Jorge laughs so hard he has to lean over to catch his breath. “I think he just meant to get a feel for the weight of the puck. Move it around a bit with the stick, try to move it down the alley without losing control. Using a golf ball for target practice will kill someone.” He’s almost hyperventilating. “If you’re out here practicing with golf balls, of all things, you must have it bad.”
I sigh and start picking up the evidence. “It’s that obvious?”
“Afraid so.” He walks back to the building, but he pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “But what I want to know, is it the game or the guy?”
Leave it to Jorge to cut straight to the heart of the matter.
I think about Jake walking next to me on our walk home last week. How it feels when he calls my name. And how my whole arm tingled for ten minutes after he touched me the other day.
“I’m not sure,” I say under my breath, but it doesn’t matter because I’m talking to the door. I turn and stare at a dozen golf balls littering the alley. I shake my head. What an idiot I am.
Two minutes later, Jorge returns with six plastic soda cups. Silently, he lines them up in a straight line between me and the wall. He looks at me for a second and pretends to zip his lips. Without saying a word, he strolls back inside.
I look at my watch. The dinner rush—what there will be of it—won’t be in for another hour.
What the hell, I might as well give it a shot.
Ten minutes later, I’m getting a feel for moving the balls through the obstacle course of cups. Shifting the stick from side to side, keeping the ball on my stick and keeping my feet moving toward the wall. I try to envision being on ice. Opponents speed toward me, and Jake passes me the puck. I flick the stick and shoot the imaginary puck.
“She scores!”
I close my eyes and picture Jake carrying me around the rink to the sounds of a cheering crowd. Before my vision ends, the crowd disappears and we’re slow dancing on the ice. He’s leaning toward me …
“Penelope,” Jorge calls from the open door, snapping me out of my daydream. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy, and I realize I’m leaning against the wall, staring into space. “You need to come in and work the counter. It’s getting busy.”
As I follow Jorge into the building, I’m glad he doesn’t ask me the question again, because I don’t know the answer.
The game or the guy?
Chapter Twelve
I pick a seat in the back of math class and hope Mr. Ford won’t call on me. Before class starts, I put my head down and replay yesterday in my head. Between practice and work and homework, there hasn’t been much time for sleep.
Jake’s flying down the ice. A spotlight shines on him the whole way, and there’s no one else even close to him. The way he leans over the stick when he skates. The way he cheers when anyone on the team does something good. The way his eyes light up when I hit the net. All of those things make me want to be at the rink.
All. The. Time.
I want to be the one to make him light up like that again. And again.
Caroline Chapman shifts in her seat in front of me and jostles my desk; I sit up with a jolt. The motion jogs my memory and that horrible moment in the sixth grade kicks me in the shins. The look on Jake’s face when I turned around and saw my ponytail swinging in his fist. He just grinned when he’d held up my hair for everyone in the class to see. The whole class laughed. And it feels like I’m right back there again.
He’s changed though, right? He’s not the same immature boy.
Something has gotten under my skin like a virus. I think about what Jorge said and I’m still not sure if it’s hockey or Jake.
I doodle his name in the margins of my notebook. Warren strolls by and as he passes my desk, he looks down at my paper.
“Jake Gomes?” He points at my doodling. “What the hell, Spaulding. You’ve got a crush on the delinquent?” He covers his mouth with his hand in mock surprise at the expression on my face. “You didn’t know he did time in juvie back in the eighth grade?”
People near us stare, and I feel the blood rush to my head as I clench my fist around my pencil. “You’re a liar.”
As he slides into the seat behind me, he leans forward and whispers so the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “I bet your parents would be interested to know you’re playing hockey with a criminal.”
Dad knows Jake isn’t a delinquent or he wouldn’t have let him walk me home. And Grams talked to his mother the other day. There’s no way he’s a criminal. But Warren cannot talk to my parents about anything related to hockey. I turn around and give him my best see-if-I-care attitude. “Go ahead, it’s not like I’m trying to hide anything from them.”
