by Sarah Ockler
“Ah, good point.” Delicately, he sets it back on the shelf next to a row of similarly filled containers, some pink like his and others gray or white. “Help me look through the drawers. We need matches or a lighter or something.”
I rummage through file drawers and cubbies until I find an old Zippo lighter with a World Trade Center emblem, 9-11-2001 etched on the back. Obviously, we’re not the first urban explorers to visit the place since its closure, though I can’t think of anyone who’d willingly hang out here other than Dani, who’d probably shoot a thousand pictures in this creeptastic corner alone.
I wish I could tell her about it.
Josh drags a metal trash can over near an opening in the wall and fills it with paper and dead leaves and any other dry material we can safely identify as not a HOT ACID. He starts the fire easily with the lighter, gray smoke billowing up toward the glassless window frames.
“Nice job, Boy Scout.” I rub my hands over the flames. “If we had a can of beans and a harmonica, we’d rock this joint hobo-style.”
“Pull another stunt like that on the ice and I’ll throw your ass on the next coal train myself. Then you’ll know hobo-style.” He sits on a large, empty worktable. “What were you doing that far out, anyway?”
I stash my backpack under the table and take a seat next to him. “I … don’t know. I was skating on the runoff, then I felt like … like I wanted to go … away. Something was daring me, and I couldn’t get far enough. Crazy, right? It’s like I was trying to skate to Canada.”
The fire reflects in his eyes, and in the soft orange glow of the flames, he looks older. Serious. “Hudson—”
“Thanks for … you know. Out there. What you did.” I shudder when I think about it again, imagining the rescue squad fishing me out, blue and gone. Josh explaining to my mom what happened. That he tried, but couldn’t save me …
The tears creep back into my eyes but I force them away. “Hungry?” I hop off the table and grab my bag. “We can have a two-course lunch, assuming you actually prefer cupcakes and granola bars to insects.”
“It’s an emergency,” he says. “I’ll make do. But can I ask you a question?”
“As long as it’s not about eating bugs.”
Josh slides off the table and finds some more cardboard for the fire, dusting his hands together over the popping flames. “You doing okay? I mean, are you warm enough?” Pop pop pop.
“I’m fine. Still kind of freaked out, but I’m warm.” I resume my place on the table and dig out the goodies. “The fire was a good idea.”
“Good.” He sits next to me and takes a cupcake from the Tupperware balanced on my lap, our legs touching. Pop.
“Yeah.” Pop pop … pop.
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t freezing.”
“I’m okay.” Pop. “It’s comfortable.”
“Good,” he says.
“Not too hot, not too—”
“What’s going on with you and Harper?”
POP!
“Nothing.” I keep my eyes fixed on the flames.
“So you guys are just … hanging out?”
W.W.H.D.? Hester? Any ideas? No?
“Not exactly,” I say. Come on, Hud. Now’s your chance. Tell him. “We’re not … we kind of … it’s not like he was my boyfriend or anything.” I unwrap my cupcake and toss the paper into the fire, wishing I could channel the fearless determination I felt on the ice the moment I heard his voice. The second before the ice cracked and everything changed. “Anyway, what about you? How’s, um, Abby? Angie? What’s her name?”
Oh, Hudson. Your suavity is an example to all.
“Abby?” Josh’s forehead crinkles. “She’s … she’s good.”
“She doesn’t go to Watonka High, right? How did you guys meet?”
“I see you didn’t get the memo.” Josh laughs, and then his face turns serious. He looks at me a moment longer, like he’s trying to decide how to break the girlfriend news, or how much of his secret relationship he wants to reveal.
He takes a deep breath and rubs his head. “Okay, here’s the story. Abby and I go way back. We basically met in the hospital when we were born.”
“You’ve known this girl your entire life? Like, literally?” That’s flat-out no competition right there. Born on the same day, in the same hospital? They’re practically soul mates.
“Yep.”
“Whoa. So do you … does she … um …”
“Abby’s my sister, Hudson. We’re twins.”
