by Sarah Ockler
“Happy New Year,” he says when I finally answer. His voice is soft and deep, muffled like he’s lying in bed and just on the edge of sleep.
“Hey! I missed you at—well, I thought you guys might show up at Amir’s.”
“You … guys?”
“You and … whoever.” Brilliant, Hudson. “What are you up to tonight, anyway?”
“I’m home with your ex-boyfriend, Dick. He says hi, even though you broke his heart tonight.”
I laugh. “He never really loved me, anyway.”
“Hey, no judgments here, Avery. You still partying it up?”
I peel a renegade maxi pad from my knee and stuff it in the trash with the others. “Oh, it’s a party, all right. I was home by one thirty. Does that make me totally old?”
“Not yet. But if you start eating dinner at four and watching Golden Girls, time to worry. Anyway, you near a computer? PBS is streaming the Addicts.”
“No way!” I sit at the kitchen desk and pull up the site. “Live?”
“It’s a replay of their tenth anniversary tour,” Josh says. “Some little club in Denver. They’re about to do your song—they were talking about it after the last set.”
I turn the speakers on low just in time for the opening chords of “Bittersweet.” It’s kind of a sad song, slow and mellow and haunted, none of that everything’s-gonna-be-all-right fairy dust crap they play on the radio these days, and that’s exactly what I like about it. It tells the truth. Sometimes life rocks so hard your heart wants to explode just because the sun came up and you got to feel it on your face for one more day. Sometimes you get the bitter end instead. Life is as gray and desolate as winter on the lakeshore, and there’s no way around it, no cure, no escape.
It was always my favorite skating song because it reminded me of the competition itself, how nothing comes without a price, and when you make sacrifices to get what you want, sometimes you screw up and pick the wrong thing.
But once in a while, you pick the right thing, the exact best thing. Every day, the moment you open your eyes and pull off your blankets, that’s what you hope for. The sunshine on your face, warm enough to make your heart sing.
Right now, quiet on the phone with Josh and the Addicts while the kitchen clock ticks softly and my brother sleeps on the couch behind his tower of plastic blocks, I know that this is one of those moments.
Those exact best things.
And then my e-mail notifier pings me with a new message, and the song fades out, and the sun disappears.
It’s an update from my father’s blog.
Watch out, Olympics! the subject says. Here she comes!
“Thanks for calling,” I whisper into the phone, not trusting my voice to come out right. “I should go. Happy New Year, Josh.” I hang up without waiting for a reply and, against every screaming warning in my head, click on the link.
Chapter Sixteen
Lights, Camera, Cupcakes!
Chocolate Coca-Cola cupcakes with vanilla buttercream icing topped with buttered popcorn, peanuts, Raisinettes, and M&M’s
Two days into the new year, I’m back at Hurley’s for the pre-open cupcake shift, hands speckled with exploded chocolate goo, frosting clumped in my hair, and a killer stomachache.
“Hudson, what happened?” Dani asks. We haven’t spoken since our argument right after Christmas, but now she’s staring at me across the flour-covered prep counter with genuine concern. “Say something.”
I toss a spoon into a bowl of useless, runny batter, my own personal comfort food. I probably have salmonella now. “My father.”
Dani frowns. “Another e-mail?”
“A blog. A special one for New Year’s.” The words flash through my head. You should’ve seen my beauty out there on the ice!
Dani sighs and clears a few crusty bowls from the counter. “Wanna tell me about it?”
I close my eyes. At the other end of the kitchen, the big coffeemaker hisses, and I see the words again. Watch out, Olympics! Here she comes! Skiing, sledding, snowshoeing, snowman making, snowball fighting … of all the s-named winter activities my father could’ve offered his blushing she-Elvis, he picked the one that was supposed to be ours. The very last thing we had together. The thing that no one else could touch—not even my mother. Maybe I turned my back on the rink three years ago, but it wasn’t to go skate with another father.
“He took Shelvis ice-skating,” I say.
