“Come on. We have star hockey players at our school, too. They’re nice, mostly.”
“I know, I know. It’s not like the norm—I’m not saying that. It’s just, at our school, Sean and his buds are the jocks you have to follow around and bow down to and it’s just—you know, it’s crap.”
I laughed. “Crap?”
“Yes. The things they do when they’re off the ice, I don’t know, I guess it’s all part of high school. And I basically hate high school right now.”
“Why?”
“Because. It’s so fake. It’s so competitive. I hate cliques,” Conor said.
“Oh. Is that all?” I asked.
Conor frowned. “You don’t know what it’s like to be compared to Sean all the time.”
“No, I don’t. I mean, that would be weird, right?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. “For one thing, he’s taller. For another, he’s a guy.”
He didn’t smile.
“Maybe it sucks to have a star for a brother. But you’re just as talented as he is, right? You’re a great goalie. Even Sean said that.”
“He did?” Conor seemed surprised, as if he didn’t expect Sean to be able to say one nice thing about him. Even if that were true, in reverse. “Yeah. Well, goalies don’t have the same star power,” he said. “We have great speed, great reactions, great hand-eye coordination. But no groupies.”
I smiled, thinking of how when I’d asked Sean about that brown-haired girl being a groupie, he hadn’t seemed to know what that meant. “You know what? I tried hockey once,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Field hockey. In PE class. Hated it,” I said. “Broke my best friend’s finger, too.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I hit her with the ball,” I said. “I was, I don’t know, taking a slap shot I guess. And the ball hit her stick and instead of stopping it, she somehow let it run up the stick and jam her finger dead-on.”
“That’s hilarious,” Conor said. “You flattened her finger enough to break it?”
“She was cursing so loudly that we both got detention for a week. But that’s Jones. You know, Jones. The girl,” I said.
His face turned slightly pink. “So, what position did you play in field hockey?”
“I don’t remember exactly. Fullback, maybe? I was supposed to stop people from getting to the goal. Yeah, that was it. Fullback.”
He was just looking at me.
“I didn’t stop anyone,” I said. “The goalie hated me.”
“Well. Don’t worry. Not all goalies hate you,” he said.
We exchanged this really awkward smile.
“Well, good,” I said. “I guess.”
About an hour later, Sean and I were sitting in front of one of the fireplaces in the lodge. We were snuggled together on a sofa, and I was leaning back against him.
Forget about coffee. We’d moved on to hot chocolate. We’d moved on to getting whipped cream on our lips and kissing it off, and other disgusting public displays of affection like that.
“So you like this kind of stuff. Right?” I asked Sean, looking up at him over my shoulder.
“This kind?” Sean snuggled closer to me and kissed my neck. “Yeah.”
“No, I mean…I meant…” It was hard to concentrate when he was doing that. “Ski trips and skiing and trips and stuff.”
“Of course,” Sean said, running his hand down my arm, tracing the stripe on my sweater sleeve. “Winter Carnival is coming, you know?”
I nodded. “I’m really looking forward to it. My friends are coming back to visit then.”
“Well, there’s this big party at my friend’s house, over in St. Paul every year during Winter Carnival. It’s called the Snow Ball. It’s a formal,” Sean explained. “It’s a little over the top—like you’re forced to dress up—but they usually have a band, and great food, and lots of kids from school go.”
“Uh, is it always called the Snow Ball?” I asked.
“As far as I know. Anyway, it’s over in St. Paul, in a huge house on Summit. Like, a mansion. So. It would be really cool if you’d go with me.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’d love to! But, uh, I was about to ask you something. So how about…well, I’ll make you a deal.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sean asked. “What kind of deal?”
“I’ll go to the Snow Ball with you, if you’ll come away for Groundhog Day weekend with me.”
“Come away for the weekend? Where?” He seemed really nervous all of a sudden.
“Look, relax, it’s no big deal. I’m not talking about you coming to meet my parents or anything.” I laughed. “It’s a ski weekend with my friends—a bunch of us are renting a big cabin up north.”
“Oh. Well, that sounds cool. Yeah. I think I could probably go. I’ll have to make sure I don’t have a game or anything. I might have a game.”
How many times was he going to say that? “Of course, right. I didn’t think of that. Well, you can at least come for part of the weekend. It’s a long weekend because there’s a school holiday and…” And it’s the least you could do for me, considering I went sliding down a hill as a tartedup Snow White for you! I thought.
“So, you will come, right?” I pressed Sean.
“Definitely. As long as I don’t have to be here for hockey.”
Suddenly Conor was standing in front of us, blocking our view of the fire, blocking the entire fireplace, blocking the sun even. “Let’s get going,” he said. “I have to get to work.”
And even though Sean and I protested for about three minutes, it was useless, and ten minutes later we were heading back to the Cities together, jammed into the pickup all over again.
Chapter 13
“Okay, I did it!” I told Jones when she answered the phone later that night. “I officially have a date for Groundhog Getaway. At least I think I do.”
“Yes! That’s awesome,” she said. “Who with?”
“Sean, who do you think?” I said. I described the strange chain of events that had led to the invitations on both sides.
“Snow White, huh? You know what? If I were you, Snow, I’d have a back-up plan,” Jones said.
“What?” I asked. “Why would you say that?”
“The guy sounds a little flaky to me. He just asked you to this dance that’s, like, in two weeks. I’m just wondering—all that stuff you told me about whether he might have a game or not. What about that brother of his? Didn’t he get cut from the team, and therefore has no game? Which isn’t to say that he doesn’t have game. He’s got game.”
I laughed.
“In fact, if you’re not going to ask him to Groundhog Getaway, then maybe I will,” Jones mused.
“What? No way!” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because. You don’t even know him,” I said.
“So? You know him,” she pointed out. “And even though you don’t like him sometimes, he does make you laugh. I saw you laughing that one time. And what better date could there be for an entire weekend, but someone who can really make it fun—”
“Jones?” I interrupted. “You’re really getting carried away with this,” I said. “You’re not asking Conor.”
“I’m not?”
“No!” I said, my reaction a little stronger than I expected.
“And why not?” Jones said.
“Because!” Wasn’t it obvious? “I’m…I’m bringing Sean. And they don’t get along very well, so it wouldn’t work.”