Bittersweet

  “If you ask me, Bug needs no supervision. He’s the smartest, most well-behaved kid on the planet. I can’t believe Mom doesn’t—wait. That’s it! Josh, that’s totally it! You’re so brilliant I could kiss you! I mean, not kiss you, but … you’re really, um … smart.”

  Okay, ice? If you’re thinking about killing anyone, now would be a great time to crack open and suck me under. No hard feelings, pinkie swear.

  “Yeah, well.” Josh smiles, looking down the shore. “Last year Gettysburg tried to make out with a mounted deer head and Will woke up in Amir’s bathtub wearing one of Mrs. Jordan’s nightgowns. I’m still recovering from those images. I’m telling you, you won’t be missing much.”

  “Exactly.” I lick the last drop of chocolate icing from my thumb and pull my gloves back on. “I won’t be missing it at all.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Desperate Times Call for Desperate Cupcakes

  Um … cornbread

  By the time I convince Bug to accept my best-in-class New Year’s bribe—four custom cupcakes, unlimited television, and no set bedtime—and get to Amir’s, it’s well past eleven, and everyone inside is well past the “I love you, man” stage. I find Will immediately, his showstopper laugh rising above all the yellow plastic horns and sparkly, dollar-store noisemakers.

  “You made it!” Will beams as I enter the kitchen and wraps me in a warm hug.

  “Princess Pink, in the house!” Brad Nelson gives me a fist bump and pulls a pink-and-white feather boa from a box on the counter. “Saved it for you. It’s pink, get it?”

  “Um, yeah. Thanks.” I smile and drape it over my shoulders, blending right in with the party people. It’s funny to think that just three weeks ago I was at Luke’s house with the same crowd of hockey boys, unsure if they’d ever accept me. They’d just won their first game in years. Josh gave me the music mix. And then Will pulled me into the crush of the living room, bass thumping through the speakers, all of us laughing and dancing, Will’s arms strong and steady as we bounced to the beat.

  That night was when it all started—when they let me in for real. And now I’m a part of the group, not just for the hockey stuff, but as a friend, in on all the jokes, wearing my Princess Pink nickname like a badge, hanging out like I’ve always belonged. Not just with Will, but the other guys, too.

  I glance over the mob, hoping against the odds I might find Josh. But I already know he isn’t here—I can feel it. He may not be the center of attention like Will, but his absence leaves a palpable hole in the vibe. Maybe after all his stories from last year’s party, Abby didn’t want to come.

  “Where’s your friend tonight, mamí?” Frankie Torres steps in front of me, hands in his pockets.

  “Blackthorn?”

  “No. Danielle.” He says her name the longest way possible: Dan-y-elle.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Dani has a family thing in Toronto.”

  “Oh, right.” He looks across the kitchen, like maybe I made a mistake and she’s just hiding behind the fridge. “Does she ever say anything?” he whispers. “Like, about me?”

  Frankie Torres … not a lady … something wrong with this picture …

  “Honestly, we haven’t talked much lately,” I say. “With work and hockey stuff … we haven’t seen each other.”

  “Oh, okay. Cool. I was just—”

  “One minute, people!” Amir cuts the music and turns up the television, and Frankie and I merge into the living room with the rest of the crowd. The place is packed, and I end up in a chair across from the couch, separated from Will by a dozen warm bodies. Simultaneously, everyone joins in on the countdown, all of us watching the giant silver ball descend over Times Square.

  “Five … four … three … two … one … Happy New Year!”

  The horns and cheap noisemakers muffle the “Auld Lang Syne” trumpets blaring from the television, but that’s just fine by me, because that song always makes me cry. Paper confetti snows down around us, everyone drunk and swaying, hugging and kissing. Only Frankie Torres is alone, sitting on the couch and staring out the front windows as if he’s still hoping Dani might show. Right now she’s dancing in some fancy hotel ballroom while her dad’s jazz ensemble belts out this very song, and Josh is making out with Abby, and Mom is schmoozing the locals, and Bug’s back home, probably watching the same channel as me, swallowed up by the giant pillows on our couch, and I’m just—

  “Where’s my girl?” Will calls out across the room. He smiles when he finally sees me, his eyes lighting up like there’s no one else here.

