Breaking the Ice (Juniper Falls)

by Julie Cross

  Fletch’s arm is around my midsection, his weight half on top of me. I can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his heart slamming against his rib cage. He smells like cinnamon. He swears under his breath and then his lips are right next to my ear. “Do not. Stand up. Again. Understood?”

  Goose bumps spread all over my body. I can’t breathe or speak. I nod my head up and down several times.

  I think I just experienced a true adrenaline high. Or maybe I’m in the high right now.

  Fletch exhales and then raises his head, his eyes meeting mine. My heart drums faster. “Haley? You okay?”

  He’s scanning me top to bottom like maybe a limb fell off or something, but the look on his face, the way it’s open and inviting—that’s the Fletcher Scott I want to get to know. A laugh escapes my mouth. “I think I’m having one of those epiphany things. Like when what’s-his-name got hit in the head with an apple and figured out gravity.”

  “Isaac Newton,” Fletch says. “Except it’s not confirmed that the apple actually hit him in the head. And we still don’t understand everything about gravity—”

  I wave a hand in front of his face. “There’s the wall again. Now you don’t get to hear my epiphany.”

  His mouth forms a thin line, jaw tensing. He quickly withdraws his arm from around me and slides back, putting a good two feet between us. “I hope this epiphany is something along the lines of ‘wandering around on my barn roof will get you killed.’”

  I turn my face toward him but stay lying on my back. “I just realized that this wall you have up…it’s probably not there all the time. I’ve caught a few glimpses of Other Fletcher when you aren’t on your game.”

  A sly grin spreads across his face, and all I can think is, there it is, Other Fletcher. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Haley.”

  “Not completely,” I agree. “But I’m onto something. The you that hangs out with Cole Clooney and has panties stuffed in his pockets is a very different guy than the one sitting behind me in Civics. Am I wrong?”

  The grin fades from his face, and he stares at me for a beat too long before he pulls himself up to his feet. “We need to get back to work.”

  I roll my eyes. Should’ve seen that coming.

  …

  Jamie glances at the Girl Scouts climbing the playground like little ants on a log, then he turns back to me, fighting laughter. “Let me get this straight…you think Fletcher Scott is a stripper?”

  It sounds ridiculous when Jamie says it out loud, but seriously, the guy had several hundred dollars stuffed in his pants. What else am I supposed to think? I catch Cole looking our way from across the playground and give Jamie a warning. “Shut up,” I hiss. “Why would you bring Cole? Are you trying to feed into this crush of his? That’s not very nice, you know.”

  Jamie shrugs. “He’s my little wingman.”

  “Wingman? For who? The Girl Scouts?” I groan and step around him, heading for the picnic tables where Leo is unloading my box of supplies.

  “You know what I hate more than anything?” I say to Leo. “When my cheerleaders screw me over and don’t show for something they willingly volunteered for.”

  Leo drops containers of beads onto the table and then looks up at me, grinning. “Is that your way of thanking me for being here?”

  “Sure.” Just as I’m about to cast a cheer-curse on Amanda and Bailey, Amanda’s car rolls into the parking lot, windows down, rap music blasting. I throw a glare in their direction and then walk toward the playground. “All right, Girl Scouts, let me see you line up!”

  The twenty-or-so girls in brown shorts with sashes across their chests abandon the playground and run toward me. Jake Hammond—who had been helping little girls across the monkey bars—heads over to stand beside me. The girls must be eager to hang out with the current Prince and Princess of Juniper Falls, because they form that line faster than I thought possible.

  “I need all of you to raise your right hands,” I tell them. Amanda and Bailey shuffle toward me, hanging out beside Jake and me. Before they can utter some lame-ass excuse, I start talking again. “Repeat after me.” All the girls stand straight, chests puffed out. It’s adorable how serious they are. “I promise…”

  They repeat the words in unison.

  “To never show up late to any of my commitments.” I wait for them to recite the words while my cheer-mates stare at the ground, shuffling their feet. “To always be responsible for my actions, especially when very nice, adorable Girl Scouts are counting on me.”