“Oh thank God! I mean, thank God … that you … have a sister … what a special … um … napkin?” I pass it over and jam half a cupcake in my mouth to prevent the release of any more stupidity. A sister? He has a sister? And all this time, I thought she was his girlfriend? How hard did I hit my head that first day on the ice?
I meet his eyes and he smiles, my stomach launching into its own triple/triple combo.
“It’s kind of complicated.” Josh downs the rest of his cupcake and tosses the paper into the fire. “I don’t talk about it much. I guess I figured Will told you or something.”
I shake my head.
“Ever seen Rain Man?”
“Mmm-hmm.” And that’s the most intelligent thing I’ve said all morning.
“It’s kind of like that with my sister. She’s, like, off the charts brilliant, but she’s super-particular about order and rules. My mom homeschools her. Abby likes it, but she gets a little stir-crazy. That’s why she calls me all the time. It’s never urgent—just stuff like what happened on General Hospital or which neighbor she saw taking out the trash in their bathrobe. But if I don’t answer right away, she freaks. Half the time I’m just calming her down, reassuring her I’ll be home later. It gets intense. My mom had to get permission from the school so I could keep my phone on during class. Thing is, she’d probably be better off in a place with full-time care, where they could work with her one-on-one. But we don’t want to do that to her. She’s ours, you know?”
I think about Bug, how I dumped him off with Mrs. Ferris this morning, how he hugged me and waved and pushed up his glasses without a word of protest. I can’t picture him not being Bug, not being okay, not being home with us.
“How do you … I mean, do you guys take her out on weekends or whatever? Do other stuff? Or does she have to stay at home?”
“We go out sometimes. She does okay—depends on the situation. Hockey games are too much for her—she doesn’t like the goal buzzer. But she’s hung out with me at Amir’s a few times. She does better when it’s just a few people. Oh, and she doesn’t like Will. Too much talking freaks her out.”
I laugh. “I don’t blame her. Sounds like you guys are close, though. That’s cool.”
“Abby’s seriously my best friend.” Josh smiles. “I tell her pretty much everything. We talk about hockey and school and … well, whatever. Stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what were you gonna say?”
Josh’s face reddens, the tips of his ears as bright as the flames. He stands to stoke the fire with a loose hunk of metal, his back to me. “Okay, so I told her about you, right? How you helped the team, how we’ve been skating a few times, even about the cupcakes. And now she won’t leave it alone. ‘How’s Hudson, where’s Hudson, are you skating today, what does she look like, where does she live, how many cupcakes can she bake in one hour, what’s her favorite color, when can I meet her—’”
“Blake Street. My record is two forty in an hour, but they weren’t very good. Purple.” I take a deep, silent breath as the fire sparks. “And I’d be honored to meet her.”
Josh drops the makeshift fire poker and crosses the space between us in two steps, hands gripping my arms. I look up to meet his eyes, serious and determined and the rarest, most intense colors I’ve ever seen. It’s like I’m on the lake again, the rest of the world fuzzing out around the edges, the beauty of his eyes the only thing left. I lean closer, our gaz
e unbroken, fire crackling and warming the air around us. He swallows and then he’s there, right before me. My heart slams into my ribs and my neck goes hot and I close my eyes just as our lips brush and my breath catches and …
And Josh pulls away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hands sliding down my arms. “Sh—I’m so sorry, Hudson. I didn’t mean … you and Will … I was so … not … thinking.” He rubs his head, his eyes everywhere but on my face.
“Josh, it’s okay, I’m not—”
“Can we just … can we pretend that didn’t happen?” He crosses to the other side of the fire and slumps in an old office chair, the swivel kind with wheels and an adjustable back, and presses his fists into his thighs.
Across the room, the fire is strong between us as he stares at the dusty, broken floor, and my heart rages against his words. After weeks of mixed signals and crossed wires, he finally kissed me—tried to, anyway. And now he wants to pretend it didn’t happen?
The wind pelts the walls with a blast of wet ice and his foot bounces on the ground, chair twisting back and forth.