  I look behind me, half expecting to see Kara there with open arms and a freshly glossed pout, primed for kissing. But there’s only me, rising dumbly from the chair as Will edges through the crowd, drink held high above a sea of people.

  “Happy New Year, Hudson.” He grabs me with one arm and pulls me into a kiss. The feather boa crushes between us, its delicate feathers tickling my chin. His mouth tastes sweet from the red stuff in his cup, but his movements are intentional, not sloppy or drunk. His hand glides up my neck, tangling into my hair, and the kiss intensifies, my heart hammering so loudly in my ears that I no longer hear the celebration around us; I’m not part of it. My whole body reacts to his touch, skin heating up as his fingers trace lines down my neck, across my collarbone, erasing the rest of my thoughts.

  Unnoticed, Will and I sneak down the hallway and slip into a room on the other side of the house. The space is small and mostly dark, some kind of office, illuminated only by the white-yellow glow of a streetlamp outside.

  Will closes the door with his foot, his lips never breaking from mine. He backs me against the wall, and as my shoulders hit the cold, painted plaster, I give in to the current of him, melting beneath his touch. Slowly, he tugs the boa from my neck, feathers quivering as it falls to the floor. I slip my hands underneath his shirt, trailing my fingers over the smooth, knotted muscles of his back, all the way up to his shoulders. Beyond the window on the opposite wall, icy snow falls soundlessly from the sky, but in here, Will’s skin is warm, the heat of him radiating through my thin camisole, the ragged, uneven tide of his breath hot on my neck.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispers in my ear, soft and hungry. I pull him tighter against my body and close my eyes, letting his words linger, his hands expertly moving down my back.

  This is it, the kiss he promised, the midnight interlude I’d been warned about. But as good as he makes me feel on the outside, on the inside, I can’t stop my mind from wandering. Each time I try to catch my thoughts and bring them back to this moment, every cell of my body pressed against Will’s in the newborn moments of another year, I lose my way. It’s like driving in a blizzard, slowly inching along the road back home only to realize at the end of a long, cold night that you’ve pulled into someone else’s driveway, someone else’s life.

  “You okay?” Will whispers, slightly breathless. He brushes a lock of hair from my eyes and kisses my face, but my hand is flat against his chest, holding him back. “We don’t have to do anything you—”

  “It’s not that.” I slide my hand down his shirt and close my eyes, fingers tracing the ridges of his abdomen. “I’m sorry. I just … I feel kind of light-headed.”

  “Do you want to sit?” He takes my hands in his and squeezes gently, nodding toward a desk chair behind me.

  “I think I need some water.” I kiss him once more to alleviate his concern and duck into the hall. The bathroom is thankfully unoccupied; inside, I click the door shut and run my wrists under the cold tap, willing the chill into my veins, counting my heartbeats until they slow to a regular rate.

  Will Harper. Until recently, he barely acknowledged my existence. Now, after just a few weeks of hanging out, he’s calling me his girl? Looking at me like I’m the only person in a crowded room?

  His girl? Is that what I want? Is that who I want?

  My thoughts drift again to Josh, that first day we met at Fillmore, his visits to Hurley’s, the backward cross
overs, the music, all the jokes and practices. I know we’re just friends, but sometimes, when our laughter fades and he holds my glance a little too long, I swear he’s looking at me as something more. Not just a friend. Not just a skating bud, showing him those complicated crossovers again and again until he gets them right. But then his phone buzzes or he starts talking about something else and the thin, momentary thread connecting us breaks and I start to think I imagined the whole thing. Why can’t I get him out of my head?

  I turn off the bathroom faucet. My hands are shaking, and I’m afraid to look at my reflection over the sink. It’s one thing to lie to your mother, your baby brother, even to your best friend. But alone in a tiny beige box of a room on the first of the year, there’s no hiding from yourself when you meet your eyes in the mirror.

