’ve never seen them before—not even during his hardest practices.
“Will? What’s going on?”
“Dodd’s my father’s best friend. My godfather. Known him my whole life. I really don’t want the guys finding out.
“Why not?”
“When I first joined the team, I didn’t want them to think I was getting special treatment. And now everyone just hates him for ditching us, which I totally get, but … you know. I’m in the middle. It sucks.”
“But if he’s your godfather, why did he bail on your team in the first place?”
Will shrugs. “I know it’s lame. But he has a job to worry about, and he’s under pressure to show results. Until last weekend, the Wolves had no results. Now he’s committed to the football team, and they still have another six weeks, plus championships.”
“How can you be okay with that?”
“No choice. It’s just the way things are.”
I shake my head. “That’s crap. What about your father? Doesn’t he—”
“No. He’s out of it, too.”
I run my thumbnail over a tear in the desk chair. “No one knows about this? Not even Josh?”
“Nope.” Will shakes his head. “Hudson, I’m serious. You can’t tell the guys about this. Especially not Blackthorn.”
“I’m not. I just don’t—”
“Come on. The guys are still high from that win. Think I’m gonna bring them down with this pathetic story? No way. Besides, who needs him? We have Princess Pink.”
I smile. “For now, anyway.”
“Wanna take a look at my essay? See if I’m on the right track?” He sits up and leans over me to wake up his computer, eau de Harper going right to my head. “Check it out.”
I slide the chair closer and read out loud. “‘The themes of The Scarlet Letter are about how people who commit sins like cheating usually get caught, and if you live in a tightwad society like the people in this book, you also get dissed by everyone else, even when it’s not their business.’”
“What do you think?” he asks.
“Okay, I kind of see where you’re going with this, but—”
“Good, ’cause I don’t. I can’t get into that book. Why don’t they let us read stuff that isn’t two hundred years old?”
“Because then the district would have to buy new books for the first time in twenty years. Anyway, you can save this essay. You just have to put yourself in Hester’s position.”
“No way I’m wearing a dress and hooking up with a minister.”
“At least not on the first date, I hope.”
Will shakes his head and laughs. “Not on any date.”
“So let’s start with the getting dissed part. How would you feel if you had a fight with Amir, then everyone took his side and totally ignored you? Like, kicked you off the team, stopped eating lunch with you, wouldn’t call to hang out, that kind of stuff? Oppressive, right?”
“Yes! Oppression. Good theme word. Here, switch seats so I can type.”
I give Will the desk chair and walk him through sin and forgiveness, society, the nature of evil, even feminism—though that topic gets rejected after about three seconds. An hour later he’s got a complete essay, and at least seventy-two percent of it makes sense. That’s usually enough to please Mr. Keller, so he prints it out and flips off the computer.
“You like working with us, huh?” Will asks, sticking his essay into a folder on the desk. “I mean, the skating stuff?”
“Yeah. It’s funny, right? I like skating, but … you know. Hockey? Plus, I didn’t think the guys would be down with it, especially after that first meeting.”
“They love you, though.”
“They love the game. Obviously you do, too.” I look around the room, checking out his hockey paraphernalia. There’s a wall of Sabres posters, a bookshelf full of trophies and autographed pucks. At the other end of the room, there’s an entire section dedicated to the Colorado Avalanche, including a signed jersey mounted in a frame.
“Hockey’s in my family.” He nods at the Avs shrine. “That stuff is from my uncle Derrick. Colorado recruited him right out of high school, but he screwed around and partied and totally blew it after his first year. My dad doesn’t even talk to him anymore.”
“That sounds kind of harsh.”
Will nods. “My father’s older than Derrick. He got injured senior year and couldn’t go pro, so when his little brother got the chanc
e two years later and lost it … anyway, now it’s all on me. That’s my big family legacy—get a Harper back into the NHL.”
“Which is why I can’t believe your dad isn’t pissed at Dodd for—”
“He is pissed, but he knows Dodd’s in a bad spot. Coach isn’t ditching us to go party like my uncle. He’s worried about his job. It’s just …” Will runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have laid this on you. I don’t even want to talk about it. All I can do is focus on the team and my so-called destiny of greatness, you know?”
