Breaking the Ice (Juniper Falls)

by Julie Cross

  Jamie shrugs. “Whatever, man. Haley’s the one freaking out over it, not me. But if you were a stripper…” He glances over at Leo and then back at me. “Hypothetically speaking, would your audience be of the male kind or the female kind?”

  “Okay, so not only am I a stripper, but I’m a stripper in a gay strip club?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and force my shoulders down. “Haley really loves her juicy gossip, doesn’t she?”

  Jamie folds his arms over his chest, looking much less amused. “Hey, don’t blame Haley for this. She’d fucking kill me if she knew I told you what she said.”

  I blow air out of my cheeks, my exhaustion rising a notch. “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  Jamie nods in Leo’s direction and lowers his voice. “I’m just looking for a place for my man to meet some people…you know, like him.”

  Okay, so senior MVP Leo Rose is not a ladies’ man. I guess I can see that. Now that it’s being pointed out to me. I wonder how many people know.

  “Kennedy Locust is a fucking prick. And you should see these dudes online he’s been talking to. They’re fucking nutcases. I just thought maybe if he had more options—”

  “I’m not a stripper,” I repeat. This conversation needs to end ASAP. “But I’ll keep my eyes open for gathering locations of dudes who like dudes, okay?”

  Jamie narrows his eyes. This is the intimidating enforcer I labeled him as a long time ago. “Not a word to anyone about this, got it? Not about what Haley told me, either.”

  I wave a hand, like I’m fully informed, but my stomach jolts, a small ounce of fear returning from my bully-infused elementary-school days. I shove those feelings back down where they belong. “I swear not to tell anyone that Haley is certifiably insane and has a big imagination.”

  Jamie heads toward Leo’s truck but stops before opening the door. “Someday, when you manage to ditch that fucking chip on your shoulder, you’re gonna hate yourself for being an ass to Haley. That girl is more loyal than anyone you’ll ever meet. She’ll lay down in traffic for you if you’re friends.”

  He’s giving me an out, a free pass to leave without explanation. I should take it, but I can’t for some reason. “Who says I’ve been an ass to Haley?”

  “Not her,” Jamie admits. “But she about threw her phone into the park fountain today after texting with you, so I figured you must have been an asshole.”

  He hops into the truck and shuts the door before I have to answer. I head for my own car and wait for guilt to punch me in the stomach. It does. But it’s quickly followed by anger. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t fucking ask for Haley Fucking Stevenson to invade my personal space. Everything was just fine before she started tapping her pen against the desk in front of mine. Everything was exactly how I wanted it to be—how I need it to be. And now, just because she’s decided to use her calligraphy skills and too-much glitter on me, I’m supposed to fall over and thank my lucky stars?

  Fuck that shit. I don’t work that way. Not anymore. Not ever.

  Chapter Twelve

  –Haley–

  “A C isn’t that bad,” Kayla says when we’re cleaning up the mats after cheer practice.

  I groan to myself and put a little more force into folding the mat at my feet. “I want an A.” I need an A.

  Leslie, another senior cheerleader, adds, “It’s just the first test, right? How many more do you have? We can do the math and figure out what you need in the rest of the class to get an A.”

  “I’m starving,” Kayla whines. “I can’t do calculations without food. Let’s go next door.”

  I hesitate, chancing a glance at Leslie. She knows I’m not doing the socializing with Kayla thing much, but really, it’s the one-on-one BFF sessions that I’ve openly boycotted. So maybe lunch with the three of us will be fine. But if she brings up Kyle Stewart, I’m not going to patronize her justifications.

  “Does this A in Civics have anything to do with your recent obsession with a certain college in the middle of Florida?” Leslie flips her dark hair over one shoulder. She’s probably the most responsible cheerleader on the squad, otherwise I’d get on her about the lack of ponytail today and safety issues that go along with this violation. “Seriously, Haley…A or not, how the hell are you going to convince your parents to let you go to school all the way in Florida?”

  “Out of state tuition is insanely expensive,” Kayla adds. “What’s wrong with Minnesota State?”