Mr. Ford looks over with a finger covering his lips, the universal sign for “no talking.”
For a second I think my bluff works. Warren just shrugs. “So then I guess you won’t mind if I tell Troy Depalma about the Pizza Princess hockey phenom when he starts filming for Local Flavor next week.”
My blood runs cold. “What?”
“Oh, didn’t you know? Troy’s producer showed up during practice last night and asked everyone to be on the show about your restaurant. A bunch of us have appointments to talk to him about the town and how much we love your dad’s pizza.” He taps his desk with his pencil. “I’ll have to think about what I’m going to say.”
I stare at the board and pretend I’m focused on Mr. Ford’s lesson about algorithms. I make a quick calculation about how fast Warren can ruin my life.
“What about your uncle?”
He shrugs. “My uncle’s pizza sucks.”
“What do you want?” I can’t believe I’m considering giving in to his blackmail.
“Free pizza for me and all my friends would be a good place to start.”
My stomach turns at the thought of Warren and his pals. “Wouldn’t your uncle be mad if you’re eating at Slice?”
“And …” He pauses, like there’s a thought that’s just out of reach.
I realize he’s not done yet and I close my eyes waiting for the guillotine.
Hunter Tilton, who has been listening to the whole exchange with a huge smirk on his face pipes up. “Ha. Tim won’t let him eat free pizza anymore. He fired him for using the delivery truck without permission.”
“Shut up, Tilton.” He snaps his fingers and whispers. “A date.”
I’m staring at him, waiting for the punch line.
He’s serious.
Warren leans forward again. “So, Spaulding. What do you say?”
I want to say, Gross. Not in this or any lifetime. But my parents cannot find out I’m playing hockey from a cretin like Warren, so I nod my agreement.
Jake’s going to be irritated. But he’ll have to understand. “Free pizza. And one date. Only one. In exchange for your silence about me playing hockey with Jake and the Rink Rats.”
I cannot believe I’m caving to blackmail.
“Fine,” Warren hisses. “But you can’t tell anyone why you’re going out with me. I need to make Ashley jealous, so no one can know this isn’t for real.”
I glance at Hunter, who draws his finger across his lips with an imaginary zipper.
“Miss Spaulding, one more word and its detention. You too, Mr. McNeill.” Ford weighs in a minute too late to save me.
Figures.
Warren keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the class, but at the end, he says in a loud voice that everyone in the class hears, “Can’t wait for our date, Penelope.”
I put my head down on the desk until Mr. Ford comes over. I think maybe he’s going to comfort me, say something wise and perhaps parental, but he just says, “Next class is about to start Miss Spaulding, you’ve got to move along.”
It won’t be that bad, or at least that’s what I tell myself. But as soon as I see Jake, he’s frowning like he just found out he’s got detention for a month. News travels fast when Caroline Chapman is in your class.
“What’s up?” I’m playing it cool, hoping he’s just in a bad mood, but I know it’s more than that. Since I’ve been on the team, Jake has never not smiled at me like I am the only girl in the room.
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong. I just found out this friend of mine agreed to go out with my arch nemesis.” He’s leaning against Caroline’s locker while I open mine to stash my books.
Instead of feeling guilty, I’m pissed. “What are you, a superhero? Arch nemesis?” I throw my books into the locker and slam the door. “Who has an arch nemesis?”
“What the hell, Spaulding?” He pounds the locker with his fist. “You’re not seriously going out with McNeill.”
“You never call me Spaulding,” I say softly. My heart pounds in my chest as I stare at him openmouthed. I knew he’d be mad, but I sort of thought maybe a playful mad. Or maybe he’d ask me to explain. I didn’t expect ice-cold rage.
He scowls at me and I’m reminded of Jake’s reputation. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Are you serious? Last time I checked I didn’t need your permission to go out with someone.” I narrow my eyes. I can do mad just as well as he can. “And besides, why do you care?”
“If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.” He turns on his heel and walks away.
