I can’t figure out how I ended up here and why I can’t move away. I
was wondering around, trying to find something to do with myself after finishing class. I know I should probably go home and study but as soon as I heard her skates on the ice and the frustrated grunts coming from the rink, I couldn’t look away. Not now. I’ve fallen too deep.
I stand, completely and utterly captivated, watching her glide and turn. She speeds up her pace, does a fancy spin and then comes down hard on the ice, grunting and curling her hands into little fists. Why does it turn me on when she’s angry? She skates towards the end of the rink, holding onto the sides, taking a deep breath before continuing the same routine I’ve seen her do over three times.
I think back to what Xavier said the other night when Wren and I first spoke. As much as I hate to admit it, he was right. I’ve seen her around more often than usual, over the past week. I’ve been dying to speak to her again but each time she’s around she’s either with those two girls or she doesn’t notice me all together. The fact that she’s cold and dismissive only makes me want her more. Something about seeing her here now feels more
intimate. Watching somebody dance like this is like peeling back layers of them. Exposing them.
“How long have you been standing there, you weirdo?” she asks, still mid spin. I walk out of my not so hidden hiding place and come into view. I move to the edge of the rink, leaning my forearms on the railing.
“How could you tell it was me?” I ask, amused. She continues gliding and turning, not looking at me completely.
“Even when I’m spinning, I can still see, you know.” Her voice is strong even though she has been working without a break for what seems like hours. “What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
She stops her routine abruptly and drifts towards me in her tight pink leotard. She stops right in front of me, her arms across her chest, her cheeks red and puffy, breathing heavily. Just by looking at her my heartbeat triples in pace. Fuck.
“How come you keep showing up everywhere the second my life turns to shit?” Wren asks without missing a beat.
“I was thinking the same thing about you.” I grin. She scoffs, rolling her eyes. If I had no self-control, I would’ve jumped over the railing that’s separating us, taking her in my arms. I just want to be close to her in any way. Luckily for the both of us, I have more composure than that, so I lie. “I’ve got to go to practice.”
She cocks her head to the side. “There isn’t a practice on today.”
“I didn’t know you knew my schedule, Wren. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re starting to like me,” I tease, loving the way her face
turns red.
“The last thing that should be on your mind is me liking you,” she retorts, taking out her hair from its bun. She lets it fall before quickly gathering it up again into a looser one. Fuck me, she’s beautiful.
“Right, what should be on my mind then?” I tilt my head to the side.
“I don’t know. Maybe start my doing something that doesn’t make you stink of beer. Why would come here when you’ve been drinking? It’s like you don’t even care about playing again,” she snaps. Her tone shocks me.
I’ve only had maybe three drinks to psych myself up to go into class today. I told myself I wasn’t going to have any more for the rest of the day, and I intend on keeping that promise. I kind of like that she cares even when she’s acting like she doesn’t.
“Well, I’m not playing so there’s no reason for me not to drink. I’ll be fine,” I say, waving my hands around vaguely. She drops her arms from her chest, rolling her eyes.
“And you think you’ll be able to play quicker if you drink more?”
“Why do you care? I didn’t come here for a lecture. If I wanted one, I would’ve stayed at home.”
“Then why are you really here?” she challenges. I wait a beat, not meeting her eyes.
“I just finished class and I could hear you in here, so I thought I’d say hi.” I tell the truth this time because I know she will see right through me. She lets out a disbelieving “huh,” mostly saying it to herself but I catch it anyway. “What?”
She looks at me, her brown-green eyes boring into me.
“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head slightly. I wait, giving her and unconvinced glance, knowing there’s more she isn’t saying. “This isn’t related at all, but can I have your number?”
There it is. I knew this was all an act. The one where she plays hard to get. She cold and fierce and harsh but it only makes me more drawn to her. I want to know every thought inside her brain. Why she is the way she is. How she can look through me so easily. I’ve never met anyone so defiant as her and it just turns me on.
“It’s not for me. Well…it is. My friends would kill me if I didn’t get it,” she rambles, rolling her eyes as she talks with her hands. It’s a cute look compared to the death stare she gave me earlier.
“Right, okay,” I reply with a funny look, pulling out my phone. “So, which one of your friends is it that want you to get my number so badly? I bet it’s Scarlett. She used to date one of my teammates, you know.”
Her pink lips fight off a smile when she looks up at me.
“Oh, I know.” She laughs softly as if there’s a hidden joke that I’m missing. The airdrop notification sounds, showing that she’s received the screenshot of my number. “I can assure you that it’s not. Thank you, though.”