I stand and cross the room. “Will isn’t … can we—”
“No. I better …” He’s out of the chair before I get to him. “I’m gonna get some air. I’ll be back. I promise.”
He doesn’t go too far—the shape of him blackens the bright spot of the doorway where we first came in. He pulls the hat from his back pocket and yanks it over his head, looking out across the great white bleakness, and I curl up on the desk and watch the flames, trying to figure out how to rewind and instant replay the last few minutes. This time, when our lips brush, I’ll lean into him and pull him close. This time, I won’t let him talk. I won’t let him apologize. I won’t let him go.
As Josh dips in and out of the doorway, I unzip my bag and dig out my thermos and the smashed granola bar, occupying myself by making cold chocolate oatmeal in my mouth. I pace the perimeter of the room, tracing lines in the dust on all the desks. I peel swaths of paint from the walls, olive green, probably laced with lead. Toss rocks and metal chips into the standing half of a cracked porcelain sink behind the HOT ACIDS sign. Flip through decaying manuals on treating burns and chemical wounds. Throw paper time cards into the fire, one at a time, yellow flames sizzling like Trick’s grill as all the old work hours turn into ash.
“It finally stopped snowing.”
I drop the remaining cards and turn around.
“Should we chance it?” Josh asks, rubbing the chill from his hands. He looks at me a moment, and it’s like I can read his thoughts as they flash behind his eyes. No. Let’s stay. We’ll stay up all night talking about the funniest movies and the best place to get hot wings and what happens at the end of the world, and in the morning, everything will be sparkly and bright, and no one will ever know about this place but us, our forever winter secret.
“Josh, can we—”
“Yeah. I mean no, you’re right.” He scoops some snow into the trash can, fire hissing into wet dust. “I just thought … nah, we should head out while we can. Car’s buried, though. We’ll have to walk.”
Josh stomps down a path outside. He looks back at me and smiles, cheeks red from the cold, eyes sparkling like the unblemished whiteness behind him as I reluctantly follow. Together, we make our way through snow-covered streets as the good neighbors of Watonka emerge from their homes to help one another clear footpaths and dig cars from the drifts.
Everyone waves and smiles and asks if we’re okay, and yeah, maybe we’re fine, just like Josh tells them, but I can’t shake that moment in the Fillmore building, Josh’s lips brushing mine by the fire. The weight of it sits between us like a magnetic force, drawing us close, then pushing us apart. Is he imagining what it would be like to kiss me again? Or does he wish he could take it all back? Is he really, truly sorry?
I stop in the middle of the white street and step in front of him, his jaw set, eyes far away. My voice is rough and my mouth dry, but this much, I know: Josh Blackthorn saved my life. And then he tried to kiss me. No matter what happens next, I’m not letting this turn into another two weeks of silence, the entire history of us summed up in a series of near misses and almosts just because neither of us had the snowballs to say anything.
“Feel like stopping at Hurley’s for hot chocolate?” I ask. “Hang out with me for a while?”
“Hmm.” He finally meets my gaze, his shy, playful smile slowly returning. “With or without marshmallows?”
“With. Duh.”
“You got yourself a deal, Avery.”
We settle in at the front counter and Nat brings us two mugs of hot chocolate with double marshmallows. One sip, and that’s it—I can’t hold it in another second. “Josh, me and Will … we’re not together. We hung out for a little while, but it’s over. Over over.”
Josh stares into his mug, dunking the marshmallows one at a time with his spoon. “That’s cool, Hud. You didn’t have to—”
“Hudson! There you are!” Mom bursts out of the kitchen, practically rocket-launching herself onto the counter to reach me. “I was so worried about you with the storm and—”
“I’m fine. I was … we hid out at … Sharon’s Café. Just until it passed.” I look at Josh for confirmation and he nods.
“Next time, answer your phone.” Mom runs her hand over my head, her gaze slowly shifting to the adjacent seat. As soon as she notices Josh, her face lights up. “You must be Hudson’s boyfriend! I’m so glad to finally meet you.”
“Ma!”
“I’m Beth, her mom.”
