Breaking the Ice (Juniper Falls)

by Julie Cross

  “Ribs,” he says. “And some rice…broccoli…two apples.”

  “Okay.” I pull myself out of the sand hole. “Are you ready now?”

  He turns to face me. “To go?”

  “No, to redeem yourself.”

  “I thought that’s what I was just doing.” He looks more worried now than ever. “You mean there’s more?”

  “Oh yeah, but you’re on a roll. Don’t stop now.” I step closer, and he immediately steps away. We’ve definitely moved backward in the figurative sense, as well, because Saturday he let me hug him and Sunday, he grabbed me out of thin air and prevented my death from falling off his barn roof. Wait…that means we’ve both saved each other’s life. Weird. Although both were my fault. I shake my head and refocus. “I’m now informed on all the items that could lead to your death. Do you trust me to not kill you?”

  Fletch lifts an eyebrow and takes another tiny step back. “Maybe…”

  “Or maybe not.” I fold my arms over my chest and move farther away from him. “That’s all right. You’re not ready to be my friend. Maybe not anyone’s. I get it.”

  “I have friends,” he snaps. Then he scrubs a hand over his face. “Haley, this isn’t anything against you; my own grandpa nearly killed me once. It takes knowledge and practice and lots of scary moments to wrap your head around everything I can and can’t be exposed to.”

  He’s probably right, but based on all the panties in his pockets yesterday and the fact that he held me down against the roof and he grabbed that pen from me during the first day of physics, I know he’s touched girls before. I know he can put himself safely back in that zone. I want him to know I’m not gonna be the one to poison him if that ever happens again. I hold out my fingers and wiggle them. “I swear on the Bible that I won’t kill you.”

  And maybe I need to do this for me, too. After I got home from the hospital, the first thing I did was jump in the shower and attempt to remove all the offensive things from my skin.

  Fletch catches sight of a red patch of skin on my forearm and points to it. “What happened?”

  I look down at it. “I got kind of freaked out earlier. Went crazy scrubbing myself.”

  His eyes soften, and he takes one tiny step closer.

  My heart picks up speed. I’m nervous, but I’m not sure exactly why. I guess I’m still afraid of killing him. But surely I’ve gotten all the shrimp off me between the three showers I’ve taken.

  It’s not until I place a hand on his chest, feeling his heart, that I notice his T-shirt of the day, which says You read my T-shirt, that’s enough socializing for one day.

  I smile at the shirt and take note of the fact that the heartbeat beneath my hand has sped up considerably.

  “Relax,” I say, but I’m not managing this so well myself. My free hand touches his wrist, like I’d done today at O’Connor’s. His chest freezes. He’s holding his breath.

  I slide my fingers up his arm, counting slowly inside my head. I reach his collarbone at twenty seconds. “So far, so good,” I whisper.

  My index finger glides up to his cheek, brushing over the scruff. My stomach is turning a dozen somersaults, my pulse picking up even more. Fletch’s heart does the same, thudding with such force against my palm. Beneath his glasses, those blue eyes meet mine, and I’m stuck in this place where I can’t move or breathe.

  No, no, no, this isn’t happening. Not now.

  Vixen barks at something in a nearby tree, jolting me back to earth. I slowly creep my fingers to the right and then, before he can stop me, I snatch up Fletch’s glasses, just like I did during our first Civics class.

  I spin around and take off running, but he catches up to me, grabbing me around the waist and lifting me off the ground. “What’s the verdict?” I ask. “Are you dying or not?”

  “I’m having trouble seeing…” With what seems like very little effort, he hoists me up onto his shoulder and walks quickly across the playground, heading straight for a tree. “It’s too bad I can’t see where I’m going. Hopefully I won’t run into anything…”

  I squeal and try to worm my way off his shoulder, but his grip on me is firm. Instead of running into the tree, he spins in a circle, gaining momentum and going faster with each revolution.

  “Oh my God, Fletch, stop!” I’m laughing too hard to punch him or pinch him or something. The world moves quickly all around me, shades of green and brown and bright primary colors bursting out through the dark. “How are you not dizzy?”

