“Oh. Well, okay. Geez, Kirst. I was only joking. You really flew off the handle there for a second.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m—I guess I’m excited about going and it’s just coming out wrong.”
“Okay. So Conor’s out. No problem. Who else have you met down there? Anyone who looks like Topher?”
We both started to laugh, and I had time to think about why I’d just reacted that way. I liked Conor, sort of; so why couldn’t he go with Jones? Wouldn’t they make a good couple, sort of?
What was my sort-of problem?
It was almost like I was more interested in taking Conor to the cabin with me, than Sean. But that didn’t make any sense. Sean was the one I had chemistry with; the one I’d kissed; the one who’d pursued me ever since I got to town, and vice versa.
I didn’t want to go out with Conor instead of Sean. I just didn’t want anyone else to go out with Conor, either.
I couldn’t wait to see Sean. That’s what I was thinking as I marched to the rink at the lake a few days later. Bear was pulling me at top speed, and I didn’t care—I wanted to sprint down there. I was half-running, half-walking.
I’d called Sean’s house, and his mother told me he’d be at the lake after school.
When I got there, the ice was nearly empty. Hardly anyone else was crazy enough to be out on a day like this. It was like negative thirteen degrees and windy.
I went into the warm-up room and shivered by the heating vent for a few minutes. A few moms with young kids were inside, trying to warm up by sipping hot chocolate from Thermoses.
When Conor opened the door to the building, we both totally flinched. He obviously hadn’t been expecting to see me, and vice versa. I hadn’t seen him since the day of the Snow White escapade, when we’d had a semi-normal time together, talking.
“Hey. What’s up?” I asked.
“Not much,” he said, hopping up onto the table and dropping his duffel bag onto the floor. He was dressed in full goalie gear, except for the leg pads, which he started to fasten now as he talked to me.
“Nice day out,” I commented. “If you like ice cubes.”
“Oh, yah. Super,” he said, imitating a heavy Minnesotan accent. “Sorry, my grandfather came over for breakfast this morning. He thinks everything is super. Super, ya. You busted out your knee tending goal last night, then. Super.”
“You betcha?” I asked.
He grinned. “Exactly.”
“I hate that stereotype, but sometimes it’s just true, right?” He nodded. “So, did you bust your knee?” I looked at his legs, and he didn’t seem to have any bandages.
“No, my knee’s fine,” Conor said. “It should be in great shape by the time baseball season starts.”
“You play baseball?” I asked. “What position?”
“Catcher,” he said.
“Cool. I’m on the softball team,” I said. “I play first base.”
“No kidding. I wouldn’t have guessed,” he said.
“Why not?”
“’Cause I’m stupid, I guess. I thought maybe Sean would have mentioned it.”
“He, um, never asked either, but I think I told him,” I said. “Sean around, by any chance?” I finally asked, in as casual a tone as I could muster.
“Yeah, he’s out there.”
“Oh, good,” I said, just as I heard Bear bark a few times. “And Bear needs me, so…I’ll see you out there, okay?” Outside, I stopped to rub Bear behind the ears. I unclipped his leash from the bench where I’d tied it, and we started to walk over toward the rink where Sean and some other guys were practicing by taking shots on goal.
Bear lunged forward, pulling me with him. Sean noticed me then, and waved with his hockey stick. He started to skate over toward us, and Bear started to run toward him, dragging me onto the ice.
My feet went out from under me, and I fell backward. I slammed onto the ice, the back of my head hitting it kind of hard.
As I sat up, embarrassed, I thought I saw a few stars floating around my head, the way they do when you stand up too quickly.
Sean came up and his skates sprayed me with ice shavings as he came to a stylish stop right in front of me. Conor, of course, was already there, and Bear was running in circles around me and barking, to attract even more attention.
Conor took one of my arms, while Sean took the other to help me to my feet. “Hey, Kirsten! You okay?” Sean asked.
“Oh, yeah. Fine,” I said as I brushed a little snow off my jeans.
“You’re okay? You sure?” Conor asked, touching my elbow.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
I know they both talked to me for a few minutes after that, but the next five minutes were actually sort of a blur. More guys showed up to play, and I stood there watching the game for a while, but then I realized not only was I cold, my head was starting to hurt from where I’d whacked it on the ice, and I didn’t really care about hockey right now, or who won or lost the game.
As I was walking home, Conor pulled up beside me in that old pickup of his. “Kirsten? You want a ride?” he asked.
“I’m almost there,” I said.
“Well, actually…you’re not quite there. You’re a little off course. I’ve been looking all over for you for the past twenty minutes.”
“Oh.” No wonder Bear had been trying to drag me in the other direction. He knew the way back to Gretchen’s better than I did.
Conor got out of the truck and he was still in his hockey gear, all his pads. He had socks on but no shoes, and his goalie mask was sitting on the dashboard.
“Don’t you have to get back to the game?” I asked as he helped me into the passenger seat. Bear hopped onto my lap, which wasn’t exactly an easy fit. He weighs about eighty pounds. If my head wasn’t hurting, my legs would soon.
“No. I mean, the guys might think so, but it’s not that important to me right now. I’m kind of more worried about you,” Conor said.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“I don’t know if you are,” he said. “Anyway I have a history of ditching, so people pretty much expect it of me at this point.” He smiled as he pulled into our driveway.
Bear and I got out of the truck and I pulled the house keys out of my pocket. I unlocked the front door and walked into the house. Conor was following right behind me.
“So are you really feeling okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. I have a headache, but…”
“I’m kind of worried you might have a concussion,” he said. “Maybe I should take you to the doctor.”
“What? Are you crazy?” I asked. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Well, I don’t want to leave you here alone,” he said.
“Gretchen’s around here somewhere. She hardly ever leaves. Unless I want to leave, and then she’s gone, history, see you,” I muttered.
“Gretchen!” Conor called around the house, and his deep voice startled me.
“Where is Gretchen?” I muttered. “Oh, yeah. Brett’s at a friend’s house, and Gretchen went out with her friends. She said she’d be back late. Ish.”
“Ish? Do you feel nauseous?” he asked. “Should I get you to the bathroom—grab a trashcan?”
“No. Late-ish, she said.”
“Oh.” He laughed. “Okay, well, why don’t you sit on the sofa. I’ll get you a glass of water.” He turned on the fireplace and went to the kitchen.
“So. Your name and date of birth are?” he asked as he returned.
“Come on, I’m not that out of it.” I watched the flames dance in the fake fireplace.
“Still. Just tell me,” Conor urged. “And drink some of this.” He handed me the water glass.
“Kirsten. And I’m a Virgo.” I took a sip of the ice cold water and shivered. “Couldn’t you bring me room-temp water at least? You make a terrible nurse.”
Conor frowned. “Okay. You seem coherent. You definitely seem like yourself. Are you sleepy at all?” Conor asked, crouching down in front of me.
I shook my head. “No.”
“You didn’t seem like you suffered a loss of consciousness…. Then again, you weren’t exactly sure where you were when I picked you up.” Conor gazed into my eyes. “But that happened the other night, too, when you were coming home after going sledding, and you didn’t hit your head then. Or did you?”