Page 6 of Fake Skating

“Why are you being an antisocial dick?”

Richie dropped into the chair beside me, giving me a look like I was ruining his fun.

Which was ironic when he seemed to be having the time of his life.

I swear to God he’d already gone down that hill fifteen different times.

Every year for as long as I could remember, the Novotnys had a massive February bonfire out at their place, where all their friends brought their discarded Christmas trees and they basically burned random shit all day and drank beer while the little kids took sleds down their massive hill.

We used to be the little kids sledding during the day, but for the past few years Zack had taken over bonfire duties after dark, when the adults went inside, and had his friends over for sledding and burning.

“I’m not,” I said, reluctantly taking out my AirPods and shutting down the “hell of a good time” I’d been listening to on repeat while staring into the fire. I considered myself to be a social guy on most days, but tonight I wasn’t feeling it.

I pulled my beanie down to my eyebrows because even though the bonfire was roaring, it was fucking cold.

And Richie wasn’t wrong.

Not the dick part, but I was being antisocial because—dammit—I couldn’t stop thinking about Dani.

And it wasn’t helping that my mom kept texting to see where I was.

Mom: Are you on your way?

Mom: Dani looks bored—you need to hurry.

The joke was on her, because I wasn’t planning on going home until Dani was gone. I knew I was going to have to face her eventually, but I’d prefer to do it at school.

From afar.

I didn’t need to participate in a freaking welcome dinner for the prodigal blonde.

No, thank you.

“The only person you’ve talked to since you got here is Tawnee, and she said—and I quote—that you’re ‘too drunk to be fun.’?”

I looked over in Tawnee’s direction, and, as if hearing her name, she glanced back at me and smiled. She and her best friend, Kylie, were wrapped up in blankets, standing on the other side of the fire, and I knew I probably should ask her out before someone else beat me to it.

“Bullshit,” I said, raising my cup and smiling back at her. “The drunk is my attempt at being fun.”

But I wasn’t drunk.

I was attempting drunk, I was working my ass off to get myself drunk, but I was way too sober and in my own head at the moment.

Vinny, who I hadn’t even noticed behind us, asked, “Didn’t you say you were done drinking until after the season?”

“Can you please get off my ass, Ma?”

“Oh, but you’re not being a dick, right?” Richie said with a smart-ass grin.

“Touché,” I muttered with a shrug, because they were right about everything.

I had committed to dry December and January (and February) because there was too much at stake for me to enjoy partying. Everything was lined up for me, and I couldn’t risk a mistake, not when everyone—every fucking one, I swear to God—was counting on me.

But tonight the risk had taken a back seat to the burning annoyance with my inability to stop thinking about her .

“Shut off the music and join us. It’s like you kind of set the tone at a party, as much as I fucking hate to admit that,” Vinny said, shaking his head like it was a ridiculous concept. “When you’re having a good time, everyone’s having a good time. Remember the massive sled train last year?”

“The one that broke Dex’s thumb?”

“I don’t give a shit—it was fucking epic, and that was all you,” he said with a laugh. “But when you’re quiet and dickish, everything is chill and no one gets crazy.”

“(A) That’s not true,” I said, “and (B) if it were true, that wouldn’t be my fault. Maybe you should be more interesting, and then you can set the tone.”

“I’m so fucking interesting it’s ridiculous, assbag,” he said with a grin. “If hockey didn’t exist, you would so be in my shadow.”

That was probably true. Between his stupid-long mullet (hence the nickname Vincent the Flow) and the way he looked more like a linebacker than a hockey player, he was probably the most interesting man in the room at all times.

My phone buzzed, and I sighed before pulling it out of my pocket and taking a look.

Mom: They’re leaving soon—when are you coming back? I think Dani thought you’d be here.

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a shit what Dani thought,” I muttered under my breath.

“What?” Richie asked, his ratty mullet looking like straight-up flames in the glow of the bonfire. Calling him a redhead was like calling the pope slightly spiritual: a wicked fucking understatement. “Who is Danny?”

I sighed and gave my head a shake. “She’s Mick Boche’s granddaughter.”

And my former best friend.

“Wait—Boche’s got a granddaughter? How old is she?”

“Our age.”

“No shit?” Vinny finished his drink and tossed the paper cup into the fire.

“Yeah. I kind of knew her when I was little, and she just moved here.” It wasn’t a lie. “She’s going to be going to Southview now.”

“The hell you say—what does she look like?”

“I’m picturing Mick with long hair, and it’s fucking terrifying,” Richie said with a laugh.

“I have no clue,” I said, not wanting to think about it. Her hair, her freckles, her height… has she gotten even taller?

“So why are you pissed about her?”

“I’m not,” I said defensively, knowing I sounded like a pouty little shit. “My mom is just all on my ass to go over there and see her when I don’t want to leave this party.”

“And you shouldn’t,” Zack said, stepping into our conversation and lowering his voice. “Because Reid brought megabong.”

“Of course he did,” Vinny laughed, shaking his head.

Reid was the only guy I knew who legitimately behaved like he was something out of an eighties stoner movie. He didn’t really drink, but he was all about it when it came to smoking.

I was the opposite.

I didn’t mind having a few beers when I wasn’t driving, but contrary to popular belief (because of a few shenanigans that got blown way the fuck out of proportion), I really wasn’t into partying.

Especially not Reid’s version of partying.

But an hour later, when the beer had yet to slow the steady stream of Dani-focused thoughts (and my mom texted Dani is GORGEOUS now, btw ), it suddenly felt like a good night to make a few mistakes.

“Has anyone ever gotten lit while going down this hill?” Richie asked, falling into the high-pitched giggle that only came out when he was buzzed. “Reid would look like a fucking steam locomotive if he megabonged on a sled in motion.”

“He’d never have the balls to try something that legendary,” Vinny said, shaking his head. “Are you kidding with that?”

“No lies detected, Vincent the Flow,” Reid agreed, nodding while wearing a half-baked smirk. “But I bet I know who would.”

“Who’s that crazy?” Zack said, throwing a handful of sticks into the fire.

“Our boy Zeus.”