“In that case, I’ll do what I can to help you fulfill your destiny.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s cool how far the Wolves have come, just in a couple of weeks.”
“It’s awesome. But you don’t have to help with any more destiny crap,” he says. “The guys already learned a ton of stuff from you.”
I narrow my eyes and give him a playful glare. “What happened to all that ‘we have Princess Pink’ stuff?”
Will laughs. “I’m just saying … I know you’re working a ton of hours at the diner, plus your own training stuff, and everything with school … I don’t know. I don’t want us to be a distraction. I feel bad for dragging you into this.”
Panic shoots through my insides, and not just because Will is being uncharacteristically sincere. If I walk away now, the deal is off. I’m back on Fillmore, trying to train on that ragged, windblown patch of ice. “Please. My schedule is fine. I really want to keep helping the team. I’m not done with you guys yet.” I cross my arms and go for the tough-girl look.
“If this is about ice time, don’t worry. Baylor’s is almost always empty. Marcus will let you train as long as you want—he’s cool.”
I unclench my shoulders. That is the most important thing, right? The ice time? Still … I made a real breakthrough with the guys last week. And now that they’ve won a game, they’ve started to accept me. I know it sounds crazy, but for the first time since the Bisonettes, people are counting on me to skate. I know I have to focus on my training, but I made a deal, too. Not just with Will. With Josh. With all of them.
“No,” I say. “I’m staying on. I mean it. I’m learning stuff from you guys, too.”
“Okay, okay. Princess stays. But you’re already an amazing skater, Hud. I’m not kidding.” He sits next to me on the bed, so close that I fall into him a little when the mattress sinks. “Probably the best in Watonka since that two-hundred-year-old Olympics chick.”
“Lola Capriani.” I wonder what Lola would say if she were in the room with us now. You’re speed skating down the toilet with this boy, Avery. Right down the crapper. “She was my coach.”
“That explains a lot.” Will smiles. “I still think you’re better than her. Definitely got her beat in the hotness department.”
I laugh and cross my legs, casually inching away from him. “Don’t change the subject. I was talking about the boys. They need me. They don’t have the NHL genetics like you do.” I’m teasing, but the smile fades from his lips. He looks back out the window as a gust of wind pelts the house with wet snow.
“I don’t know about the guys. I’m just looking for a way out of this place.” He meets my eyes, and for a second there’s something familiar behind them—vulnerability, maybe. Something empty and unfulfilled. But then it’s gone, his usual charm and gregariousness back in place, his fingers looping through the end of my ponytail. “Anyway, I’m surprised they can focus on hockey when you’re on the ice.”
“Give me a break.”
Will moves closer. “That’s not what I’m gonna give you.” And before I can present him with the trophy for the cheesiest one-liners in a single bound, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me toward him. His lips are millimeters from mine, breath warm and silent, all discussion of hockey boy skills and sin in the Puritan age blown out the window into the swirling snow. Will smiles at me, and for a split second I wonder whether this might be a stupid, pointless venture. For weeks my thoughts have been consumed with a single boy, and his name is definitely not Will. But then, not-Will is not here, not now, not running his hand down my back, not slipping his fingers behind my neck, not watching me with ever-intensifying eyes and flashing that deviously sexy smile. He’s probably home, waiting for another call or text from someone else. And I’m here. Now. With Will.
So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting of the seventy-seven nature?
Will raises an eyebrow and I lean in closer, our lips touching, then melting together, everything else disappearing into a soft, barely there buzz.
Oh. I kind of forgot what a good kisser he was, even back then, even under less than ideal circumstances. And unless I’m remembering it wrong, he’s definitely improved his game….
Thankfully, no clothes were harmed or removed in the making of this movie, because a sudden, impatient throat clearing from the hallway lets us know we’ve got a live studio audience. Will jumps off the bed and lands in his chair in an instant, the chair rolling back into the desk and rattling his computer monitor.
“I have a feeling this isn’t part of your English project.” Mr. Serious Pants leans against the doorway, arms folded across the Sabres’ bison-and-swords logo on his chest.
“Dad, um, we were just … Hudson was—”
“I think Hudson was saying good-bye. You’ve got a game tomorrow, William.” He looks at me with that barely tolerant smile, taps the face of his watch, and vanishes back downstairs.
