Page 8

chapter eight

why do i want to find him, just to hide from him?

P erhaps this whole twenty-four-hour dream I’d had about skating again should have stayed a dream. There was no way I was going to be able to afford to live and pay for Aspen's classes. Even with the discount, I didn’t have the spare cash for it, and I didn’t have access to everything dad left me until I turned twenty-one.

I could try picking up more shifts at Flo’s, but that wasn’t likely. She always seemed to have just the right number of people working—probably because no one ever wanted to leave.And besides, my class schedule wouldn't allow it anyway.

“C’mon, it’s starting!” Daisy called, her hand reaching back to find mineand tugging me through the slow-moving crowd of latecomers funnelling into the Liberty Lions rink.

Truthfully, leaving the house had been the last thing I wanted to do today. Aftermeeting with Aspen yesterday morning, I’d been perfectly content becoming one with my bed, brainstorming every semi-legal way I could scrape together the money for skating classes. But Daisy and Cora had shown up at bre akfast armed with croissants, coffee, and some relentless optimism, promising that a little fresh air and a reunion with the guys would do me good.

I wasn’t sure I believed them, but I’d folded anyway.

It had been a week since I’d seen any of them, though Jesse andTristan hadn’t let longer that a day or two go by without checking in on me, even over the summer.

Finn had texted too—just once—but those few words had stayed with me farlonger than I wanted to admit.

I don’t care that we don’t talk. If you need me—anything—I’m here. I’malways here, Aurora.

Even now, thinking about it made something tighten in my chest. It wasn’t thechill from the rink—I’d dressed in the holy trinity of winter accessories: matching mittens, scarf, and earmuffs, all in a soft pearly white. No, this shiver was down to Finn. He was here, somewhere, and some deranged part of me wanted to search for him, knowing I’d hide if he spotted me.

I hadn't seen him since he stormed out of the attic, and the inevitable reunion was lingering, waiting to jump me when I was sure I was in the clear.

My heart picked up, pattering against my chest until it felt like a jackhammerwas trying to burst out of me.Daisy and I joined Cora, Goldie and Tristan in our usual seats. I opened mymouth to ask her what time the game was starting, purely to see how much time I had to mentally prepare myself, but the words froze on my tongue as the lights dimmed, plunging the rink into darkness.

A s econd later, the Lions’ iconic entrance song boomed through the speakers,and green strobe lights danced across the room. My question was forgotten as the roar of the crowd swelled, the energy more than electric. A lion mascot skated out of the tunnel, lapping the rink and coaxing cheers out of both Lions fans and the fans who sat opposite us, dressed in the blue and gold jersey of the UCLA Bruins.

The arena lights dimmed again, and a blast of music shook the boards as the tunnel erupted with movement—broad green and white jerseys streaking onto the ice. Skates carved sharp lines across the surface, sending up sprays of ice as the Lions burst forward, their sticks tapping in rhythm like a war drum.

As the teams circled their respective ends of the rink, warming up before thenational anthem, I felt my breath hitch. My heart tightened in my chest, anticipation building as I waited for the moment I’d finally see Finn.

I didn’t know why I always felt this way, why it didn’t feel real that he was here until I laid eyes on him. It was like a game my brain loved to play—teasing me with uncertainty, daring me to imagine the moment before it arrived.

You have a big, fat crush on him, Rory, that might have something to do with it.

That grating little voice, as much as I wanted to block it out, was right. And Ihated myself for it. Hated that after everything, I still felt like this—stupidly tangled up in a boy who had embarrassed me in front of all our friends last year.

But crushes don’t care about logic, do they?

I s till liked him. I liked the way hishand had held mine just as tightly as I’d clung to his after his accident during a random practice last November. I liked the way he’d cradled me when I got the call about my dad—how he’d scooped me into his arms and rocked me until I’d stopped crying.

God, I even liked the way he seemed interested in seeing me smile in the attic.

And yet, I couldn’t figure out why he’d gone cold when I’d asked him out lastyear. Why he’d completely blanked me. The only explanation that made sense was that he didn’t like me the way I liked him. Remembering that now made me cringe inwardly. How na?ve I must’ve looked, gushing over him even in my head.

Ugh. Je déteste cet endroit. 1

I shook the thoughts away and turned to Goldie, desperate for a distraction.“Can I have some of that popcorn?”

She didn’t even look up from the ice, just wordlessly passed the bucket over,and I proceeded to inhale what felt like half of it in one go.

Nervous snacking was a constant companion of mine, you see.Probably why I’d packed on a few pounds over the summer while I was planning the funeral. Not that I cared much. The weight had gone exactly where I’d always wanted it. For once, my jeans fit in a way that meant that awkward gaping around my waist filled out, and I wasn’t mad about it.

I was mid-chew, trying not to get popcorn crumbs on my scarf, when I finallysaw him, and that gnawing feeling to lift my scarf and hide from him was biting at my fingertips.

My stomach did a ridiculous little flip as my eyes followed him, and I swallowed hard, the butterysweetness sticking to the back of my throat.

Why did he have to look that good in a hockey jersey? Like, was it really necessary? The sharp green and white lines of his uniform just made him seem taller, sharper, like some kind of ice-bound hero.

It would be so much easier if hispersonality matched Ryan Hatterson’s, theLions enforcer around two feet behind him—whose god-like looks had once masked the fact that he was, quite frankly, the worst person I’d had the displeasure of knowing.

Ryan was a different kind of asshole. Youwouldn’t look at that handsome smile and think, Yeah, that guy’s a dick . He’d fooled me so well back in high school until I found out I’d just been the punchline to a bet between him and his friends. Thinking about it still made my chest ache, a small, lingering bruise on my self-esteem.