  Will Harper. Josh Blackthorn. The Capriani Cup. So much has happened this winter, so much has changed. I’ve changed. And maybe I’m not ready to see it yet. Maybe I don’t want to know the evidence, the smudged makeup, lips red from kissing, eyes burning with some new, unnamed intensity. So I focus instead on the old water spots, the fingerprints of everyone who lives here. I reach for the hand towel on the side of the sink and—

  BANG! The door rattles against the frame.

  “Just a minute,” I say. “Be right out—”

  “Or …” The door swings open. “I’ll just come in.”

  “What—”

  “Yeah. Hi, Hudson. Happy New Year to you, too.” Kara shuts the door and leans her back against it, red liquid sloshing out over the cup in her hand. Mascara is smudged beneath her eyes and her long, strawberry blond hair is slipping from its headband, the ends tangling in a black boa around her neck. I didn’t see her in the crowd before, but of course she’s here.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to stab you with an ice pick. At least, not with all these witnesses around.”

  My eyes flicker to the sink, but there’s nothing but a bar of soap and a cup full of frayed toothbrushes. Sure, a dental instrument to the eye might sting for a minute, but as far as self-defense weaponry goes, the Jordans’ bathroom is severely ill-equipped.

  Kara downs her drink and tosses the plastic cup into the bathtub. It rattles against the porcelain, leaving a trail of orange-red dots in its wake.

  “Kara, if this is about Will, I really don’t—”

  “Nope. Over it.” She helps herself to one of Mrs. Jordan’s lotions from a shelf on the wall and flips the cap. She sits on the edge of the tub, props her foot up on the sink, and massages white goop into her bare legs. The whole room reeks of dried roses and spiked fruit punch, and I have to breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging.

  “Hear you’re training again,” she says. “For the Capriani Cup.”

  “Who told—”

  “You did,” she says. “Just now. Not like I couldn’t figure it out. They announce a competition, and suddenly you’re hanging out on the ice again? Not exactly coincidence.”

  “No, not exactly.” A new thought ripples through my mind, its sharp edges catching behind my eyes. Kara wasn’t one of Lola’s trainees, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t invited to compete. They probably sent the letter to everyone who’d ever set foot in the Buffalo Skate Club, Lola students or not. I can handle the other girls from my skating past. Chances are at least one of them continued skating, at least one of them will be there next month. It won’t be easy or pleasant, but I know I can hold my head high, ignore the whispers and taunts, and skate my ass off.

  But not in front of Kara.

  “So … you trying out, too?” I cross my arms over my chest and try for the hard stare, but inside, my stomach flip-flops.

  “Parade myself in front of the judges, just so they can tell me all the ways I’m not good enough? No thanks. I’ll leave the kiss-and-cry drama to you.” Kara gives me the once-over, her eyes landing on my shoulder—the exact spot where we used to pin our matching silver good luck rabbits. The exact spot where mine is still pinned to my old skating dress.

  “What I can’t figure out,” she says, “is the Wolves. Why are you helping them?”

  I shrug. “It’s a good opportunity.”

  “Opportunity. Right. Let me guess: Will cut you a deal? Traded a little ice time for some help with the team? Maybe a little something on the side?”

  My mind flashes to Will, the feel of his body against mine in the dark room down the hall, his breath on my neck. Heat rushes to my cheeks. She doesn’t know anything about Will and me. If there even is a Will and me.

  “Excuse me.” I step around her and grab the doorknob, but she’s got her foot against the door, and I can’t open it. “Kara, I really—”

  “How can you go out for another event?” Her voice breaks suddenly, all the edges of her crumpling. “After everything that happened … after I left the ice … you never said anything. Ever. And you go out there again like it’s just … nothing!” Her foot slips from the door and she slumps back against the edge of the tub, tears leaking down her face.

  “I know I screwed up that night.” I reach for the box of tissues on the back of the toilet and pass her one. “But you didn’t have to leave. You were amazing, too. You could’ve gone on to compete and—”

  “You don’t get it.” She shreds the Kleenex in her hands, little white bits falling into her lap like snowflakes. “It wasn’t about the competition. I liked skating, yeah. But it wasn’t the same without you. We weren’t skating together, we weren’t even talking. I skipped the club meets, stopped practicing.”