A metal bowl hits the sink with a clang. “That jackass! Sorry, but it has to be said.” She slams the faucet on, waits until the water gets hot, then soaks a clean dishrag. “Listen, I know it sucks, but you can’t let him get to you like this. He’s not even here, and he hardly ever talks to you, and—”
“Oh, he talks to me. Always has time to remind me how happy he is without us.”
“Hudson …” Her voice is soft, just a whisper over my shoulder. The light changes; she’s standing right next to me now, so close I can smell her coconut lotion. I close my eyes as her hand squeezes my shoulder, the warmth of it comforting and familiar.
Dani attacks the counter with the rag and I take a deep breath and count silently to ten.
Despite the fact that my baking space is a complete wreck, now that Dani’s here and we’re getting along a little better, the day ahead doesn’t seem so bleak. She’s right—I can’t keep letting him do this to me. I already spent yesterday locked in my bedroom, crying over my father’s stupid blog, wasting my whole day off. Why? He has his own life now, a different life, and just because he tells the world whenever his girlfriend learns a new trick, that doesn’t mean I need to read about it. In fact, as soon as I get home, I’m unsubscribing from his stupid blog.
But then I might never hear anything from him….
“No. You know what? You’re right. Screw him.” I push out from the counter and march over to the coffeepot, ready for a fresh cup. “If anything, it just makes me want to nail that scholarship even more.” I cross back to the counter and sip my coffee, slightly burnt but nice and hot. “Anyway, enough of my lame family drama. How was Canada?”
“But …” Dani reaches for my hands across the counter, but she knows me well enough to realize the Dad conversation is over. “Fine. Canada was … it was okay. We got to dress up, take lots of pictures. Dad’s ensemble brought the house down.”
“Not surprised. Your dad blows. A mean trumpet, that is! Har!”
Dani laughs, and the tension between us melts a little more. “Never heard that one before, thanks.” She dries my big silver bowl and sets it back on the counter. “The city itself is pretty cool, too. They have a really rich history, and lots of culture, and—”
“You applying for citizenship?”
She smiles. “I’d make a kick-ass Canadienne.”
“As long as you don’t show me up in front of Madame Fromme with your new French accent.”
“That’s Quebec, not Toronto. N’est-ce pas?”
“N’est-ce whatever. Ferme ta bouche.”
“Ferme your bouche.” She laughs again. “So … did you get to have your date with Will?”
“Not really.” I wipe off the mixer base and change out the beaters for a fresh pair. “I snuck over to the party for a little while, but I couldn’t stay long.”
Dani sets a stack of napkins and a silverware bin on the counter. “Are you, like, hanging out with him now? Officially?”
“I … guess.” I shrug. “He kissed me at midnight. That’s something, right?” I laugh. “When I left, he totally brushed snow off my truck.”
“All that, just for a kiss? Damn.” She smirks and rolls a fork and spoon into a napkin without even looking, starting another set so fast that her hands blur. “Do you like him? I mean, like, like him?”
“I’m … I think … yeah. I do. Maybe.” I crack two eggs into a bowl and flip on the mixer. Dani narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t press the Will thing.
“Well,” she says over the mixer, “what about Frankie and those guys? Wh
o all was there?”
“Everyone but Josh. All the usual Watonka people, plus, like, ten of Amir’s cousins and a bunch of people from City Honors.”
“Sounds like a good crowd.” She stacks the rolled silverware into a pyramid on her serving tray, not a single napkin corner out of place.
“Yeah. Like I said, I bailed early, so I don’t know how it ended up. Can you pass me that flour sifter?” I nod toward the rack of utensils over the sink and she grabs the one I need.
“Were there a lot of other girls there?” she asks. “Like any of the—”
“Can we not talk about the party right now?” I drop the sifter on the counter, louder than I mean to, and she flinches. “Sorry. I’m just really beat, and Mom wants me to make a bunch of extra Sabres cupcakes, and the birthday group ladies are coming for lunch, and I’m trying to break early so I can work on my routine. The competition is in a month, and I’m not even close.” I turn to grab the heavy cream from the small fridge next to the sink. “My triple/triple looks like a wounded seagull, and that’s supposed to be the best move in my program. Not to mention the fact that I just overdosed on cupcake batter.”