  Outside of the spinning and laughing, I take note of the fact that Fletch’s feet don’t shuffle beneath us, there’s no rise and fall to his turning, it’s smooth and easy. I look down, and his heels are raised. He’s on the balls of his feet. This should freak me out even more, the lack of stability, but I’m not scared. I’m stable. Perfectly stable.

  “Okay, okay, you can have your glasses back,” I concede, the spinning getting to me now.

  Fletch makes a sharp stop, and I brace myself for a fall, but I remain perfectly balanced on his shoulder. He wraps his free arm around my waist, turning me and pushing me forward at the same time. I slide down the front of his body, and my laughter is immediately cut off. My heart takes off in a sprint. He’s all warmth and hard muscles beneath his shirt. I wait for my feet to touch the ground again, but Fletch keeps his arm tight around my waist when we’re eye level.

  His heart thuds against mine. “You were right. You didn’t kill me.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” I wonder if he can see well enough to read my thoughts. I hold his glasses up in surrender. “You can put me down now.”

  My feet make contact with the ground, but Fletch doesn’t take his arm from my waist.

  The world is still turning a bit, trying to straighten itself out. I unfold the glasses and place them back on his face. “You’re lucky these didn’t go flying into the sidewalk or the swing set.”

  He grins. “I trust you, Haley.”

  My mouth falls open in shock. Fletcher Scott just made a joke. Before I can call him out on it, I become preoccupied with the proximity of our mouths. “What if—hypothetically—someone ate a fried shrimp basket and then decided…” I lean in closer, even though my face and neck heat up. “To kiss you?”

  His grin vanishes, and he swallows. “Could be a great way to go.”

  “Oh, come on.” I almost push away from him but can’t bring myself to do it. “You flipped out over my finger coming near you. You’d probably have a heart attack if I leaned any closer.”

  “Try me,” he challenges.

  Butterflies take off in my stomach. What the hell is happening here? I reach behind me for Fletch’s fingers, and the second I begin to pluck them from my back, he releases me and steps away.

  “You are so confusing,” I snap. I look around for Vixen. I need a distraction. She’s standing guard under the tree, probably waiting for a squirrel to come down.

  “I’m confusing?” Fletch leans against the post of the swing set, completely at ease. Me, on the other hand, I’m a ball of nerves. “I think what you meant is that you’re confused. You wanted to kiss me. You were thinking about it.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” I fold my arms in defensive mode again, but one lift of Fletch’s eyebrow and I’m dropping them at my sides “So? I’m not going to do anything.”

  “I know that, too.” He studies my movement until I decide that frozen-in-place is safest. “Do you ever think that maybe you make too big a deal out of little things?”

  The thought has occurred to me before. “Like kissing? That’s kind of a big deal.”

  He shrugs. “Only if you make it one.”

  “Why are you pressuring me about this?” I shake my head. “Jesus.”

  Fletch holds both hands up in front of him. “I’m not pressuring you to do anything. I’m just picking up on your signals. You were looking at my mouth, and you wanted to kiss me.”

  “My signals. Right.” I roll my eyes, but he’s not buying it. I think maybe t
his is that Other Fletcher. The one who wins multiple pairs of panties in one night.

  “All I’m saying is…” He pushes away from the post and walks closer. “If you want to do it, then do it. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. We won’t have to go on a date or ever talk about it again.”

  I plop down on the ground and pick at the grass. “Yeah, I tried that once. It didn’t go well.” Jake Hammond. I tried to make him a random one-night stand, just to stop thinking about Tate. It was weird and fast and really depressing. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Fletch shrugs and sits beside me. “Sure. If you want.”

  I lay back, cover my face, and groan. “What are you doing? Are you messing with my head on purpose?”

  “I hate to say it, Haley, but you’re messing with your own head.” Fletch lays back and leans on one elbow. My face is mostly covered, but I feel him watching me. “When you want to kiss someone, you do it and then move on.”

  “Is that what you do, Mr. Panty Collector? You just go around kissing whoever you want?”

  “If the feeling is mutual,” he says.

