by Julie Cross
I’d suggested something along those lines last night when we exchanged phone numbers. Though I kind of made it up in the moment. Maybe if I can help her with this, last night’s idea won’t seem so far-fetched.
“Ty’s in charge of the clinic. We should ask him.” I glance around. He’s gathering cones on the ice. I wave him over, and by the time he reaches us, Claire’s got a tiny notebook and pen out. “Claire wanted to know about the winter clinic, if you’ve got food lined up—”
“We can do kid food,” Claire says, taking over. “Chicken fingers and fries. Or if you think a healthier option might impress the moms, we can do pasta and veggie trays…”
Ty hesitates before saying, “I did give Gale’s Hoagies a maybe, but she doesn’t serve at all, just drops stuff off, so if you could—”
“Definitely,” Claire says right away. “We’ll do everything. Let you focus on the hockey.”
They continue to hash out details, Claire scribbling furiously in her notebook. I head for the locker room because I’m in need of a shower, but I catch Claire mouth a thank-you to me. I’m smiling down at my skates like an idiot when someone shoves me from behind.
“Nice one, Tanley,” Red says, loud enough for Claire to hear. Her eyes widen but she keeps up the conversation with Ty.
“Not a bad pick for a rebound girl,” Red says, once we’re inside the locker room.
Wait…what?
“Don’t know who you’re talking about.” I peel off my jersey and then get to work on unlacing my skates. My glove hand is cramped and throbbing.
“Really?” Red challenges. “Stewart says he saw you two coming out of that apartment, looking a little flushed…”
My mouth falls open. “What?”
“You saw him last night?” Jamie says to Stewart. “Right before you picked us up? Were you smokin’ up in the parking lot again?”
His truck had arrived with suspicious timing.
“Come on,” Stewart says to Red, completely ignoring Jamie’s accusations. “It couldn’t have been what it looked like. A few minutes ago, Tanley missed an easy shot ’cause he was watching Claire walk ten paces fully clothed.”
“Claire O’Connor…” Frankie, a senior defender, says. “I always thought she was kinda weird. Or maybe it’s just the theater people she hung out with. Those guys are weird as hell.”
“She’s smart, too,” Owen Jensen says. “Freshman year I cheated off her in civics all the time. Best grade I’ve gotten so far in high school.”
“She’s only been back for a couple of days,” I say, needing to put an end to this conversation. These guys don’t have the right to suddenly take notice of Claire when I’ve seen her, admired her for years. “I went up there to help her carry boxes of toilet paper.”
“So you did go up there,” Red says at the same time Stewart says, “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
I can feel all eyes on me. I toss a skate into my bag. “It wasn’t like that.” I look up to make sure they heard me, then stand to my full height, fists clenched at my sides. “I’m serious.”
“Sheriff took our keys, then we froze our asses off walking home, so we stopped at O’Connor’s for food. Then Tanley, Jamie, and I helped carry boxes down from upstairs before Stewart swung by and picked us up,” Leo says. He’s looking right at me, shaking his head, doing his responsible captain duties to keep any fighting directed at other players, like from other teams. But I can practically hear his thoughts right now: I told you, man. This shit’s fucking complicated.
“You guys got a ride?” Red throws his smelly jersey at Leo. “Fuck that! Me and Hammond walked home through the woods. I swear some critter bit me on the ankle.”
“A twig.” Jake rolls his eyes. “It was a goddamned twig.”
Stewart clanks his stick against the locker, drawing attention his way. “Why don’t you get Tanley’s new daddy to check it out? He’s a certified critter-bite professional.”
I open my mouth to say something to him, but Leo grabs the back of my undershirt and steers me toward the showers, away from our benches and lockers. “Ignore him.”
“They know we didn’t… I mean, we really were carrying boxes,” I say to Leo when we’re in the shower area. “What the hell is the big deal? Jesus.”
“It’s something different,” Leo rationalizes. “Claire’s more interesting now. She’s, like, an outsider, being away and all.”