I turn back to the counter, but Dani and the silverware pyramid have vanished, the double doors swinging softly in their wake.
Two hours later Trick’s singing Lou Reed over the half-empty grill, Dani’s slicing oranges for plate garnishes, and I’m hand-icing my twenty-third consecutive blue-and-gold Sabres logo when my phone buzzes with a text from Will:
turn on channel 7—I’m on tv in 5 min!
“Your eyes about fell out of your head just then,” Dani says, not hiding the snark in her tone. “That your new man?”
“He’s not my new—forget it. Would you just come here?” I drag her into Mom’s office and flip on the television. The tail end of an Old Spice commercial fades out and Channel 7 News returns, Will’s old yearbook picture plastered up in the corner behind anchorwoman Marietta Swanson.
“Nice,” Dani says. “Now he’s a TV star, too? That’ll do wonders for his ego.”
“Shhh!” I reach over and raise the volume.
“Speaking of unprecedented comebacks,” Marietta says in her buttery newscaster’s voice, “Watonka High’s own varsity hockey team seems to be turning more than a few heads on the ice this season. After a ten-year losing streak, the Watonka Wolves are on a roll. Don Donaldson caught up with the team’s captain at Bluebird Park this morning to ask about the sudden turn of events. Don?”
The screen cuts to a bench behind the jogging path at the park. Will, sporting the fresh glow of physical exertion, smiles into the camera, Don Donaldson cheesing it up next to him in his bright blue Channel 7 parka.
“Thanks, Marietta,” Don says. “I’m here with Will Harper, Watonka High School student and captain of the Wolves varsity hockey team. Will, your team hit the ice this year with a vengeance, shaking off a record-breaking string of bad luck. What can you tell us about this incredible reversal?”
“Some days I can’t believe it myself,” Will says, amping up that megawatt smile for the viewers back home. “I think the guys have just really come together this year.”
“How do you explain the newfound teamwork?”
“Our secret weapon, of course.”
Don chuckles in that robotic newsman way. “Does this secret weapon have a name?”
“Now, Don, you know I can’t give away all our secrets.” Will cocks his head and winks. I don’t think Don realizes that Will is totally making fun of the whole “cool news guy” vibe.
“But I’ll tell you this much,” Will says. “I’ve been studying new techniques, working out on the ice with the guys, calling extra practices whenever I can. I also try to really motivate everyone, push them harder when they think they can’t do it anymore. We haven’t won every game, but we’re working on it. There’s no secret about a little hard work, Don.”
“No, there certainly isn’t, Will.” Don turns back to the camera and smiles. “Well, there it is, folks. Proof that a little hard work can go a long way, especially here in Watonka, New York. Back to you, Marietta.”
“Sounds like the Sabres could use a guy like Will Harper on the team, huh, Don?” Marietta laughs, co-anchors bubbling around her on cue. “Speaking of hitting the ice with a vengeance, let’s check in with Dusty Martin on traffic and weather. Dusty?”
I click off the television. “Speaking of hitting the ice with a vengeance, I better finish those cupcakes.”
Dani follows me back to the prep counter.
“Let me guess,” she says, keeping her voice out of Mom and Trick range. “You thought he’d give you a public thank-you on TV? Better yet, how about a bouquet of roses!”
“It’s not like that,” I whisper. “Will knows my mother doesn’t know about the Wolves stuff, and neither does the coach. He can’t just out me on television. Besides, he did mention me. He always calls me their secret weapon—it’s, like, our joke … thing … whatever.”
“You know you’re not actually on the team, right?”
“I like him, okay?”
“No, you don’t. You ‘well I’m um I don’t know um I guess yeah maybe’ him.” Dani grabs her citrus knife. “And honestly, Hud? I’m tired of getting blown off just so you two not-lovebirds can make out.”
“That’s not fair,” I say. “I had to stay home with Bug on New Year’s.”