  Thankfully, Amanda and Bailey have enough sense to keep their mouths shut while I explain the craft we’re doing and the girls take their seats to make beaded pins to attach to their sashes. Finally, I step away from the table and turn to face my teammates.

  “Both of you are on probation—”

  “We volunteered for this—” Bailey starts.

  I lift a hand to shut her up. “Exactly. Next time, don’t bother. Especially if you’re going to roll in here blasting music with f-bombs in every line. Do you guys possess any amount of common sense?”

  Neither of these girls have younger siblings, probably don’t work with kids at all, so cutting them some slack wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. But I’m an only child, and even I can figure out that rolling into a park in the middle of a summer weekend day with inappropriate music might reflect badly on me. When it comes to my girls on the cheer squad, I don’t cut any slack. We live in this constant hole created by the cheerleader stigma, even worse in Juniper Falls because it’s always all about hockey. Even with cheerleading. While I’m captain, these girls are gonna act like decent people, keep in shape, respect themselves, not get caught passed-out drunk by the pond. The basics.

  Both of them mumble sorry, and I wave them toward the table, indicating that they should help out. Bailey plasters on her cheer smile and attempts sucking up to me by saying loudly to all the Girl Scouts, “How many of you are going to be Princess of Juniper Falls like Haley?”

  Sixteen of the twenty hands shoot up in the air. I roll my eyes. Now we have to teach them basic math, considering they’re all between eight and ten years old. Mathematically, that leaves room for two, maybe three princesses in the group.

  “How many of you are going to be hockey players like Jake?” I say.

  A few hands shoot up in the air—including Jake’s little sister, Maddie—and I look at those stats and sigh. I love my town, I really do. I want to live here forever and for my kids to live here. But it sucks that all these girls get pushed into skates like the boys, but then when they reach high school, it’s like, cheerleading or volleyball or maybe basketball or track. And of course, impressing the town elders for that princess nomination.

  “I’m gonna play football!” a tiny messy-haired girl says.

  I walk past her and give her a high five. “Who’s going to be in honors classes like Jake?”

  Conversation breaks out among the group, all the girls talking at once about what they’ll be into when they go to JFH. I must look incredibly frustrated, because Jake comes up to me while the girls are still elbow-deep into their craft.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  For a majorly hyped-up hockey star, Jake is incredibly genuine, but I still feel this barrier between him and me. Like he’s all about the game. Nothing will change that. And last fall, we had this drunken hookup incident that left things a bit weird between us. We talk, but there’s no casual touching like there used to be.

  “I’m fine.” I flash Jake a smile just to prove it. “Just trying to keep my cheerleaders out of the town gossip mill.”

  “You’re going all dictator on them, aren’t you?” Jake gives me his charming Jake-Hammond grin to show he’s kidding. “I saw you guys out for a run at like six in the morning. What’s up with that?”

  “Cardio. It’s crucial to getting through an entire competition routine.” I walk behind Jake’s sister, Maddie, and examine her pin. Like her brother, she’s a hockey phe
nom, even at the age of nine, but her artistic skills aren’t in the same universe. I grip the end of her pin to keep the beads from falling off.

  “Dang it.” Maddie looks up at me, her cheeks flushed. “Can we play on the playground again?”

  “Finish your pin first,” I tell her, even though I really don’t care. I may have come up with this craft activity, but at Maddie’s age, I would have steered clear of the craft table and instead been digging in the mud and climbing all over the playground. But God forbid I send a Girl Scout home without a pin.

  She sighs. “I suck at this.”

  “Maddie,” Jake warns, imitating his mom’s disciplinary tone.

  They are pretty prim and proper in the Hammond household. I know this because our mothers are good friends, and my mom does her best to imitate Mrs. Hammond when possible.

  Cole Clooney slides into the empty space beside Maddie and takes the pin from her hands. “I’ll help you. I’m good with beads.”

  Jake stares at Cole, his forehead wrinkling like he’s completely confused by this. Cole must have felt Jake staring, because his face flushes and he mumbles something about his older sister making jewelry.

