by Cate Cameron
But it was too late. I forced myself up the short flight of stairs to the stage, turned and faced the audience, and froze.
There was no way. I hadn’t realized the spotlight would be so bright, hadn’t thought the faces of the crowd would be so hard to see and seem so cruel as they sat in the shadows. I could only see the first couple rows, not far back enough to find the Sisterhood, and there was just no way.
This wasn’t me. I wasn’t a performer. I was quiet, serious Claudia Waring, not Dia the slam poet. Everything was a mistake; my mother was right, this wasn’t me. I had to get off the stage, get out of there…
I half turned, heading for the stairs, and then I heard his voice. “Hey, Dia.” Calm and comforting, too familiar by far, but impossible that he was there. The team had a game in London, a couple hours away, and he wasn’t even my boyfriend, and he couldn’t be there.
But he was. Every head in the small auditorium turned to watch him stride down the aisle, but he kept his gaze on me. I watched him, trying to understand.
He reached the base of the stage and said, “You just need to try, Dia. You’re awesome, right? You can do it.”
I was pretty sure he was wrong about that. But there was something in the way he looked at me that made me feel strong.
So I nodded, jerky and rough, but when he started to back away I reached out my hand and he froze. I kept my gaze on him, spoke my words to him as if it were only the two of us in the room, or maybe even on the planet.
“My mom says I’m special,” I told him. And I made myself speak a little louder to be sure he heard. “I’m smart, and I know what’s important. My mom says I can be someone.” It was true, and I wasn’t angry about it, at least not right then.
“Ms. Coyne said I’m special, too. She said I already am someone.” I sped up a little, then, falling into the rhythm Karen and I had developed when I practiced with her. “Karen says we’re sisters, fighting side by side. I don’t know how to fight, but she makes me want to learn. Annalise says I’m different, not acting like myself, but I’m not sure she knows who I actually am. I’m not sure I do, either.” And then the crucial part, the part I had to get right. I looked down at him as I said, “Chris says I’m different, and awesome, and beautiful and brave. I want to believe him. I want that so much. Because he really is all those things, and I want to be worthy of him.” A bit melodramatic, maybe, but I meant every word. Now I made myself look away from Chris, staring out into the audience as I said, “Everyone says things. They say so much, and I just listen. But I want to start talking.” I grinned a little and said, “I just need to figure out what I want to say.”
And that was it. People were applauding, but the blood was pounding in my ears so loudly I couldn’t really judge whether the applause was enthusiastic or just polite. But it didn’t matter. I knew the words weren’t anything special, but it had felt incredible to say them. To put myself out there, to be honest and brave and try to be real. I was shaking a little as I climbed down from the stage and Chris took my hand, just to support me. But when I made it to the floor he didn’t let go. Instead he leaned down and said, “Do you need to stay for the other poems?”
I knew I should. They’d all sat through mine, so I should sit through theirs. It was the proper thing to do. But this time, just once, I shook my head. “Not really,” I said.
I followed him up the aisle, glancing over at Karen to see a huge grin on her face, and then we were out of the auditorium and kept moving until we were all the way outside. It was cold, a sort of rainy snow driving down around us, and I’d left my jacket with Karen. But there was no way I was going back for it.
Chris looked at me and frowned as if just then realizing how ill-prepared I was for the weather. He started shrugging out of his jacket but I reached up with both hands and pulled it back up on his shoulders. “I’m okay,” I told him. “But how are you here? I thought you had a game.”
“I do. I told coach I needed to do something, and he let me skip it. He wants to give the rookies a bit more ice time anyway.”
I was pretty sure it was a bigger deal than he was making it seem. “Thanks for coming,” I said. “It really made a difference. I think I would have chickened out if you hadn’t been there.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay.”
And then we just stood there, looking at each other. Well, I’d been the one to mess up, so I guess it was my job to keep trying to make it better. “Did you think about the challenge?”
“Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “Haven’t been thinking about much else. You’re still thinking that way? You still want to give it another shot?”
