Page 45 of Fake Skating

“Where’d you get that shirt, Goldilocks?” Alec asked, his eyes strolling over me as I leaned against his locker, waiting for him with Cassie.

“Your mom let me borrow it,” I said, wishing I could read his mind as he stopped in front of me. I’d snagged his hockey hoodie because I thought he’d like that, but his face was impossible to read at the moment.

Which was disappointing when he’d been so adorably flirty at Bryce’s party the other night. My stomach flipped over every time I thought about the way he’d pulled me against him during Dumb Drink Dares, the way he’d lowered his deep voice and teased me from the point-blank range of in his arms .

And on his freaking lap .

Talk about toe-curling.

I was pretty sure he’d assumed my behavior toward him at the party was drink-related, but as someone not fond of giving up control in social situations, I knew the Diet Pepsi I’d been chugging all night said otherwise.

“It looks good on you,” he said, but something was missing in the way he said it.

What is with him?

“Why, thank you,” I replied, batting my eyelashes in an attempt to be light while my stomach got heavy.

Because something was off with him.

“Why aren’t you in the library?” he asked as he put in his combination, glancing at Cassie. “Isn’t this prime reading time for you?”

“I’m kind of feeling like the cafeteria today,” I said with a shrug, suddenly doubting myself.

He pulled open his locker. “You’re Miss Social now, eh?”

“Finally, she is,” Cassie said. “Now hurry up, Z, because they always run out of oyster crackers at the salad bar.”

“Calm down,” he teased, and I felt better when he gave her a smart-ass grin and looked a little more like himself.

Whew.

He dumped his books in his locker, and I was surprised that even with friends by my side and a surprising number of recognizable faces in the crowd, there was still something massively intimidating about a high school cafeteria during lunch.

So much noise, so much obnoxious laughter; I always felt like the cafeteria was the high school equivalent of the yard at a prison.

Lots of energy after being locked up all day, the air full of volatility.

But I was ready for this. I’d played boot hockey with these people. Eating food with them would be nothing, right?

As if reading my anxious mind, Alec squeezed my hand.

And that, combined with the familiarity of the table he stopped in front of, completely calmed my racing heart.

Because Kyle, Richie, and Vinny were on one side of the table, eating their lunches, and a couple of other guys from the team, as well as Liz and Lillie, were on the other.

It was a safe table.

Weird in a good way.

Like we were all friends.

Of course, I had no idea if that would change once Alec and I ended our agreement. What would they think of me then?

It was getting tricky to remember the big picture of our situation when my feelings about everything had changed.

Like hockey practice, for example.

It felt a lot different all of a sudden.

Now, when I wasn’t filming, I sat beside Cassie and we both did our homework (when she wasn’t stealing snacks from the concession stand).

I watched the guys practice and I cared about more than just Alec.

I watched as the entire team worked their asses off, and almost as much as the school wanted it, I wanted them to make the tournament.

It was all they talked about, the only thing that seemed to matter.

You could almost feel it in the air when you entered the Doug.

The mural that hung on the wall, the one that showed the hockey history of Southview—it suddenly seemed larger and more visible, like it was waiting to have the BIG story added onto it.

And the team’s intensity at practice was off the charts.

Alec still seemed, to me, to be more locked in than everyone else, but there was a seriousness that couldn’t be denied.

This was the team that could potentially do the thing that’d never been done, and everyone appeared to be fixated on the importance of that.

But toward the end of the week, I started noticingthe tension hanging over Alec.

He was the same funny guy, but it felt like he was distracted by his thoughts twenty-four seven.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He joked, but his mouth wasn’t as quick to slide into a grin. It was like he couldn’t not think about the tournament and how badly he wanted it.

Only one more game and they were in.

And God only knew how much pain he was in. Every time I asked about his shoulder, he told me it was fine, and I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it.

Part of me wanted to whisper to him that everything would be fine regardless of what happened, but I knew he wouldn’t appreciate that.

I wished, for once, that I could be the one to reassure him .

That I knew how to make him relax.

Because all I wanted was for him to be happy.