Page 72 of Hockey Halloween

Tristan

“Bad decisions,” I repeat.

“Yes. That’s the Halloween party theme,” Toby confirms. “Something that represents your bad decisions. Clever, right?”

“He can’t admit to ever being wrong, so he doesn’t get it,” Ligaya says. “Besides, we can’t change the guest list now.”

“It is my house,” Toby declares.

“But I’m making all the food,” Ligaya states. She clasps her hands in front of her in a pose of mock contrition. “So sorry, Tristan, but we didn’t account for extra invites. Maybe next year.” She says it in the same tone as someone would say maybe when pigs fly.

“Don’t listen to her. We always make too much food. It’ll be fun. Costumes, drinks. And maybe more bad decisions, if we’re lucky,” he insinuates with wiggling brows.

“I remember Ligaya doing a very convincing impersonation of a drunk sailor at a party,” I say, recalling the summer gathering that launched our senior year prank war.

To be fair, my first trick was not ill-intentioned. She was into some guy whose name I can’t remember but I knew was an asshole. He would have broken her heart. I impersonated him in a letter so she could see what a fuckboy he was .

Before I could explain myself, Ligaya had already snuck a nasty spider in my locker. OK, it was fake, but my scream wasn’t.

My point is, Ligaya is the one who turned an innocent prank into a vendetta.

Honestly, it was fun at first.

Until it wasn’t.

“You have the memory of a maggot. Maybe get a doctor to check on that,” she retorts.

“My memory is impeccable, but thanks for always looking out for me,” I deadpan. “I’d love to attend your party, Toby. Just so happens there’s no hockey game that night.”

Although I already have a Halloween event next Saturday, this one sounds more interesting. It has a theme, after all. And a woman I’d like to kiss again.

The memory of Ligaya moaning into my mouth woke me up to a raging hard-on this morning.

“Perfect!” Toby exclaims. “Since you’re already here, you should have dinner with us. Ligaya and I always grab the two-for-one special at Moretti’s on Thursday nights.”

Ligaya’s eyes flick to Toby, back to me, and then back to her friend in an eyeball tennis match as she decides who to blame for my presence at dinner.

“Or not,” she says. “It only works with an even number of people, after all.”

“I’d love to,” I tell Toby.

“We’ll meet you there,” Toby announces. “Her car’s in the shop, so we carpooled today.”

Moretti’s is packed, the smell of garlic and fresh bread hitting me as soon as I walk in. My eyes immediately land on Ligaya. She’s removed her sweater and is in a fitted black shirt, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder.

When she sees me, she makes two swipes across her forehead. The barely noticeable tick once again draws my attention to her smooth forehead and dainty fingers.

Toby’s sitting across from her. As I approach, he stands up .

“I’m not feeling great,” he claims, pressing a hand to his stomach like a twelve-year-old faking a stomachache to skip school.

Ligaya looks up, frowning. “You were fine five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, well. Life’s unpredictable.” He grabs his coat, then claps me on the shoulder as he passes.

“I guess I’ll go, too,” Ligaya says, “seeing as you’re my ride.”

“I’ll take you home.” My voice is louder than intended.

“I’m not feeling well, and I don’t want to get you sick in case I’m contagious,” Toby says to Ligaya. “You two enjoy dinner. If you’re ordering the garlic knots, make sure you both eat it.”

He walks off, leaving behind a half-full glass of water and an awkward silence. Ligaya shakes her head.

“That was not subtle.”

“Nope.” I slide into the booth across from her.

She looks around the restaurant as a server makes his way to our table.

“Might as well eat,” she mumbles resignedly.

We both order the dinner special and settle into the booth.

Unexpectedly, Ligaya speaks in a serious tone. “What you said at the auditorium a few days ago, it was really nice. One of my students broke his leg in a skateboarding accident so he didn’t make the cut at his local hockey team. You inspired him.”

I blink a few times, surprised that something nice is voluntarily emerging from Ligaya’s mouth.

“I’m no superstar compared to my teammates, but I’m glad someone found that story useful.”

“We always hear about the superstars, don’t we?

” she states thoughtfully. “My students are bombarded with everyone’s better clothes, better house, better life .

It’s refreshing to hear about struggles.

That’s what I try to teach my drama students.

It isn’t about being a star on the stage.

It’s about occupying a character with all their strengths and flaws.

The real story is always in the struggle.