But Finn wasn’t Ryan. He was… complicated. Kind. The sort of person whodidn’t just know how to hold you when you were breaking but made you feel like maybe you wouldn’t break at all.

And that was the problem.

Because even though my brain knew better—knew how badly I’d been hurt before—my heart didn’t seem to care. It beat t raitorously fast at the sight of him, and the hope I’d tried so hard to bury since last year, the hope I saw vanish completely last week, clawed its way back up. He’d rejected me, and yet here I was, still unable to stop liking him. Still unable to stop hoping.

I stared down at him from the bleachers,my eyes flickering between Finn andRyan, trying to remind myself of all the reasons being here was a bad idea.

“Rory?” Goldie’s voice broke through my spiral. I blinked, realising I’d beengripping the popcorn tub so hard it was dented.

Her gaze dropped to the empty container,and she raised an eyebrow, a teasingsmirk playing on her lips. “When did ‘can I have some popcorn’ turn into ‘I’m going to eat the entire thing?’”

“Oh.” I looked down at the tub, guilt swimming alongside the buttery kernelsin my stomach. “Oops.”

Goldie laughed, light and unbothered, but I scrambled to save face, my cheeksburning. “You know, I suddenly have a really strong urge to go get more popcorn,” I said, already standing. “Want anything?”

She stuck her tongue out at me, clearly amused, and waved me off.

Clutching the empty tub like a shield, I made my way to the concession stand,grateful for the excuse to escape. My thoughts were spinning too fast to sit still. For once, I was actually glad the line at the concession stand stretched so longit nearly wrapped around the corner. It gave me space to breathe and un tangle my messy thoughts without feeling like the rink’s chaos was closing in on me. I stared at the popcorn menu, trying to convince myself that caramel corn could solve at least half of my problems when something bumped into me.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”

I turned to see a familiar face. Bindi,mine and Cora’s old dorm neighbour fromlast year. Her sleek bob was tied into low pigtails, gold ribbons tying them off, and the green and white cheerleading uniform she wore sparkled against her glowing mocha skin.

“Rory!” she said, her smile instantlybrightening.

“Bindi! Hi!” I grinned back, taking in how effortlessly polished she alwayslooked. “How are you?"

Her smile faltered, just for a second. “Oh, you know. It’s day—what? Four?Five of the season? And I’m already drowning.” She laughed lightly, her pleated skirt swishing as she shifted nervously, and even her laugh didn’t quite hide how frazzled she seemed.

I tilted my head, softening my voice. “Is everything okay?”

She tried smiling once more, but soon enough she sighed, and the tension in her shoulders sagged. “No, not really. A bunchof girls on the squad just quit—like, out of nowhere. I get it; school’s hard this year, and keeping up with cheer isn’t easy. But now we’re down to four people. Four! That’s not a squad—it’s a disaster. And if we can’t fix this, I don’t even want to think about what’ll happen to my scholarship.”

My heart squeezed. Cheerleading was Bindi’s life. I remembered her talkingabout it last year when we passed each other in the hallways—how much the scholarship meant to her, how it was her only way to stay at Liberty. I glanced over her shoulder at the rink, where three cheerleaders danced as big and energetically as they could, trying to fill the emptiness on their stage.

“Are you having tryouts?” I asked, keeping my voice light but knowing theanswer already.

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “But it’s like suddenly no one wants to cheeranymore. It’s so frustrating. But!” Her tone brightened a little. “Coach Burton and our Coach had a meeting with Dean Sommerford this afternoon and managed to work something out. They’re making it a paid position now, because they know it’ll take time away from studies, so why not make it worth their while? And it’s great for resumes, so we’re hoping that will reel a few people in.”

Her words barely had time to settlebefore a little flicker of an idea sparked inmy head.

A paid position. Actual money.

Consider me reeled.

“I’ll do it.” The words tumbled out of my mouthbefore I could stop them, before I could think, and Bindi’s wide-eyed expression matched the flutter of hope in my chest.

“Wait… what? Really?” she asked, hervoice somewhere between disbelief and hope.

I nodded, though my stomach twisted itself into knots. “I mean, I’ve nevercheered before—like, ever—but I can learn. I did a few ballet classes when I was in sixth grade. If you’re desper ate, and if it helps you keep your scholarship, then… yeah. Why not?”

“Are you serious?” Her voice pitchedhigher as her hands flew to her cheeks.“Oh my gosh, Rory, that would be amazing!”

“I—I don’t know how amazing I’ll be,” Istammered, a nervous laugh slipping out. “I’m not exactly what you’d call coordinated.”

Her laugh sounded like a sigh of relief. “Trust me, if you can clap and yell, thenyou’re perfect,” Bindi said, practically bouncing in place.

I smiled nervously, my mind already spinning at the thought of standing infront of a crowd. In that outfit. With pom-poms that practically screamed, “Look at me and my ridiculously short skirt!”. Maybe if I squinted really hard, I could pretend the stands weren’t full of people.

Still, beneath the panic andsecond-guessing, there was somethingelse—another flicker of hope, of possibility.

If this got me into Aspen’s classes… if this gave me a chance to skate againand find a little piece of myself in the chaos of it all… maybe it was worth coming out of my shadows for a while.

I wasn’t sure I’d love the idea ofdancing—or surviving the humiliation oftripping over my own feet in front of a crowd—but I’d try.

For Aspen’s classes. For the hope ofchasing something I loved again.

For me.

1. Ugh. I hate it here.