“But you didn’t stay home. You—”
“Yeah, sneaking out to a party in my own neighborhood for two hours is exactly the same thing as sneaking out to Canada.”
Dani taps her knife on the cutting board, nostrils flaring.
“Hey, I don’t want to fight,” I say. “It’s a new year, right? And we still have the rest of the weekend before school starts.”
“You’re right.” She sighs and meets my gaze.
“Sorry I snapped at you earlier,” I say. “And that I’m so wrapped up in this skating thing. It won’t be forever. Do-over?”
She nods and goes back to her fruit, dragging the knife across the rind. Thin orange slices fall into a neat stack on the chopping board in front of her. “You working tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m on breakfast with Nat.”
“Feel like coming over after? We could order pizza, see what’s on cable? My parents keep asking about you.”
“I can’t. Maybe Sunday?” I set my mixing bowls in the sink and turn on the hot water, shoulders heavy with new guilt. “There’s a game tomorrow, and I promised Will—”
“Girls!” Mom twirls into the kitchen from the dining room, smile brighter than I’ve seen it in a long time. “I have news.”
“You found another waitress?” I ask hopefully.
Ignored.
“I ran into an editor from the Buffalo News at the Chamber of Commerce party, and I just got off the phone with him!” Mom presses her hand to her chest, cell phone still clutched in her fingers.
“Ohmygod that’s so amazing I don’t even know what you’re talking about! Yay!” I tighten my apron and pick up a half-iced Sabres cupcake. “If you don’t mind, I have a few more bison and swords to make here, so—”
“Hudson, he recognized me from your cupcake article. Remember?”
Creations zany with Watonka wows queen cupcake: Hot spot local into diner struggling turns talent teen’s. “Couldn’t forget if I tried.”
“They’re doing a feature on regional diners, and I asked him about including Hurley’s. He just confirmed—they’re sending a food critic in a few weeks. We’re in!”
“Well, all right!” Dani gives Mom a high five.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Trick cheers from his post at the grill.
“Okay, okay. That’s pretty freaking cool, Mom.” I set down the cupcake and give her a big squeeze. After the last Buffalo News article, we got tons of new business—enough to carry us through another year. A good review could totally put us back in the black. “When’s he coming?”
“Febru
ary third,” she says. “Plenty of time to whip this place into shape.”
“You got it, Ma.” I smile, bullet narrowly dodged. My event is the first. Dani gives me a subtle elbow to the ribs, but I ignore it.
“This is our year, guys. I can feel it!” Mom offers another round of hugs and dips back into the dining room, the echo of her enthusiasm radiating throughout the kitchen.
“It’s so close to your competition date,” Dani says when Mom and Trick are both out of earshot. “What if she wants to put you on more shifts to get everything ready? What if … I don’t know. Anything could happen. They’re too close together. You should tell her.”
“No way. Why do you think I sneak around just to go to Fillmore and Baylor’s? Skating stuff totally reminds her of my father. She’d freak.”
“That was a long time ago, Hud. Maybe she’d be okay with it now. Maybe things have changed for her, and—”
“They haven’t.” I think back to that night with the bra, the lines in my mother’s face, the way she swept the evidence into the drawer like it didn’t exist. I think of all the fights leading up to that final straw, the arguments about ice time and private tutors and moving and how would they ever afford to keep me in the competition, anyway? I see my father’s suitcases, his empty promises, and my stomach twists, my eyes hot with stored-up, uncried tears. Not just for me and Bug. But for Mom, too.
“Give it a chance.” Dani takes a step closer. “Maybe she’d be excited for you. Maybe—”
“Maybe you should stay out of it. Maybe I don’t want to risk hurting her feelings.”
Dani slams her hand on the counter. “Since when do you care about anyone else’s feelings?”
“Settle down back there, ladies,” Trick says. He twists around and shoots us both a warning look, a cloud of meat-steam rising behind him. The whole effect is quite devilish.
Dani sighs. “But Hudson won’t—”
“Me? You’re the one—”