Bittersweet (19 page)

“I know it’s not my fault that he cheated. Just that he left.”

“No, that doesn’t—”

“You know what I remember most about that day? It wasn’t
the bra, or even how pathetic my parents looked in the stands. It was what my dad said on the drive home. He kept telling me not to worry, that there’d be another chance. But it was the
way
he said it. Like he wasn’t really talking about skating. It was like he was trying to convince himself that it wasn’t the end of our family, even though he obviously wanted out. And I kept thinking, all the way home while Mom wasn’t saying anything, and all night when I crawled into Bug’s bed and covered his ears so he wouldn’t hear them fighting … I kept thinking that if I’d stuck it out, if I’d just done my best and won that event, that maybe it would’ve given my father something to root for. A reason to stay.”

Dani and I sit in silence for a long time, watching a pair of dalmatians romp on the path, their tails flinging snow all around them.

“Hudson, no one can be your reason to stay. You have to want it. Your father wanted to leave, and you guys couldn’t be his reason not to. Harsh, but there it is.”

I down the last of my mocha. She’s right. And despite our friendship, despite my mother and my baby bird of a little brother, despite the town that’s all I’ve known my entire life, I want to leave, too. More than Will and hockey, more than the mistakes of my past, more than canceling ladies’ night, if anything can come between me and my best friend, it’s that.

I look out at the craggy silhouette of the steel mill that’s always visible in the distance—the backdrop of our lives. Behind our bench, the wind shakes the branches of the oaks,
and an icicle dives from the top bough, spiking the snow like a dagger.

“We should head back,” Dani says, dropping her Sharon’s cup into the trash. “School locks up in an hour, and we’ve got cupcake flyers to hang.”

I toss my cup in after hers and we head out, ducking under the ice-coated finger-bone trees, walking arm in arm as the snow crunches like hard candy under our boots.

Vanilla cupcakes with crushed chocolate cookie crumbs, topped with Baileys cream cheese frosting and a light dusting of cocoa powder

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 chance 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.