  “You just needed some time to—”

  “It was more than that. It was like I didn’t have it in me anymore. And my parents knew it, so they gave me an ultimatum.” Kara deepens her voice to imitate her father. “‘We don’t have the money for you to screw around. So get back out there like you mean it, or start working on your—’”

  “Backup plan,” I finish without thinking. I lean against the tile wall across from her, staring at a smear of bright blue toothpaste in the sink. I’d heard the same arguments from my mother over the years, every time I wanted to skip an event or sleep in an extra hour instead of going to five a.m. practice. Every time I came home whining about bruised hips and blistered heels. Every time I fell and swore I’d never do it again, never get up for another try. But somehow, my father always found a way to make it happen. To remind me why I loved the ice.

  I’d always assumed Kara’s parents would do the same for her.

  I hand her another tissue.

  “Don’t.” She pushes my hand away and stands up quickly, wobbling on her heels before steadying herself on the edge of the sink. “I don’t know what I came in here for, but it wasn’t this. I just …” Kara wipes her eyes with her fingertips and opens the door, looking at me one last time. “Forget it.”

  She yanks the door shut behind her, leaving me alone with the mirror again. I remove her plastic cup from the bathtub and wash my hands, but I still can’t look at myself. All I want to do is get home, change into my pajamas, and curl up on the couch with my brother, who isn’t old enough to remember my past mistakes and wants nothing from me but a hug, an occasional cupcake, and permission to stay up past his bedtime. My heart aches to think of him alone tonight. I never should’ve left him. I never should’ve come.

  I find Will back in the living room, half listening to an intense debate between Rowan and Luke on the hotness of various Disney princesses. Jasmine is winning. Kara is nowhere in sight. When Will notices me lingering on the edge of the room, he crosses over and pulls me into his arms.

  “You okay?” he asks. “I was getting worried.”

  “I’m fine. I just need to get back to my brother.”

  I say my good-byes to the boys and Will walks me to the truck, scraping the ice and snow from my windshield as I warm up the engine.

  “Happy New Year,” he says again, leaning in through the open driver’s side window. He kisses me once more, slow and gentle, and when I finally drive away, he
stands in the street and watches me go, shrinking in my rearview until he’s no more than a wisp.

  Left too long without supervision, most kids would probably finger paint the walls, flush their underpants down the toilet, or, I don’t know, set the whole place on fire. Our little genius? He turned the entire living room into an airport, complete with a four-foot-high LEGO traffic control tower and a fleet of paper planes, plastic army pilots taped safely into their cockpits. From deep beneath the couch, a large utility flashlight illuminates some sort of … landing strip? I crouch down for a better look.

  Oh. My. God.

  Stuck to the carpet in parallel, unbroken paths from one wall to the other are two lanes of brand-new maxi pads. Plastic dinosaurs stand guard at every fourth pad—triceratops and T rexes on one side, brontosauruses and pterodactyls on the other—protecting the airport from enemy aircraft and/or heavy flow.

  Clear across the room, blissfully content, Bug snores on the couch in an inspiring ensemble of safety goggles, pink earmuffs, blue zip-up pajamas, and one of Dad’s old hunting vests in bright orange camo.

  “Happy New Year, sweet pea.” As quietly as I can, I slip out of my coat and boots and carefully remove Bug’s goggles and earmuffs. He stirs and mumbles something incoherent, then drifts back to la-la land while I get to work deconstructing the Blake Street Super-Absorbency Airport before Mom gets home. She’d freak if she saw me throwing these things out—pads are even more expensive than the Ziplocs the kid uses for his anthrax operation.

  Landing strip destroyed, I’m about to start on the paper planes when my phone buzzes on the coffee table. Probably Dani. Things between us may be a few degrees below normal, but she always calls me after her dad’s New Year’s shows, ready with the full report on the food and the dresses and all the cute Canadian college boys roaming the hotel.

  I grab the phone and sneak into the kitchen, checking the screen—not Dani. Josh. I stare at his number as it lights up my phone. Josh is calling me on New Year’s? Does that mean he’s not out with his cougar hottie?