  I glare at her. She sounds like my parents. “Besides the fact that their cheer squad is about the same skill level as a third-grade Pop Warner?”

  “Cheer snob,” Leslie sings, wagging a finger at me.

  And yes, I’m obsessed with the University of Central Florida, more specifically their cheer squad. My cousin Serenity graduated from UCF, and when I was in eighth grade, we visited her in Orlando and went to a football game—she was in the marching band—and I quickly set aside my tomboy ways and decided cheerleading was exciting and athletic enough for me. But it was only very recently, after helping my ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend get brave enough to pursue her own far-away-from-Juniper-Cove dreams, that I looked into actually attending UCF. And it’s just for four years, just to cheer. Then I’ll be back. I’m not headed for Broadway fame like Claire.

  “I’ve emailed the cheer coach a few times,” I admit to my girls while we’re walking across the street toward O’Connor’s tavern. “And he told me they have a few out-of-state tuition waivers for cheerleaders.” It’s a long shot, but if I can get myself there for a visit, then who knows? Maybe it’ll happen. Someone has to make it on that team, and someone has to get awarded those tuition waivers. “Jonas is helping me learn partner stunts.”

  “I thought Jonas was a tumbling coach? You didn’t mention that he did stunting,” Kayla says.

  I shrug. I don’t want to get too excited. I’ve just begun learning the basics of stunting with a guy. We have an all-girl cheer squad, and UCF actually has more guys than girls. All the girls are flyers on that team. The crazy shit they do…it’s amazing.

  When we enter O’Connor’s, Claire and her dad are both behind the bar. Claire’s dad had a horrible brain tumor last year and has only recently been able to return to work. He’s improved dramatically after several surgeries, but he still has issues with motor function and needs someone to, for example, hold a glass while he fills it at the tap.

  Claire flashes me a huge grin and waves. I haven’t seen her in forever, and I’m dying to catch up, but later. Without Leslie and Kayla. Neither of them can let go of the idea of Claire as the older girl who stole my boyfriend. Technically she is with my ex-boyfriend now, but how it happened is far different and more complicated than Leslie and Kayla will ever understand. On some level, Tate has belonged to Claire for a very long time. Neither of them figured that out until recently, but it’s true. Depressing for me, but true.

  On our way to a table in the back, I spot a guy sitting in our usual booth—Fletcher Scott. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with the words “Reindeer Crossing” printed in bright red across his chest. He’s pressed all the way to the window, headphones on, a stack of college-looking textbooks in front of him, along with a notebook and several pens. We didn’t talk much in class this morning—I was still pissed at him for his little “butt out” comment yesterday, and I was really nervous about the first test. He’s focused on his notebook, his body leaning forward, pen moving swiftly across the page. He doesn’t look up when we approach.

  As much as I’d love to stay pissed off at him, I can’t help but stare at this less-defensive, more-vulnerable Fletch. The image of him lying in his bed with panties and cash stuffed in his pants is replaced by this Fletcher, alone in the booth looking completely…lonely.

  Fletcher Scott is lonely.

  My heart lurches, and my hand lifts on its own, the corners of my mouth rising in time with my hand. “Hey, Fletch,” I say, giving him a wave.

  He jerks up, his eyes wide, muscles ten
sing. He glances around quickly and then his blue eyes fall on me. And instead of returning the smile, he shoves those glasses up to the bridge of his nose and stares at me, his mouth hanging half open like he’s waiting for the punch line.

  Beside me, Kayla mumbles, “Nerd alert.”

  And Leslie elbows me in the side and whispers, “Smart move, babe. I bet he can help you out with that grade of yours.”

  I cringe internally because that’s kind of what I had thought, as well, but not like that. I was only following Mrs. Markson’s advice about choosing a partner who had a good chance of passing the class. And I never intended to have Fletch do the work. I want to earn my A. That part is just as important as the grade itself. I think I’m more of a nerd than Fletcher Scott will ever be.

