Page 12 of Fake Skating

“You came back,” Cassie said with a smile, standing just inside the front doors as if she’d been waiting for me.

“Wait—did I have a choice?” I replied as I lowered my hood, welcoming the warm air on my face.

But the truth was that I was no less nervous today than I’d been yesterday.

Southview had A-days and B-days, with a different rotating schedule for each day, which meant that since yesterday had been an A-day, today was a B-day and yet another day of new classes.

Like a second first day of school.

And the fact that Alec hadn’t looked happy to see me yesterday was messing with my head. I didn’t understand his reaction—if anyone had a reason to look unhappy, it was me—but it made me nervous to run into him again.

And, as if all that wasn’t bad enough, one of my B-day classes was public speaking, a requirement for all seniors at Southview.

So, yes—I was actually more nervous for my second first day than I’d been for my first.

Because I was the type of person who would’ve been queasy over public speaking even if I’d attended this school my entire life; speaking in front of other people just wasn’t my thing.

But having this class at a new school—total nightmare.

I just prayed I didn’t have one of those speech teachers who thought it would be great to force you to tell people a little bit about yourself on the very first day.

“I suppose you didn’t, but I’m happy to see you, regardless,” Cassie said. “Showing you around is way more interesting than just going to my boring classes.”

“Yeah,” I said, still a little unsure how to talk to someone so outgoing. Human nature made me want to open up because she seemed so nice, but experience had taught me that was a terrible idea.

“Let’s head toward your first class,” she said. “Because it’s over on the northwest side of the building, which is a little farther.”

We started walking, and I felt slightly less conspicuous than I had the day before, thank God. Cassie was so incredibly nice that even though I knew better, I found myself telling her about my visit to the counselor’s office.

And dammit—it felt nice, having someone sympathize with my difficulties.

“So did you do anything last night, after that letdown?” she asked as we passed by the library. “I feel like everyone was at the hockey game, but I suspect you were not.”

“No, I just stayed home and unpacked some boxes,” I said.

I actually managed to get my entire room unpacked and talk to my dad on the phone, although that ended with me feeling emotionally drained.

I had such a weird, complicated relationship with him.

Ninety percent of the time, I thought of him as “the colonel” in my head. He was strict, by the book, a pretty distant father but a very good man.

Upstanding citizen and born leader, absolutely impossible to relate to.

But the other ten percent of the time, when he let his guard down… that was when I missed him so much it hurt.

Because during those rare moments, he’d do things like send a funny meme that I suspected he didn’t understand but somehow knew I’d love, or have flowers delivered that let me know he was actually thinking of me.

My entire life had been me watching him with wide eyes, breathlessly waiting for those few and far between occasions when he was “Dad” instead of “the colonel.”

Yesterday had been one of those times.

He’d FaceTimed after I got home from school to see what my room looked like, and instead of saying my mom’s name or the word “Minnesota” in the tone he always used that told me he didn’t approve of the move and everything that went along with it, he told me that Germany wasn’t the same without me.

And as nice as it’d been, it’d made me miss him so much that hours later, I still hadn’t been able to sleep.

Because the thing I found so hard about the divorce was the lack of forced proximity. In a normal, intact family, both parents being nearby was the default, whether you liked it or not.

But in a divorce, that was never the case and never would be again.

I felt my dad’s absence every day, just as strongly as I felt my mom’s presence.

And it sucked.

“Well, the game was crazy,” Cassie said, assuming I would be interested.

“Yeah?” I asked, trying to be a good conversationalist. Hockey was apparently interesting to everyone in Southview except for me. “Did we win?”

“We won, but we were down the entire third period until Zeus scored with five minutes left in the game.”

“He did ?” How could Alec be Zeus, the player my grandpa was going on about and the one who’d inspired a thousand posters? He’d been absolutely unathletic as a child, adorably clumsy in an I’d rather play Roblox kind of way.

So how could he be not just an athlete, but a varsity hockey player?

It didn’t make sense.