  I give Cole’s shoulder a pat. “I’m gonna fire Amanda and Bailey and hire you for all the volunteer events.”

  The second the words are out of my mouth—while Cole flashes a beaming smile my way—I regret them. The last thing I want to do is lead him on. But I can’t undo what I’ve just said without stumbling over my words and probably making things worse. Instead, I walk away and put some distance between him and me.

  Jamie walks up beside me and whispers, “Look at little man over there, laying his charm on the Girl Scout.”

  I give Jamie a look. “That’s Jake’s sister. She’s nine.”

  He shrugs. “Hey, practice is practice.”

  I shove Jamie. “Go get the cookies, will you?”

  Jamie jogs over to my car and emerges with containers of homemade cookies and lemonade. Everyone jumps in to help distribute the snacks except Cole—he stays in his seat, putting the finishing touches on Maddie’s pin. I offer him the container, and he grabs a handful of cookies.

  “At least you haven’t taken up Fletcher’s cookie-rejecting habits.” It’s another string of words that slips out without thought. Why am I bringing up Fletch right now? Why am I comparing him to Cole?

  “That’s because it’d kill him,” Cole says with his mouth full of cookie, his gaze focused on the pin and beads in front of him.

  I nearly drop the tin in my hands. “What?”

  “My mom says cookies make people fat,” a girl across the table says. “And fat people die.”

  “Everybody dies,” Maddie says, handing Cole a big green bead. Her pin is Otter green and silver. “Even if they don’t eat any cookies.”

  Jake claps his hands together. “Okay, don’t you girls have a theme song or something? Let’s sing that instead of talking about…”

  The girls all look up at him, waiting for the sentence to be completed. Luckily Amanda and Bailey decide to be useful and both lead the JFH fight song—something the Girl Scouts are much more familiar with than any Girl-Scout songs that might exist.

  While they’re singing, I nudge Cole. “What do you mean, cookies would kill Fletch?”

  “He’s…allergic,” Cole admits reluctantly.

  I fold my arms across my chest. “To what?”

  It’s obvious by Cole’s expression that Fletch would not be happy about this conversation. Which is probably why Cole puts an end to it by shrugging and saying, “Cookies.”

  Maybe Fletch is allergic to nuts? I think those people can die if they eat nuts. Why couldn’t he just say that instead of making me feel like an idiot?

  On impulse, I pull out my phone and send him a text. I’m not gonna rat out Cole, just poke Fletch a bit and see if he admits to anything.

  ME: apparently ur cousin doesn’t mind eating my cookies

  FLETCH: I’m not even…

  ME: Jesus. Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant literal cookies. I guess good manners don’t run in the family

  FLETCH: He’ll eat whatever u give him b/c HE IS IN LOVE WITH YOU.

  ME: whatever. He’s nice. Ur…something else. And love? Doubtful. Infatuation? Maybe.

  FLETCH: OK, I’ll give u that. Love is obsolete.

  ME: obsolete with Cole? Or in general?

  FLETCH: don’t know. Not an expert on the subject.

  ME: Thought maybe u were, considering all those panties stuffed in ur pockets…

  FLETCH: more proof that love is obsolete. Panties and love have zero connection. I can get one without the other.

  ME: gross. And TMI

  FLETCH: I meant that hypothetically

  ME: sure u did

  FLETCH: Haley?

  ME: yes…?

  FLETCH: butt out

  I fight the urge to throw my phone across the playground. He’s got the brooding-asshole act down a little too well. And yet, part of me wants to prod him some more, if only to get another glimpse of Other Fletcher—the one without so many walls.

  How can someone be so infuriating and so interesting at the same time?

  Chapter Eleven

  –Fletcher–

  “No, no, no!” Jamie shakes his head at me. “You’re reacting instead of predicting. It’s too late at that point.”

  I bend over, panting. “How can I react if there isn’t anyone to react to?”

  “Dude…” Jamie skates toward me and twists to a stop before crashing into me. “You gotta trust us.”

  Leo is behind Jamie, sliding the puck around the ice. “You get these drills down, and you’ll be ready for the real thing.”