  Leslie mimics my wave to Fletch and plasters on the most fake of fake-cheer smiles. “Nice shirt. Are you one of Santa’s elves?”

  Seriously? Since when is five nine elf height? I don’t say that out loud because I know these girls are only teasing and there’s no vindictiveness behind it, but it seems different today for some reason.

  He offers a two-second glare and then looks back down at his book as if silently pointing out that he chose to stay quiet, to not care about me or Leslie or Kayla. I stare at him for a beat too long, and then Leslie pushes me from behind, the three of us falling into a booth not far from Fletch.

  The second we’re tucked into our seats, I glare at Leslie, keeping my voice low. “Are you trying to shove us into the mean-cheerleader box? What is wrong with you?”

  She blushes, guilt all over her face. “Sorry. It’s just…”

  Habit. That’s the word she had to swallow. And it’s a terrible excuse. One I would never use for myself, therefore I refuse to let her get away with it.

  “It’s just you being an asshole for no reason,” I snap.

  “Look at him,” Leslie says, pointing a finger at Fletcher’s booth. “He couldn’t care less. That’s just how he is.” Leslie turns to Kayla before I can get in a word of argument. “You don’t think I’m being awful, do you?”

  “Don’t bring her into this.” I shake my head. Sometimes I hate my friends, but if they weren’t my friends, then who would be responsible for straightening them out?

  “She’s the one who made the nerd-alert comment,” Leslie says.

  “Lower your voice,” I hiss. And yeah, I forgot that Kayla did make that comment. “Both of you suck at being nice. Work on it.”

  Kayla mumbles sorry, but Leslie waves a hand like she doesn’t think I’m serious. I totally am. If Fletcher and I somehow manage to pull off an amazing grade on this Constitution project, I will flip out if I hear any mention of me bribing a nerd or whatever. Goofy T-shirts and glasses aside, Fletcher Scott is not even in the same universe as the word geek. It’s not my fault if these closed-minded girls can’t see what I can.

  I sink back in my chair, this realization hitting me hard. Oh shit…

  Am I into Fletch?

  Chapter Thirteen

  –Fletcher–

  “Seriously, Kayla… Stewart is only gonna wait so long before he finds someone else. What are you so afraid of?”

  “Shut up,” Haley says. “She’s ready when she’s ready. Leave her alone.”

  I’ve been forced to eavesdrop on their conversation for thirty minutes. Okay, forced is not entirely truthful. My vehicle is still mid–tire rotation across the street, and my headphones are in, but the battery died on my cell and I don’t have an outlet at my table. If it wasn’t pouring down rain outside, I would have left the second Leslie called me an elf. What the fuck?

  I’ve sat in this same booth so many times—my great uncle Manny works in the kitchen—during the two-hour gap I had last year when I went from community college classes to JFH classes in the afternoon. Manny always makes sure it’s wiped down for me, no trace of anything anywhere. No one seems to care if all I order is bottled water.

  “Haley’s right,” Leslie says. “Stewart is a punk-ass if he keeps pressuring you. You guys do other stuff, right?”

  Jesus. Ear plugs. Now.

  I shove a few books into my bag and glance out at the rain. Maybe it’s not coming down that hard.

  “Hey, Scott, how’s it going?”

  Startled, I jump and look up. Tate Tanley is hovering in front of my booth, preparing to slide in across from me. He’s wearing a bright-blue T-shirt with Critter Crusader written across it. Several mice and a raccoon hang from a ladder at the bottom of the shirt.

  Tate points to the seat across from me. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Go ahead.”

  We’re both quiet for a long minute, and then Tate picks up my British Literature textbook and flips through it. “College course, right?”

  I nod.

  “I think Claire has this book for a class at Northwestern.” He glances at the redhead behind the bar and then back at me before setting the book on the table again. “I heard Jamie and Leo ran you through the ringer last night. Are you really trying to get Red’s spot?”

  Apparently, it isn’t such a secret practice, after all.

  “I’m not gonna say anything,” he offers, then after waiting a few seconds for me to respond, he adds, “besides, I might join you guys next time. I wouldn’t mind some practice without Bakowski breathing down my neck.”