Claire’s always been interesting to me. But I keep that to myself, knowing how Leo feels about the subject.
I change quickly, ahead of Leo, my ride, and then I duck into an alcove on the far side of the rink beneath the bleachers. I pull up Mike’s number on my phone, glance around once more, then hit call.
He answers on the first ring.
“Mike, hey…” I exhale. “Are you okay, man?”
The two seconds of silence nearly kill me. “Yeah, T. I’m sorry.”
Sorry for leaving or sorry for not coming back?
“Hey, you’ll be fine,” he adds, giving me my answer. He’s not coming back.
I sink down on the ground, leaning my back against the wall. This is it. I could try and persuade him, but what kind of asshole would do that? He’s got real shit to deal with and, well…I’m just chicken shit.
“Yeah… No, you’re right. It’ll be fine,” I spit out. “I got this, no problem.”
We hang up a minute later and I stay there for a while, staring at my phone, finally letting it sink in.
I’m goalie this season. Me. I’m it. Time to fucking grow into my jersey.
Chapter 8
–Tate–
When I get home from practice, I notice a familiar car in the driveway. A tan Honda Accord.
Haley.
I quietly inch my way toward the garage where my snowmobile is waiting. But before I can hop on, Mom pokes her head out the front door and spots me. “Tate, get in here.”
I glance between her and the garage, debating a rebellious runaway. But Mom narrows her eyes and, with a sigh, I head into the kitchen. It’s bad enough that I have to see Haley at school. Why does she have to be at my freaking house on a Saturday?
Haley’s standing in my kitchen decked out in a poufy, long white formal dress that looks vaguely familiar.
I glare at Mom. “Thanks for the warning.”
My mom rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of guilt on her face. Good.
“Are you sure Jody won’t mind?” Haley says to my mom.
Okay, so maybe that’s why she wanted to talk to me yesterday. She’s wearing my sister’s dress even though we broke up. Jesus Christ, she made it sound like a matter of national security.
“Of course not, honey. When is she gonna use it again?” my mom says.
This was Jody’s dress when she was nominated for Juniper Falls Princess—yes, we have royalty in small-town Minnesota—a town-wide tradition in its hundred and something year. Every November the Juniper Falls Women’s League chooses six members of the JFH junior class—four girls, four guys—to be part of the court. The Prince and Princess are announced at the town New Year’s Eve ball. Its sounds silly—kind of is to me—but it’s a huge deal around here. And it’s all Haley has talked about since near the end of sophomore year.
Both Mom and Haley are staring at me like they’ve been waiting forever for me to come home. Haley and her big brown eyes and blond hair. Haley, who couldn’t be with me anymore unless I became “more committed to her goals.”
“What?” I snap.
“Keep your voice down,” Mom warns me. “Olivia’s asleep on the couch.”
“We were just…um…discussing what color tie you’re going to wear for the ball.” Haley lowers her voice and adjusts the top of the strapless dress, forcing me to glance at her boobs. “I’m thinking about pink shoes, you know, ’cause we’re supposed to have a splash of matching colors, but only if you’re okay with wearing a pink tie.”
Wait…what? My brain is moving at high speed, tryi
ng to catch up. “Why would my tie need to match your shoes for a dance I’m not even going to?”
I hadn’t actually thought about bailing on the ball—I’ve gone every year for my entire life—but it sounded like a great way to regain control of this situation. Because clearly people are making plans without asking me.
“You have to go,” Mom says. “The hockey team is required to attend.”
Damn. She’s right. Varsity players have to go. “Well, I’m not required to attend with a date.”
And Tate Tanley blocks another shot.
Haley looks like someone just slapped her. “But you can’t… You have to—”
“Excuse us for a minute,” I tell Mom.
Haley stumbles on the hem of Jody’s dress when I tug her across the kitchen and into my bedroom, closing the door behind us. “What the hell are you doing?”