” She stops abruptly, looking embarrassed.

That’s something else I forgot about her. She’s whip-smart and thoughtful and passionate.

“You’re great with them,” I say .

The lasagna arrives and we dig in, neither of us knowing how to continue the uncharacteristic niceties yet unwilling to resume our typical barbs.

“My parents say hi,” she states, breaking the silence.

“I’ll get them Mavericks tickets, if they want.”

“Popping into the laundromat to say hi would be enough.”

“I should have come by sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Honestly? I’ve been back to do the obligatory visits to my parents but leave as soon as I can. They don’t exactly inspire the best memories.”

“I’m sorry. They haven’t changed?”

“Grayer and older but still masters of the silent treatment.” Talking about my parents is turning the food bitter. I scramble to change the subject.

“You know what I’ve ways wondered?” I begin. “How the hell did you shrink my boxers?”

She’s mid-drink and has to release a small cough before speaking. “I didn’t shrink them. I swapped them out for smaller ones.”

“God, you’re sneaky.”

We both chuckle at the memory.

At the height of our prank war, I’d stay up at night thinking of ways to get back at Ligaya. She drove me up the wall. Yet there was admiration for her cleverness, too.

And a sense of being, I don’t know, chosen .

She spent a lot of time and energy on her revenge tactics. The more elaborate the prank, the better. In a weird way, the silliness distracted me from my bleak home life after Olivia died.

“How’d you sneak in?” I ask.

How Ligaya got into my room to swap my boxers—hell, how she got into my house to mess up other things—remains a mystery.

“My mom kept your house keys as a memento of Olivia.”

My mouth falls open. Knowing why Cathy had those keys makes my eyes prickle. She took care of my sister during those last difficult months. Even when she wasn’t housekeeping, she’d drop by to tempt Olivia to eat a little something or to sit and watch television with her.

“I know it’s terrible,” Ligaya says. “My mother is so sentimental about Olivia. I should apologize.”

“Let’s hear it, then.” I lean back, hiding the strange warmth I feel at the sound of my sister’s name on Ligaya’s lips.

“Hear what?”

“Your apology.”

“I don’t mean apologize to you ! I mean to my mom for taking memento to do something so stupid.”

I chuckle. “We were idiots.”

“Decision-making is not a high schooler’s strongest attribute,” she agrees with a nod. “I would know.”

“Why’d you choose to teach at Centerstone? I thought you went to Chicago for college.”

She looks astonished that I knew where she went to college.

“My parents aren’t getting younger. And since Amihan, my older sister, is active military, it made sense for me to live close by.”

“Do you like it? Teaching, I mean.”

“Not every day. But yeah, I love teaching. Seeing my students shine on the stage is a high for me, too.”

“Can I ask you something?” I ask.

“Nothing’s stopping you.”

“It wasn’t till that Shakespeare play that things went too far.”

“I know.”

We had been going back and forth with pranks for months. But when I messed up her costume—I just trashed her wings, it’s not like she had nothing to wear—she refused to get on stage as the fairy queen of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

She had a total breakdown and quit theater altogether.

I felt terrible.

Then, she got back at me.

A week later, Ligaya stole my phone again. She also managed to change every single clock in my house, including my alarm clock.

I missed the single most important hockey game of my high school career .

“Ami helped me make that costume before she left for the military. We worked all night glamming up the wings. I was stressed about her being deployed. In my twisted brain, the broken wings represented our bond being broken. Ugh, I was such a drama queen.”

For a moment, I can’t breathe past the stone in my throat.

“I had no idea.” I wince at the inadequacy of my words. “Please believe me. I had no idea it meant that much.”

“I solved nothing by walking away from the performance. That’s not on you.

Dropping theater hurt me the most. Especially since my character was played by Claudia Cox, who messed up all the lines.

To add insult to injury, the costume never made it on stage.

Claudia had nicer tits than me, so my dress wouldn’t fit.

She wore a nearly sheer prom dress.” Ligaya shudders.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Regret sits heavy on my chest. “I’m sorry, Ligaya.”

“Even when I was mad at you, I knew taking the wings wasn’t that different from our previous pranks,” she admits. “But fuck, I swore I would make you pay. Unfortunately, I knew exactly how. I’m sorry about that, too, Tristan.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Accepted. And for the record, Claudia never had nicer tits than you.”

She scoffs. “How would you know?”