“That’s the stupidest answer ever,” I yell after him. “Don’t be an ass, Jake. You have no idea how important this is!” I turn into my locker, at least glad that he doesn’t see me crying.
Lori kicks me under the table during study hall as I wipe my eyes. “Look on the bright side,” she says. “At least you’re not wearing makeup.”
Which makes me cry even harder. If even your best friend doesn’t realize you’re wearing makeup, you’re clearly doing it wrong. I make a mental note to get Jules to show me again.
“You, know, it’s sort of funny, actually,” she says, not missing a beat. “You said ‘yes’ to Warren so he wouldn’t tell your parents about Jake, but because you said ‘yes’ to Warren there won’t be a Jake to tell your parents about. It’s kind of like a warped version of ‘The Gift of the Magi.’”
“This isn’t the same thing at all.” I put my head down on the table.
We had both enjoyed the short story we read in English about a couple who each gave up something they loved so they could buy the other a Christmas present. “That was so romantic. This is just … sad.” I crumple up the math worksheet on the table in front of me. “I really thought there might be something between me and Jake, but I’ve totally screwed it up.”
“You don’t owe Warren anything. Just ditch him,” Lori says, practical as ever. It sounds so easy when she says it. “Or on the other hand, I’m pretty sure Jake will understand if you sit him down and explain it. He might even realize you did it for the team.” She smooths the math homework back out and hands it to me; she knows I’ll need it.
“I can’t.” I pick up my pencil and chew on the end. “It’s more than that. I can’t let Warren …”
“Can’t let Warren what?” she says.
“Let’s just say I don’t have a choice.”
“You’ve always got a choice,” she mutters under her breath, but she knows I won’t change my mind, so she changes the topic. “Warren is a cretin. Don’t ever be alone with him, and make sure you don’t drink anything he gives you.” She looks at me sideways. “I’ve heard stories.”
I close my eyes and put my head down on the desk again. “That fills me with confidence.”
“Text me if you get into any trouble,” Lori says. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“You guys did great out there; you’re really starting to come together!” The assistant coach shrugs as he looks at Coach Walsh. “What? No one fell today.”
We’re sitting in the locker room after our fourth loss since I started with the team. A few of the guys have already taken off their shirts, so I’m looking at the floor trying incredibly hard not to make eye contact. Jake is sitting as far away from me as possible. He hasn’t talked to me all day. Good thing I’m not talking to him either. It makes things very convenient.
I hate these post-practice pep talks; I just want to strip down and shower. And so does everyone else, but now that there’s a girl on their team, they’ve got to wait until I head to my own locker room.
“Before we hit the showers, I’ve got some bad news, team.” Coach pales like he’s seen a ghost.
“I should have told you this yesterday, but I didn’t want to affect today’s game.” A few of the guys chuckle. Losing was losing, even if it was only one point instead of nine. Coach takes a huge breath. “Tim Fallen called me last night.” We all look blankly at him. “You know, Tim. Tim’s House of Pizza?” Light dawns as we all look at the sponsor’s name silkscreened across the front of our jerseys.
“He’s pulling his sponsorship.” Coach glances at me, which is weird.
A couple guys cheer.
“Does that mean we don’t have to pretend to like his pizza anymore?” someone yells from the back.
“You don’t understand.” Coach closes his eyes and sighs. “This game costs money.”
“I bet he didn’t like it that the Pizza Princess is on the team now,” says Johnson. “I knew it was a bad idea.”
Wait, Tim pulling the sponsorship is my fault?
“Thompson practically lets us practice here for free, but …” Coach glares at Johnson in the back of the room. “Unless we have a sponsor, the league won’t let us compete.” He pauses. “And I don’t think any of you have a couple hundred extra bucks lying around every week to pitch in for the buses to away games.” Coach falls onto the nearest bench. I’ve never seen him sit down in the locker room. “If anyone knows of a local business that might be able to sponsor us, now would be the time to share that information.”