She’s all wide-eyed and confused. “Your mom offered to loan me this dress a while back, and you know my parents can’t afford a new dress for every event.”
How are we supposed to have a real breakup when this fucking town is so small we can’t get away from each other?
“This”—I gesture a finger between her and me—“is not happening. I’m not gonna show up at some big town event wearing matching colors and smiling like we can actually stand each other.”
“I thought we would be over this by now. You know how much I need to win Juniper Princess. I need the scholarship and the letters of recommendation—”
“What’s wrong with taking your new boyfriend?” I thought that was what she’d been trying to tell me with all the texting and the “we need to talk about New Year’s Eve” messages.
“He’s not my boyfriend and he’s not a junior. He won’t be nominated.” She moves closer and rests her hands on my arms. “Besides, you know a varsity hockey player has won Prince for the last fifty-something years.”
So she doesn’t just want a date for the dance, she wants a court member for a date.
I remove her hands from my arms and step back. “I’m not in the running for Juniper Prince.”
Haley rolls her eyes, like I’m a huge idiot. “Your dad is Keith Tanley, both your parents were Prince and Princess together, and you’ve just taken Mike Steller’s spot as goalie. You’re a shoo-in.”
I look her over carefully—there is no doubt that Haley Stevenson is one of the hottest girls in our school. But all I want right now, all I’ve wanted for way too many months, is to see that freshman girl I kissed for the first time in the periodical section of the school library during study hall. That girl would have spent New Year’s Eve day with me playing pond hockey or Minecraft, throwing on any random dress right before the ball. She used to be fun. We used to have fun. I don’t really want to go back to us being dorky freshmen with braces, but I can’t go forward with this version of Haley, either. I can’t talk to her about things that matter. It’s just too different now.
“I’m not going with you,” I say so firmly she flinches. “Here’s what will happen if you don’t secure another date: I’ll be home faking the flu and forging a doctor’s note for Coach Bakowski. Hell, I’ll figure out how to give myself the flu for real if I have to.”
Her expression turns into a scowl, and her voice rises loud enough that I’m sure the entire house can hear her. “I can’t believe I gave you my virginity!”
She flings open the bedroom door, the tears already forming at the corners of her eyes.
“It goes both ways.”
“That is so not the same thing!” She’s full-out crying now, sniffling and walking toward the kitchen with me trailing behind her. “You know how important Juniper Princess is to me! I never thought you could be so vindictive, Tate.”
“Vindictive? You dumped me and now you’re trying to fake date me so you can win a stupid town contest. That’s messed up, Haley.” I brace myself for the backlash.
Haley’s near the kitchen door now, still wearing my sister’s dress. She spins around to face me. “You think you’re so much better than everyone. You’re above all the bullshit. That’s just great. You keep it up and we’ll see how that works out for you!”
I shake my head in disgust. “Screw you.”
“Tate Tanley!” I hear my mom shout from the living room. I probably went about five steps too far just now. But I’m too furious to care. I feel like we both showed our true colors for the first time since breaking up.
I needed that. I needed to be sure. Because underneath the anger I had for her, some part of me still missed her, wanted her back. I almost told her that moments ago. That if we could go back to normal, I’d be with her again.
Not wanting to face my mom’s wrath, I head out the door and into the garage. My snowmobile takes a few tries to get started, but soon enough, I’m flying through my backyard and then the neighbors’, leaving tracks behind.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it for now. It’s probably Mom. I’m sure she’s pissed. She likes the idea of Haley and me so much that she’s not willing to listen to my side. Just fix it, Tate. Just make it work. She’s such a sweet girl.
I head straight for the woods once I’m far enough away from my house. My mom would kill me if she knew I was going this fast around all the trees. She’d lecture me about the head injuries she’s treated in the ER.
By the time I’m calm enough to think straight and to slow down a little, my hands and face are frozen solid. I emerge from the woods, just a couple tenths of a mile from the main part of town. I hop off the snowmobile and head over to James Street on foot.