  I twirl a pen around my fingers, imitating Haley’s restless behavior. I don’t have a concrete reason not to trust Tanley, but all I’ve done for years is avoid being noticed in Juniper Falls. Still, it was my choice to play varsity hockey; I’m the one who set that ball in motion. I guess it comes with the territory. In fact, it’s a big problem if I go unnoticed on the ice, especially with Coach Bakowski. I kind of need him to notice me or else I’m stuck riding the bench all season. Or worse—I’m cut before the season even begins.

  “You’ve got the old house out in the country with the lake view, right?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “You know where I live?”

  “I was over there last week,” Tate explains. “Mice under the stove, I think?”

  Oh, right. The exterminator Grandpa called. “Didn’t realize you were part of the Critter Crusaders.”

  Tate grins. “If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t catch me anywhere near this T-shirt. The job’s not so bad, though. I’ve been using the money to fix up cars. My stepdad and I are working on a 1965 Mustang.”

  “Seriously?” My guard drops a bit. I lean forward in my seat. “You guys know what you’re doing?”

  Tate shrugs. “We’re learning. After the Mustang, I want to work on a Dodge Dart I saw at the junkyard last week, but it’ll be like starting over. Every engine is a different animal.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” I debate adding that I love old cars, but it feels weird, sharing anything personal with one of my teammates.

  “You gotta check out the Mustang,” he says as if sensing the words stuck inside my head. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

  Both of us stop talking when Kayla and Leslie pass by. Seconds later, Haley appears in front of us, her gaze following her friends until they’re out the door and then falling back on me. Her hair is up in a ponytail, her tight pink tank top hugging her in all the right places. I glance lower and get a nice view of her legs in those short cheer shorts, but I quickly force my gaze up. Tate lifts an eyebrow. Caught in the act by the girl’s ex. Real smooth. What the hell is wrong with me?

  I’m no stranger to hot girls and usually have plenty of self-control, so I don’t know why I keep finding myself in these situations when Haley is around.

  “Hey, Fletch,” Haley says, oblivious to this silent exchange I’m having with her ex. “Got a minute for our Civics project?”

  Tate’s eyebrow shoots up even higher, but he stands, preparing to leave us alone. “Come check out the Mustang sometime if you want. Roger likes to show it off.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I say, though I’m not sure if I will ever take him up on that offer. I know we’re practic
ing together and all, but that’s just about hockey, not about changes to my Juniper Falls social life. I like it just the way it is.

  Tate surprises me by resting a hand on Haley’s shoulder. With his girlfriend behind them watching. “You all right? Leslie and Kayla giving you a hard time?”

  Haley flashes him a smile that I’ve come to recognize as her more forced effort. The Princess Smile. That’s what I’m calling it from now on.

  “They’re here to remind me what a shallow bitch I used to be. It’s karma, right?” She shakes her head. “I’m kidding. They aren’t that bad. They’d commit murder for me.” Her forehead wrinkles. “Well, maybe not Kayla, since that’s against the Ten Commandments, but she’d wish she could murder for me. The sentiment is there.”

  Tate gives her a squeeze and then releases her. “Jamie and I would murder twice for you. Each. So, you’re completely covered.”

  She gives him a sad-but-real smile this time. “Thanks, Tate.” Haley waves both hands. “Now go see your girlfriend and quit feeling sorry for me. Fletch and I have work to do.”

  He stares at her for a beat longer and then turns around. The smile immediately fades from Haley’s face. She slides into the booth beside me, but keeps her eyes on Tate and Claire. My muscles are screaming at me to flee or at least appear busy with my notebook, but instead, I’m studying Haley, studying her ex and his new girlfriend. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but when Tate touches Claire, an almost wistful look fills her face. My stomach twists in knots. This bugs me. I don’t know why.

  I pick up my pen and twirl it again. “Karma, huh?”

  Haley jolts out of her haze and looks at me. “I went to the dark side for a little while last fall. The whole Juniper Princess race was an ugly obsession.”