  I pull in a breath, the air barely able to enter my lungs. As much as I hate to bring out the asthma meds in front of these guys, I’m too far into this workout to quit now or risk passing out. I snatch my inhaler off the wall and take a few puffs.

  “Need a break?” Jamie asks.

  I shake my head, holding the medicine in my lungs for several seconds. Relief comes instantly, my fingers tingling with feeling returned. “I’m fine. Just ready to learn how to plow Red over.”

  Both guys laugh, and then Leo says, “You aren’t Jamie or Red. First rule of hockey is to know yourself well enough to hone your strengths and work around the weaknesses.”

  “You can skate, man,” Jamie says. “Your balance is better than big guys like me and Red. You’re more agile. That’s the shit that will catch Bakowski off guard. Especially if you pull it out during the scrimmage game against Longmeadow in August.”

  Did Jamie Isaacs just use the word “agile” correctly?

  Leo rolls his eyes. “The practice game that isn’t supposed to decide anything. Right.”

  Right. Despite my lack of varsity experience, I know this unspoken rule about the end-of-summer scrimmage game: October tryouts are just a formality. The real tryouts are in August. With the exception of the occasional new freshman—like Cole last fall—who may surprise Coach.

  I inhale a deep, less-obstructed breath and nod. “Okay, what now?”

  Jamie and Leo exchange glances, and then Jamie drops a puck in front of me. “Same drills—back crossovers around the cones—except this time, you do it with the puck and with Leo in your way.”

  “Got it.” I twist around, taking my position, and put every ounce of energy and mind power into repeating these drills over and over again.

  “Speed up!” Jamie shouts at me from his seat on the wall after another thirty minutes. “You should be doing this in your scary-fast zone right now.”

  “Don’t be afraid to get a little uncomfortable,” Leo adds.

  I push myself through the cones, increasing my speed with each trip. After three more times through, Jamie points a finger at me, grinning big. “Yes! That’s where it’s at.”

  Of course, I completely wipe out after that. Sliding across the ice on my ass. I recover quickly, still managing to keep con
trol of the puck. That wins me a nod of approval from Leo.

  It’s nearly midnight when we finish up—six hours until I have to be up again for practice—and I’m beyond exhausted. But it feels good. Like I’m one inch closer to my goals. After helping Jamie and Leo lock up the rink, we all walk out together, skates slung over our shoulders. Leo gets a call, answers it, and then hops into his truck to continue talking.

  “Give me your number, and I’ll text you when we score some more ice time,” Jamie says, holding up his phone.

  I pull my cell from my pocket and try not to think about how weird it is that we never hung out while we were both in school together. Okay, I guess we’re in summer school together, but I doubt Jamie had planned to be around this long. I’m long past having any desire to be in the cool kids’ circle, but here I am, spending my weekend with them.

  “So…Haley thinks you’re a stripper,” Jamie says, so casually I have to replay his words in my head to make sure that I heard them right.

  My mouth falls open, my body tensing. “She told you that? When?”

  I was right this morning—everything is ruined. Duluth with Mom, here I come…

  “Saw her this afternoon. She was pretty sure about it.” Jamie glances over at my car and then back at me. “I thought she was nuts, but you do have a pretty sweet ride, and you won’t tell people where you work. I figured you were writing essays for Longmeadow’s varsity team. Those guys are bigger idiots than me.”

  My entire body goes into defensive mode. It’s something I’m familiar and comfortable with. I avoid direct eye contact, keep my distance, keep my answers short and precise. “My mom bought me that car. And I promise, I’m not a stripper.” One truth. One lie. Not necessarily in that order. I’ve done this act ever since I started back at school in seventh grade. But for the first time, I feel a little guilty about lying to Jamie. He and Leo spent a lot of time helping me tonight. They didn’t have to do that. I’m both appreciative and uncomfortable about this fact. I don’t ever want to be in debt to someone, especially someones with as much social influence as Jamie, Leo, and Haley have. I look over at Leo. He’s behind the wheel, the phone to his ear. I can see him laughing, but I can’t hear him with the door shut and the windows up.