The room goes quiet for a few minutes as the news sinks like a rock in our midst. No sponsor and we can’t compete. No sponsor and we can’t even practice because we can’t afford the ice time. Jimmy Flores, who never says anything, opens his mouth. “What about Penelope’s family? We all love their pizza.” He looks shyly at me and smiles.
Suddenly the room is buzzing with excitement. “Great idea, Flores,” a few of the guys yell. They’re all chanting my name. My heart pounds. I think I might hyperventilate.
Carter hoots and pats me on the back, almost knocking me off the bench. “Slice would look much better on the jerseys than Tim’s House of Pizza—it’s shorter, too.”
“Okay, let’s not put Penelope on the spot.” Coach stands up. “Hit the showers.” He gestures to the wall behind him and the guys start to move.
Jake salutes as he passes me heading to the shower. At least it’s contact. It’s not the same as an energetic hug, but I’ll take it. I’ve thought all afternoon about how to tell him what really happened with Warren, but it all sounds stupid in my head. And it would mean coming clean to him about lying to my parents, which I’m not ready to do yet.
I stand up and slink toward the door. Everything is going wrong and it’s my fault and I don’t have any idea how to fix it.
For a minute I think Coach understands the expression on my face and interprets without asking that there’s no way I can help.
No such luck.
As I leave the locker room, he follows me into the hallway. I hope he’s on his way to the office, and not about to ask me about my parents’ possible sponsorship. I just want to be alone. I’m going to have to quit, because there’s no way I can ask my parents to sponsor us. If I’m not on the team, they might consider a request from the Coach, Dad’s former teammate.
“What do you think, Spaulding?” He’s standing with his hands on his hips, trying to look casual, but I know Coach well enough now to know this is his nervous posture.
“Um. I don’t think so. Dad’s pretty busy with the television show. Is there a plan B?”
Please let there be a plan B.
“I’ve called in a few favors, and I haven�
�t had any takers yet.” He crosses his arms, and looks down at his shoes. “No one’s really interested in sponsoring a losing team.”
My hands start to sweat. “Do any of the other parents own businesses?”
“You know these guys, Penelope. None of these kids is from a family with any money. That’s why they’re here.” He pats me on the shoulder. “You know what? This isn’t fair of me to put this on your shoulders. I’ll call Adam myself.” He starts to walk away.
“Oh no, don’t call him! He’s busy.” Before I can stop the words from coming out of my mouth, I’m lying to the coach along with everyone else. “Don’t worry. I don’t even have to ask, I know he’ll sponsor the team. My parents are so happy to see how much I’m enjoying the experience. How much money does sponsorship usually cost for the season? He’ll want to know that.”
Coach looks like he’s about to hug me. “Tim gave us three grand a year. It covers ice time, the jerseys, officials, and buses to away games.”
Losing the sponsorship was my fault. And it suddenly hits me that I can help. I swallow hard and make a decision, staring into his ecstatic face. “You got it, Coach. Tell the team, they’ve got their sponsor. I’ll fix everything with my dad.”
Three thousand dollars. It’s all the money in my emergency-if-my-dad-cuts-me-off fund. Four years of saving tips and it’s gone in a heartbeat. And all I can think about is that I’ve dodged another bullet.
Then Coach does hug me. Which would be weird enough in my street clothes. In my sweaty gear, it’s bordering on winning the prize for memories-I’m-mostly-likely-to-repress. I’m trying not to actually make physical contact, but it’s too late. He pats my back. “Thank you, Penelope.” He might be crying, but I’m not sure. “The team is going to be thrilled.”
It feels so good to make him this happy.
“Just one thing, Coach. Dad doesn’t really like the spotlight, you know, so if you could just not mention it when you see him?” He looks at me funny and I realize, considering the abundance of advertising Dad does, this doesn’t really make sense but I press on. “It’s sort of a superstitious thing. He doesn’t like to be recognized for his philanthropy.” As soon as I say it that way, his face clears up.
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