Josh takes her outstretched hand, not correcting her on the boyfriend thing. “Nice to meet you. I’m Josh. Hudson and I are … we know each other from school.”
Mom smiles, checking him out. Meanwhile, my head is about to explode like a marshmallow in the microwave, but no one around here seems too concerned.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she finally says, “but can I see you in the office when you’re done, Hud? I’m putting in the meat order and I want you to learn how it’s done.”
“Meat order. Awesome.” That’s what I get for dropping by Hurley’s when I’m not on the clock. “Be right there.”
Mom disappears into the kitchen and I bury my head in my hands, willing myself to apparate to Parallel Hudson’s world. Olympic training, product endorsements, Ice Capades … wherever she is, it’s got to be better than this.
“Hudson.” There’s a hand on my back, warm and solid. Slowly, I unfold my arms, and Josh leans in close to whisper in my ear. “Come to the game tomorrow night.”
Goose bumps roll across my skin, and I shiver.
“Come to the game,” he whispers again, “and then have dinner with me after. Just us. I know a cool place.”
I look into his eyes, my heart speeding up like it did the moment his lips touched mine. “Not Hurley’s?”
“Definitely not Hurley’s.”
“In that case, you got yourself a deal, Blackthorn.”
“So now you’re making fun of me, huh?”
“Never. Well, maybe a little. But mostly never.”
“Good. See you on the ice tomorrow, then. The indoor ice. Better yet, the sidelines of the indoor ice. I’m not taking any chances with you. Got it, Avery?” He pulls on his gloves, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Josh, I—”
“Hudson?” Trick yells from the little window over the grill, examining his slotted spatula as if he wasn’t spying on me. “Your mom wants to get that order wrapped up, hon.”
“Thanks for keeping such great tabs on her schedule. Tell her I’ll be right in.” I look at Josh. “You okay to get home?”
“I’ll ask one of the neighbors to dig me out.” He zips up his jacket and heads outside, bound for the snow-covered path back to Fillmore. I drop our chocolate-coated mugs and spoons in the bus bin, my heart light, my insides buzzing and alive.
Can we pretend that didn’t happen?
Not a chance, Blackthorn. Not a chance
.
Chapter Twenty-One
Woolly Mammoth Freeze-Outs
Chilled chocolate cupcakes with chocolate buttercream icing rolled in dark chocolate, milk chocolate, and white chocolate shavings
Half an hour before the face-off against the Fairplay Sharks, Baylor’s is humming, air heavy with the smell of buttered popcorn and anticipation. I grab a hot chocolate from the concessions stand and find a seat near the center line, away from the influx of random new spectators, away from Ellie and Kara and the rest of the hockey wives. Dani’s next to a few girls I’ve seen at the parties, but if she notices me, she doesn’t acknowledge it.
Down behind the player’s box, Will’s local news fan club sets up their equipment, panning across the crowd for the folks watching from home. Even Dodd’s got more guests tonight—a bunch of stuffy VIP-looking dudes in suits, all shaking hands with Will’s father. Probably the recruiting squad.
I swirl the hot liquid in my cup, heat radiating against my palm. Everyone is glowing, all of them clinging to an unfaltering, unified hope, and when the boys skate out across the ice and wave to their newly adoring fans, the murmurs in the stands give way to a thunderous roar. My heart races as Josh brings up the end of the line, and when he spots me in the stands and raises his stick in the air, my head spins.
I know I’m not part of the practices anymore, but now, as they glide around the rink in their blue-and-silver jerseys in perfect formation, the crowd stomping its collective feet, my whole body tingles with pride. Not to get all mama bear, but it seems like only yesterday the pups were stumbling out of the box, lumbering over the ice with all the grace of bricks.
Tonight they’re playing in the semis, heading for the finals, breaking records with the unlikeliest, craziest, most insane comeback in the entire history of Watonka High. Even if they lose this game, they’ve still performed miracles. When everyone else told them they couldn’t do it, they marched out to the rink, banged their sticks on the ice, and raised the dead.