“More than anything,” I promised him. “I care about you so much. And I care about us. And I believe in you, and in us. Truly.”
“I think you just need to believe in you,” he said quietly. “I think if you do that, the rest of it will take care of itself.”
“I do,” I said fervently. Then I shrugged and admitted, “Mostly. But I’ll keep working on it. I’ll keep trying. Will you help me?”
“I will,” he said. Then he drew the edges of his jacket around me and pulled me close, and he kissed me and I kissed him back. And neither of us felt the cold at all.
Chapter Seventeen
It took a while for things to get comfortable again. I knew I wanted to be with Claudia, and most of the time I knew she wanted to be with me. But her mom still thought I was a loser, so it’s not like I was all of a sudden welcomed into the family.
Claudia got her dad to come with her to a hockey game, though. And he cheered, at least a little, and shook my hand afterward and told me I’d had a good game, which was true. I’d had quite a few good games that fall, good enough for me to make the team for the World Juniors. Me and Tyler and Cooper, going to Finland to play against the best.
“I’ll be away for Christmas,” I told Claudia. We were in my truck, as usual, down by the lake, the engine running to keep us warm even though we had no plans to go anywhere anytime soon. “The tournament starts on Boxing Day and goes for almost two weeks. I’ll be gone for at least three weeks.”
She shook her head sadly. “I doubt I’ll be able to wait for you that long,” she said. “A woman has needs, you know.”
Yeah, we’d come far enough that we could joke about breaking up. But I wasn’t going to let her joke too much. “You’ll wait,” I told her. “And you’ll be all over me as soon as I get back to town. If you get as worked up as you do when I’m on a three-day road trip, it’s going to be epic when I come back after three weeks.”
“Absolutely epic,” she agreed. “And you’ll be on TV, so I can watch you. Dawn has a friend, Natalie West? She used to play hockey with Toby Cooper, and I guess she’s still really good? She’s going to come over and watch the games with us and explain the finer points. So by the time you get back, I’ll be an expert, pretty much.” She was practically on my lap in the cab of the truck, and when she shifted her weight so she could look me in the eye, the movement sent shock waves through my whole body. She either didn’t notice or just pretended not to. “You guys need to figure out some sort of signal so Karen and I know you’re thinking about us.”
“I’ve heard telephone calls work for that sort of thing. Also texts and emails…”
“A visual signal.”
“Skype?”
She shook her head. “A publicly televised visual signal.”
“Oh, I get it.” I kissed her mouth, then trailed down to her neck and a little lower. We’d graduated to both of us taking our shirts off, which was one more step in the right direction. “I know. My signal can be…every time I step foot on the ice, I’m thinking of you. And when I’m sitting on the bench, I’m thinking of you then, too. And if I do an interview, that’ll be my sign that I’m thinking of you.” Another kiss. “I’ll be thinking of you always.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Most of the time you need to think about the game. It’s very important that you chase the chunk of rubber over the fr
ozen water more effectively than the other team. But—during the anthem. You’ll—take your hat off and hang it on your stick, and that’ll tell me you’re thinking of me.”
“Helmet,” I said. “We wear helmets, not hats.”
“Was I right on the stick part, at least? They’re actually called sticks?”
“Yeah. Sounds kind of weird, when you repeat it, but they’re sticks. We chase the chunk of rubber around the frozen ice with sticks.” I kissed her again. “And during the anthem, when I hang my helmet on my stick, it’ll be one of the times I’m thinking of you.”
“Whenever I solve for x, I’ll think of you,” she promised. “Other times, too, but especially then, because x stands for a kiss.”
“Wow. Math is more romantic than I thought.”
“You have no idea,” she whispered, and she pulled me closer.
She was right. I had no idea. Not about math, or about much else. But I knew the important things. And being with her was absolutely one of them.
“Talk mathy to me,” I murmured, and she did.
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About the Author
Cate Cameron lives and writes in central Ontario, Canada, with a dog, a cat, and a million characters who all want their stories told.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Author
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