  I remove my hand from my face. Finally, I have an edge in this conversation. “Is the feeling mutual, Fletch?”

  He maintains his confident smirk, but I can tell I’ve surprised him. “You’re asking if I want to kiss you?”

  I nod, waiting for him to derail. This is way too direct for people our age, especially the socially invisible like Fletch.

  “I probably wouldn’t hate it,” he says, and I smack him in the arm. “But you don’t have the balls. And I’m not gonna do it.”

  “Because you don’t have the balls,” I accuse, pointing a finger at him.

  He grasps my finger and pulls my hand down to my lap. “I promise you, I do, but not with things all complicated like you’re making them.”

  I bolt up to a sitting position. “You’re the one making this a big deal. I wouldn’t have brought it up.” Like ever.

  “But you would have been thinking about it and then made it into some big thing in your head,” Fletch says. “And either you’ll get all weird around me or you’ll turn into Cole and hang on every word I say.”

  I’m about to spew some choice words at him, but the warm smile on Fletch’s face makes it clear that he’s joking. I relax a little. “Okay, I see your point. Maybe I could stand to lighten up a little.”

  He holds a hand out and nods. “That’s all I’m saying. It might help you next time we’re taking a test in Civics. Take it one question at a time. A kiss is just one kiss. A question is just one question.”

  Confidence overpowers the nerves. “Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll kiss you.”

  Fletch’s eyes widen. “Sure you haven’t been eating any more shrimp?”

  “Not gonna answer that. It’s a violation of my trust.” I only brushed my teeth about five times after my three showers. Plus, I flossed and gargled mouthwash twice. I cover my face with my hands. I can’t believe this is happening. “How did we get here from the shrimp question? This is insane.”

  Fletch tugs my hands from my face, his eyes full of genuine concern. “It’s okay, Haley. Let’s just study instead. I’ll help you get ready for tomorrow’s quiz. We can pull an all-nighter.” He closes his eyes briefly. “A studying all-nighter. Not any other kind.”

  “Uh-uh.” I shake my head. “I can’t back out now. I’m kissing you, and you’re gonna let me. And then we can study.”

  He sits up again, turning to face me.

  My mouth goes dry, my hands shaking. God, it’s like I’ve never kissed anyone before. What’s wrong with me? Maybe I do need to do this more often. Desensitize myself or something.

  I rest my palms on Fletcher’s thighs and lean in. But I stop before our lips can touch. “Aren’t you going to take off your glasses?”

  He reaches up and removes his glasses, resting them in the grass beside us. “Better?”

  “Much.” My heart is up to my throat when I lean closer again. I can feel his toothpaste breath against my lips. It should be so easy. But this slightly less than an inch of space between us might as well be a thick brick wall. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Do it for me, please?”

  I can’t see him, but I feel him shake his head.

  My body is shifted so far forward, nearly off-balance, a big gust of wind could probably knock me over, and I’d be on top of Fletch, our mouths forced to touch. I lick my lips and try to brave closing that space again. My stomach flips over, and I release a defeated sigh, using my hands on his legs to push away. “Come on, let’s go study.”

  Fletch climbs to his feet again and walks beside me. I can’t look at him. I’m too afraid of the smirk he’s probably wearing. Finally, I glance over my shoulder for a split second and do a double take. There’s no smirk anywhere in sight. He’s calmer than I’ve ever seen him. Looking exactly how I imagined he’d look when all those defensive walls dropped. Other Fletcher.

  And yeah, I still want to kiss him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  –Fletcher–

  “Dig it out of the corner!” Leo shouts at me from across the rink. “Come on, man, get your head out of your ass!”

  To my credit, my head is nowhere near my ass, but the large mass that makes up Jamie Isaacs happens to be fighting for the same puck. And neither of us has pads on. Leo’s brilliant idea.

  My stick tangles with Jamie’s as he closes the gap between us. My breaths come quicker, heart thudding loud in my ears. Get out of this, get out now! The panic is too much, and I can’t resist the instinct to push my way out despite the fact that Leo specifically ordered me not to—

  “No! What the hell are you doing, Scott?” Leo wedges himself between Jamie and me. He sets his hands on my chest and shoves hard enough to send me sliding back a couple of feet. “Did you not hear me say like five minutes ago absolutely no hitting?”