I’d replayed our reunion scene in my head over and over again since it happened, getting angrier every time I thought about it. Not only had he not apologized for knocking me down with his bag, but he’d walked away like he didn’t know me and laughed about it with his friends.

He’d called me “some chick.”

I shouldn’t care, but the knowledge that my childhood bestie had turned into an oversized, arrogant jock was just straight-up depressing.

So much for the one good thing about the move.

“Oh yeah—he single-handedly won the game for us, but that’s not new. That’s kind of his thing.”

“So Alec is actually really good at hockey.” It just seemed impossible, even though the new version of Alec certainly looked like a hockey player.

“Are you kidding me?” She gawked like I’d just asked if the earth was round. “Saying Alec is good at hockey is like saying LeBron James is an okay basketball player. He’s broken a zillion high school records and he’s a potential NHL prospect. He’s like the best .”

“Alec Barczewski .” It was just too out-there to believe, even after witnessing the school’s reaction to him at the pep rally. “Shut up !”

He’d been as unathletic as me.

“So do you know him?” Cassie asked, her eyes narrowing. “Yesterday you said you didn’t.”

“That’s because I didn’t know him by the nickname,” I clarified, in total shock. “I knew him when I was a little kid, before he was Zeus. He’s like an… honorary cousin of mine, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t want her to think there was any tie between us, because the last thing I needed was for people to link me with the popular jock; that could mess me up before I made a single friend.

I added, “I haven’t seen him in years, so he’s basically a stranger.” Right as I said that, we walked by yet another poster of the hockey team, and this time my eyes found him immediately.

Zeus.

Ugh.

Something about his expression in that image made me think of his black eye, the one he got playing baseball the summer after fifth grade. A fly ball came right to him, but instead of catching it with his glove, he caught it with his face.

And he’d been happy about it because he got to sit out the rest of the game, and his dad bought us Dairy Queen afterward.

That had been my buddy.

I couldn’t believe Alec (sorry, Zeus) had become the exact kind of guy I’d learned to avoid at every single school I went to.

I guess it’s time to avoid my former best friend.

Although, that was apparently going to be easier said than done. Oh, universe, what did I ever do to you? I thought when I walked into my speech class later that day and saw him .

I already wanted to vomit because of my aforementioned terror of public speaking and first days, but there he was, sitting in the back with two other guys, each smirking with legs stretched out under their desks like they owned the room.

“This is Dan Collins,” Ms. Sykes said to the class, “and she is a new student. Everyone make sure to say hi to Dan and help her out. There’s a desk over there for you.”

I knew I should correct her— it’s Dani— but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

So now I’d probably be known as “Dan” for the rest of the year.

I looked in the direction of where she was pointing and it was on the other side of the room from Alec, which was good, but the chairs were arranged in a big U shape, so I could still see him and his friends at all times.

Wonderful.

I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at him when I walked by his desk, just as he tilted his head and met my eyes.

While smirking, like he was the king who found himself amused by the presence of a lowly peasant.

I clenched my teeth and was about to look away when he winked.

Winked at me.

He might’ve even made a clicking noise with his mouth, but I couldn’t be sure my brain hadn’t added that douchebag sound effect.

My face was on fire as I sat down and unzipped my backpack, torn between nervousness, embarrassment, and kind of wanting to rip his face off for winking at me.

Who did that? What kind of eighteen-year-old senior in high school winked at someone?

The arrogance it took to throw out a wink in response to someone looking in your direction was truly astounding.

Thankfully, the teacher started in on a lesson, and since we were required to take notes, I was able to forget about the freaking winker on the other side of the room. I threw myself into notes, writing every single word because it was a far better option than looking up from my paper.

Halfway through the class I glanced his way, only to see that his head was down on his desk, and he was asleep.

Alec was sleeping in class like he didn’t give a shit.

And it kind of made me want to cry, honestly. It felt like I’d lost something (even though I’d technically lost him a long time ago), because over the past five years, through all the bad days, I’d imagined that my best friend still existed somewhere, even if he wasn’t in my life.

I was able to think that someday we might be friends again.

But now I was forced to face the reality that the possibility no longer existed.