“Hudson, Dad. Dad, Hudson,” Will says under his breath. “Sorry about that. He’s always on my ass. He seriously talks like I’m bound for the Sabres—like I have a real shot.”
“Maybe you do.”
“The man knows my schedule but doesn’t come to the games. I don’t think he believes it—it’s just his mantra. ‘Don’t be Derrick.’ That’s what he’s really saying.” Will’s face changes, his eyes far away as he stares out the window. For the second time tonight, he drops the used-car salesman vibe, the I’m-too-sexy-for-my-own-good stuff fading into something a little less certain. Scared. Sad, even. But the moment passes quickly, and by the time he turns his green eyes back to me, they’re sparkling with mischief again.
“I should walk you out. But first …” He leans in for another kiss, but I turn away, mirroring that flirtatious grin.
“Maybe on the second date, Harper.”
“Good. New Year’s Eve? Amir has a party every year. Come with me?” He reaches for my hand, his eyes never leaving mine as he waits for my response. “We can have dinner first, then hit the party. At midnight, I get to kiss you again. Unless you already have plans.”
I shake my head. Dani always goes with her parents to some jazz fest thing in Toronto for New Year’s, and I’m always home with Mom and Bug and my never-aging date, Dick Clark.
But not this year. For once, I have a date with a cute boy. And a party with the guys, besides? Done and done.
“I’ll go,” I say. “As long as I don’t have to do your English homework first.”
Will smiles. “No homework. I promise.”
I grab my stuff and follow him downstairs. A soft blue glow emanates from the living room at the other end of the house. Will’s father chuckles in halfhearted intervals with the canned laugh track.
Will opens the front door. “See you at the game tomorrow?”
“No. I work doubles on Saturdays. Waitressing and cupcakes, yay.”
“Yay for us, anyway. Thanks again for the cupcakes. Can’t promise I won’t dig in before Mom gets home.”
“That’s why I brought six. Try to save her at least one.”
“I’m not paying to heat the outside, kids!” Mr. Serious Pants calls out from the living room.
“She’s leaving, Dad.” Will grabs my hand. “Hey, are we cool? I mean, the stuff about Dodd—you’ll keep my dirty little secrets?”
“Hmm. The part about your godfather not being allowed to know about me, or the boys not being allowed to know about y
our godfather?”
“Yes.”
“We’re cool,” I say. “Good luck tomorrow. Text me the score.”
Outside, the evening air tastes like tap water, cold and a little overchlorinated as my lungs turn it into hazy white puffs. As I warm up the truck, thoughts of everything flicker through my head like a slideshow: Coach Dodd. All that kissing. All that smoldering. The New Year’s party date. The other party guests. More specifically, one other party guest.
This is crazy. I just made out with Will Harper, and all I can think about is his co-captain?
W.W.H.D (What Would Hester Do)? I wonder. Then I totally laugh at myself, because Hester didn’t have it so hot, either, what with all the public scorn and sneaking around. Not to mention the fact that I’m seeking advice from a four-hundred-year-old fictional character about high school boys—never a good sign.
I back out of the Harpers’ driveway and onto the street. As I shift gears and roll forward, a plastic bag swirls in the current overhead, following me until it tangles into the branches of a bare oak, and I make a right turn toward the railroad tracks, toward home.
Chapter Thirteen
Bah Humbug and a Merry Who Cares to You, Too, Cupcakes
Dark chocolate cupcakes iced with white peppermint buttercream, piped with red stripes; to finish, jam a black jelly bean right in the middle with your thumb
I know I’m dreaming, because I was just swallowed up by an ice-fishing hole in the middle of Lake Erie and I can totally breathe underwater. I can see, too—all of my fingers are turning blue before my eyes. It doesn’t hurt, but I’m shivering. Will swims toward me in his Wolves uniform, but each time I’m about to grab his hand, he morphs into Josh and slips away. Through the bright white hole over my head, a polar bear reaches in and pokes me with his giant paw. “Wake up, Hudson,” he says evenly, like he’s just passing through Watonka on his way to Antarctica and thought I should know. “Wake up.”
I open my eyes. Will and Josh are gone. I’m no longer underwater. And the polar bear has turned into my brother, wrapped up in his silver-and-white astronaut-themed snowsuit.