I watch her look at me for what feels like the first time. Like, really look at me. The fluorescent lights make her eyes look completely green and her red cheeks have still not died down.
I watch her take a sweep of my face; starting with my brown hair which has grown longer than I’m used to, to the space between my eyes, and then
to my lips where she hovers for a beat too long. I lean back off the barrier, putting some space between us as I clear my throat.
“Use it whenever you like. You’re a fun one to talk to, Wren,” I say, turning around and walking back towards the hallway.
“What does that even mean?” she shouts, clearly frustrated. I laugh and make my way out of the chilly rink. Honestly, I don’t even know what I meant or why I said it. I just can’t seem to get her out of my head, and I don’t want her to have any excuses not to talk to me.
*
After a painful week of not hearing from Wren, other than catching
small glimpses in the hallway, I go to my safe place. I’ve been good-ish this week. I’ve cut down some of the heavy stuff like Bourbon but I’m still balancing the lighter ones that can soothe the pain for a short period.
Since Carter’s death I’ve visited the rockery that the school put together nearly every week. It’s located in the courtyard between the rinks at NU. It’s a place where I can talk to him. The school offered me someone to talk to but that doesn’t feel the same. I don’t want to find new ways to deal with it and find a way to turn all my dark thoughts into something positive. I just want to talk to him.
Even if he can’t talk back, just sitting here surrounded by all the things that remind me of him make me feel closer to him.
Carter was practically my brother. Growing up, he spent a lot of time at my place when he was in a tough place with his older brother while his parents working. Ethan would use Carter as his punching bag instead of working out his frustrations in a calm way. His parents never caught onto it,
but I did. Sometimes, he would stay with us for weeks at a time, basically moving in when he didn’t want to be alone with his brother. It felt like an extended summer camp. My parents didn’t mind and neither did Clara. They all loved him. He was an easy person to love.
He was funny and smart in a casual way. Always too good for anybody. Always rational but fun. He constantly had this light energy about him that not only drew people towards him but made him light up any room he was in.
We discovered our love for hockey early on. As kids, we would go to the games with our parents who were huge hockey fans and when we got older, we started to enjoy the game more. First it was the ice, then it was the adrenaline rush, then it was the crowd and the support and then before we knew it, it became our lives. We started off in little leagues, slowly getting better and stronger until our high school won the championship. It was always our dream to play for the Grizzlies in the NHL. If that didn’t work out, which we were sure it would, we’d become coaches or personal trainers. All we wanted was to play, side by side, and win the Stanley Cup.
Those dreams feel so out of reach now. This was supposed to be our year. We were supposed to train harder than we had ever done, stick to a strict diet and win the championship for NU. We were supposed to be featured in the school newspaper. Miles Davis and Carter Reyes, it was supposed to say, carrying North University to another victory. Instead, I’m wasting away my days and nights with a bottle in my hand.
“I’m sorry, Carter. It’s been another bad week,” I say to him, adjusting his large picture frame on the rockery. “I keep telling myself I’m going to
try but every time I get near our rink, I freeze up. It doesn’t feel right without you. I know I need to try harder. I know I do. It’s just so difficult. This was supposed to be our dream. Our year. Not just mine. I can’t even put on my full gear without throwing up. I have managed to wear my jersey again but the thought of picking up a stick makes my stomach turn.”
I laugh to myself, feeling pathetic. A car drives by and goosebumps rise up my arms rapidly. Although it’s often noisy here on campus, talking to him here is better than trying to do it at home. After he died, his parents came to get some things out of his room but other than that it’s been untouched. It still feels like him. Still smells like him. Nobody goes near it, and nobody mentions it. We’ve not held a party there since. His room is in the basement and the thought of someone accidentally walking in there is too frightening to risk.
“Enough of the sad shit. I met someone, sort of. She’s a piece of work but, so am I. She tough and so fucking gorgeous. I’m positive that she hates me but that onto makes me like her more. She’s funny without trying and I can’t help but think that the world is trying to tell me something. The second I get benched, there she is, like an angel or some shit. She’s been everywhere and I can’t get her out of my head. I’m trying not to fuck it up, but she’s had my number for a week, and she hasn’t said anything.”
Each time I talk to him, I keep thinking that he’s going to speak back. That he’ll tell me in some way that he’s okay. To tell me that I need to get my shit together. Or that one day, he’ll just jump out of the closet and say, “I got you!” But it’s been three months and nothing. I ‘m just stupidly waiting for him to come back.