  Silence falls over the rink at this early hour. My mind is still racing, my heart pounding.

  Behind Leo, Jamie cracks up laughing. When Leo turns to glare at him he says, “Sorry, I think I just had a preschool flashback. No hitting, Jamie! I said no hitting!”

  The tension falls from the air. Leo works hard not to grin, and when he turns back to me, he’s much calmer. “You might be playing defense, but knocking Jamie over isn’t your move. That’s Red’s. You do that, and you give Bakowski no choice but to compare you side by side. Who do you think wins that contest?”

  I don’t answer that. Instead I stare at the corner of the rink Jamie and I had just been locked in, attempting to envision a new way.

  “Plus, you’re not gonna plow me over,” Jamie adds. “Hate to say it, but it’s true.”

  “Again?” Leo prompts.

  I stare at the empty corner a beat longer and then nod. The puck is slid in front of me, and I take off with it. Seconds later, I’m pressed tight in that corner again. I force my heart to slow and my brain to remain calm. This time, instead of trying to go through Jamie, I turn in a smooth but quick circle, the puck following me in a blur of black against the white ice. Jamie’s stick reaches in to steal the puck back, but he’s too late. I’ve already sent it sliding along the outside, to no one today, but in a real game, to a teammate awaiting the chance to breakaway for the goal.

  Leo skates toward the puck, stopping it with his own stick. “Not bad, Scott. Not bad at all.”

  I pull my helmet off, set it on the wall, and then lift my jersey up to wipe sweat from my face. “Thanks. That felt pretty good,” I admit, and then worry creeps its way back into my stomach. “Of course, it’s much easier to think without Bakowski screaming from the bench and stands full of people staring at you…”

  “Just takes experience,” Leo says. “Lots of varsity practices and games, this shit will be second nature.”

  Yeah, but unfortunately, I’m a senior, and that kind of experience is expected. I gotta find a way to skip over all the mental shit and get things figured out. But I don’t say that out loud, because Leo
and Jamie are already doing enough for me. The rest is my deal.

  We do a few more drills, and I even attempt to teach Jamie the move I just did on him, but his turns are too slow and Leo takes the puck from him every time. I’m exhausted but feeling pretty good about my game by the time a group of kids shows up for a figure-skating class and kicks us off the big rink.

  On my way to the locker room, I hear voices coming from the small rink. One very familiar voice.

  Haley.

  My stomach turns and knots in a very different way than it had moments ago when I was all doom and gloom over my hockey future.

  Okay, what the hell is this?

  Before I even spot her, I’m replaying the other night, Haley’s long hair falling forward as she leaned in to kiss me. And God, I wanted her to. I hate how much I wanted that kiss, but then she got all nervous and down on herself…it wasn’t right to push her. I’m not a pusher when it comes to that stuff. Reading body language is kind of a gift of mine, and I prefer to wait until a girl is so worked up, silently screaming with want, before I make any move of my own.

  But that’s where things get confusing with Haley, because she did want it, I could feel it vibrating off her skin. Or maybe I was projecting? Maybe my wanting that kiss felt like her wanting it?

  I don’t freakin’ know anymore.

  Which is why it’s good that I closed the door on kissing the other night and suffered through hours of studying Civics, smelling her hair close by, enduring the clear view I had of her legs in those tiny short pajama shorts and pretending like it wasn’t doing things to me.

  I stop in the doorway of the small rink, and soon Haley and her blond ponytail are in my line of sight. My gaze travels the length of her, from the bright-white figure skates to her form-fitting sweatpants, all the way up to the wide smile on her face. I almost return the smile but then realize it’s not directed at me. There’s a kid beside her. A little girl maybe nine or ten with messy brown hair, an oversize Otter hockey jersey, and a hole in the knee of her green sweatpants.

  “Last time, Maddie,” another familiar voice says.