A few minutes later, I walk through the door of O’Connor’s Tavern and glance around for Claire. It’s much quieter than last night but not completely dead. Mrs. O’Connor is behind the bar today. She spots me and grins so widely I have to glance over my shoulder and check to see if there’s anyone else.
“She’s not here,” Mrs. O’Connor says. “I sent her home to play chess with her father.”
How does she know I’m looking for Claire? “Um, okay, well, thanks… I’ll just, you know, come back later.”
I’m already turned around when she calls out, her voice muffled. “Tate?”
“Yeah—I mean, yes?” I spin in place, and Claire’s mom is now ducked behind the bar.
“Do you know anything about sink drains?”
“Sink drains,” I repeat, glancing at the door again.
A handful of random tools gets dumped onto the bar counter. “It looks like I can just open this pipe thing with a screwdriver and pull out whatever is clogging it…”
“Hold up…” I rush over and walk behind the bar. I pluck the screwdriver from her hand. “Probably better if we don’t flood the place.”
She rights herself, standing up straight and brushing hair from her face. “I like how you think.”
I focus on the sink—or I mean to at least—but then I’m looking at the beer taps and thinking about Davin O’Connor keeping me busy while my dad got drunk and watched the Vikings play.
“I worked on this last year,” I mumble after I’ve successfully opened up the pipe, and Claire’s mom raises an eyebrow. “With Davin. The beer taps.”
She gives me a long look and nods. “He’ll be glad to hear I got an expert to help.”
“At least I know where to hide out if the game goes badly next weekend,” I say, only half joking.
She laughs. “Always. We don’t judge at O’Connor’s. Winners and losers welcome,” she recites from the sign on the door.
I wonder if Mike would be welcome. I wonder if he can show his face anywhere in town without harassment or the cold shoulder.
As if reading my mind, Claire’s mom says, “How are you holding up after last night’s game?”
I nod. “Okay. It’s a great opportunity. Playing in Mike’s spot.” God, I sound like a phony.
She gives me a long look, searching like moms do when they already know you’ve broken something and are waiting for you to turn yourself in. “I hea
rd you helped us book the catering for the hockey clinic next month?”
“That was all Claire’s idea. I just pointed a finger at the person in charge.” I’m not being humble. It’s the truth. I literally pointed a finger at Ty. “But if you’re looking for more stuff like that, I can put in a good word if I hear anything.” Okay, now I sound desperate. “The cheerleaders plan all our pregame dinners; definitely talk to them because they get pizza literally every other game and the guys are always complaining…”
I stop. I don’t want to make the team sound like ungrateful assholes—though some of us are.
Mrs. O’Connor looks surprised by this information. “I will most definitely check with the cheerleaders. Thanks for the tip, Tate. O’Connor’s is always dead right before a game anyway.”
“That’s what Claire said.” I return to fixing the sink, pleased that I could help again.
Right when I’m about to pack up the tools for Claire’s mom, we hear a loud thump above our heads. Mrs. O’Connor grins and points a finger at the ceiling. “Looks like someone got bored with chess and went looking for a keyboard buried in the unfinished storage space.”
She got all that from a thump in the ceiling?
But I’m not too stupid to miss the hint. I make my excuse to leave, and even though I curse myself for doing it, I check around outside to make sure no one sees me walking up the steps. That was hell in the locker room today. Don’t need any more of that shit. I’m about to knock on the door, but the music coming from inside stops me.
Claire. Singing. Playing the keyboard. Loud, perfect, beautiful. And suddenly I’m eleven years old again, standing in my backyard on New Year’s Eve listening to Claire belt out a ballad in a way that was both effortless and careless. That year I made a silent wish, one I’d kept secret. I wished for her. Just Claire. All of her. Red hair and pink cheeks and long, thin legs like a graceful spider.
My hand falls to my side. Instead of knocking, I lean my ear against the door, close my eyes, and listen.