Will Harper. Until recently, he barely acknowledged my existence. Now, after just a few weeks of hanging out, he’s calling me his girl? Looking at me like I’m the only person in a crowded room?
His girl? Is that what I want? Is that who I want?
My thoughts drift again to Josh, that first day we met at Fillmore, his visits to Hurley’s, the backward crossovers, the music, all the jokes and practices. I know we’re just friends, but sometimes, when our laughter fades and he holds my glance a little too long, I swear he’s looking at me as something more. Not just a friend. Not just a skating bud, showing him those complicated crossovers again and again until he gets them right. But then his phone buzzes or he starts talking about something else and the thin, momentary thread connecting us breaks and I start to think I imagined the whole thing. Why can’t I get him out of my head?
I turn off the bathroom faucet. My hands are shaking, and I’m afraid to look at my reflection over the sink. It’s one thing to lie to your mother, your baby brother, even to your best friend. But alone in a tiny beige box of a room on the first of the year, there’s no hiding from yourself when you meet your eyes in the mirror.
Will Harper. Josh Blackthorn. The Capriani Cup. So much has happened this winter, so much has changed. I’ve changed. And maybe I’m not ready to see it yet. Maybe I don’t want to know the evidence, the smudged makeup, lips red from kissing, eyes burning with some new, unnamed intensity. So I focus instead on the old water spots, the fingerprints of everyone who lives here. I reach for the hand towel on the side of the sink and—
BANG! The door rattles against the frame.
“Just a minute,” I say. “Be right out—”
“Or …” The door swings open. “I’ll just come in.”
“What—”
“Yeah. Hi, Hudson. Happy New Year to you, too.” Kara shuts the door and leans her back against it, red liquid sloshing out over the cup in her hand. Mascara is smudged beneath her eyes and her long, strawberry blond hair is slipping from its headband, the ends tangling in a black boa around her neck. I didn’t see her in the crowd before, but of course she’s here.
“Don’t worry, I’m not planning to stab you with an ice pick. At least, not with all these witnesses around.”
My eyes flicker to the sink, but there’s nothing but a bar of soap and a cup full of frayed toothbrushes. Sure, a dental instrument to the eye might sting for a minute, but as far as self-defense weaponry goes, the Jordans’ bathroom is severely ill-equipped.
Kara downs her drink and tosses the plastic cup into the bathtub. It rattles against the porcelain, leaving a trail of orange-red dots in its wake.
“Kara, if this is about Will, I really don’t—”
“Nope. Over it.” She helps herself to one of Mrs. Jordan’s lotions from a shelf on the wall and flips the cap. She sits on the edge of the tub, props her foot up on the sink, and massages white goop into her bare legs. The whole room reeks of dried roses and spiked fruit punch, and I have to breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging.
“Hear you’re training again,” she says. “For the Capriani Cup.”
“Who told—”
“You did,” she says. “Just now. Not like I couldn’t figure it out. They announce a competition, and suddenly you’re hanging out on the ice again? Not exactly coincidence.”
“No, not exactly.” A new thought ripples through my mind, its sharp edges catching behind my eyes. Kara wasn’t one of Lola’s trainees, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t invited to compete. They probably sent the letter to everyone who’d ever set foot in the Buffalo Skate Club, Lola students or not. I can handle the other girls from my skating past. Chances are at least one of them continued skating, at least one of them will be there next month. It won’t be easy or pleasant, but I know I can hold my head high, ignore the whispers and taunts, and skate my ass off.
But not in front of Kara.
“So … you trying out, too?” I cross my arms over my chest and try for the hard stare, but inside, my stomach flip-flops.
“Parade myself in front of the judges, just so they can tell me all the ways I’m not good enough? No thanks. I’ll leave the kiss-and-cry drama to you.” Kara gives me the once-over, her eyes landing on my shoulder—the exact spot where we used to pin our matching silver good luck rabbits. The exact spot where mine is still pinned to my old skating dress.
“What I can’t figure out,” she says, “is the Wolves. Why are you helping them?”
I shrug. “It’s a good opportunity.”
“Opportunity. Right. Let me guess: Will cut you a deal? Traded a little ice time for some help with the team? Maybe a little something on the side?”
My mind flashes to Will, the feel of his body against mine in the dark room down the hall, his breath on my neck. Heat rushes to my cheeks. She doesn’t know anything about Will and me. If there even is a Will and me.
“Excuse me.” I step around her and grab the doorknob, but she’s got her foot against the door, and I can’t open it. “Kara, I really—”
“How can you go out for another event?” Her voice breaks suddenly, all the edges of her crumpling. “After everything that happened … after I left the ice … you never said anything. Ever. And you go out there again like it’s just … nothing!” Her foot slips from the door and she slumps back against the edge of the tub, tears leaking down her face.
“I know I screwed up that night.” I reach for the box of tissues on the back of the toilet and pass her one. “But you didn’t have to leave. You were amazing, too. You could’ve gone on to compete and—”
“You don’t get it.” She shreds the Kleenex in her hands, little white bits falling into her lap like snowflakes. “It wasn’t about the competition. I liked skating, yeah. But it wasn’t the same without you. We weren’t skating together, we weren’t even talking. I skipped the club meets, stopped practicing.”
“You just needed some time to—”
“It was more than that. It was like I didn’t have it in me anymore. And my parents knew it, so they gave me an ultimatum.” Kara deepens her voice to imitate her father. “‘We don’t have the money for you to screw around. So get back out there like you mean it, or start working on your—’”
“Backup plan,” I finish without thinking. I lean against the tile wall across from her, staring at a smear of bright blue toothpaste in the sink. I’d heard the same arguments from my mother over the years, every time I wanted to skip an event or sleep in an extra hour instead of going to five a.m. practice. Every time I came home whining about bruised hips and blistered heels. Every time I fell and swore I’d never do it again, never get up for another try. But somehow, my father always found a way to make it happen. To remind me why I loved the ice.
I’d always assumed Kara’s parents would do the same for her.
I hand her another tissue.
“Don’t.” She pushes my hand away and stands up quickly, wobbling on her heels before steadying herself on the edge of the sink. “I don’t know what I came in here for, but it wasn’t this. I just …” Kara wipes her eyes with her fingertips and opens the door, looking at me one last time. “Forget it.”
She yanks the door shut behind her, leaving me alone with the mirror again. I remove her plastic cup from the bathtub and wash my hands, but I still can’t look at myself. All I want to do is get home, change into my pajamas, and curl up on the couch with my brother, who isn’t old enough to remember my past mistakes and wants nothing from me but a hug, an occasional cupcake, and permission to stay up past his bedtime. My heart aches to think of him alone tonight. I never should’ve left him. I never should’ve come.
I find Will back in the living room, half listening to an intense debate between Rowan and Luke on the hotness of various Disney princesses. Jasmine is winning. Kara is nowhere in sight. When Will notices me lingering on the edge of the room, he crosses over and pulls me into his arms.