I turn my face to the sky. Heavy, wet snowflakes pelt my cheeks, sticking in my eyelashes until I blink them away. How can I be upset with Will when he was just doing what he had to do to secure his future? To find his own golden ticket out of here?
I don’t even know what’s important anymore. What’s worth fighting for, even if it’s not always a clean fight. Skating? Cupcakes? Hockey? My family? The diner? The scholarship? Dani? Will? Josh? My father? The past? The future? Everything I touch slips through my fingers like spilled hot chocolate. All I have left is the competition, the one thing that really can alter the course of my life. Fear and doubts aside, that was the deal. The promise I made myself when I signed up for the Capriani Cup.
Win it, and everything changes.
Now, more than ever, no matter how much it hurts to admit, that promise is the very last hope I’m holding, the only thing in my life that I haven’t yet spilled.
In six days, I’ll skate for those judges.
In six days, nothing else will matter.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bittersweets
Bavarian orange chocolate espresso cupcakes topped with dark chocolate ganache, chocolate icing, and a flower of orange buttercream
A plume of snowflakes swirls through the light of the Mobil sign next door, black lines on a pale blue glow announcing the price of gas and Newport Lights and something else with missing letters. Lake-effect wind lashes my bedroom window and my thin curtains ripple in the early morning draft, swaying at the edges.
I yawn and stretch and reach up to flick the light switch. From Bug’s room next door, Mr. Napkins squeaks out a lengthy response on his hamster wheel, which I can’t quite translate, because it’s too early and I haven’t had my hot stuff yet—coffee and shower, priorities one and two.
Twelve minutes later, I set my cup of joe on the bathroom sink as I examine my aching body in the fluorescent light, the parts I crash-landed on in training all week finally standing up for themselves. My triple/triple is solid, but my hip is bruised, a purple rose blooming on my skin. I feel a matching one on my elbow, and when I push up the sleeve of my bathrobe to inspect the damage, the door swings open with a rush of cold air.
“Don’t you knock?” I pull my robe tight as Bug looks up with his huge, matter-of-fact eyes, glasses fogging up from the steam of the waiting shower.
He holds up the hamster’s water bottle. “Mr. Napkins is thirsty. What happened to your arm?”
“Nothing.”
“Can I see it?”
“It’s fine.”
Bug looks at the shower stall and back to me. “Hudson, if it’s bruised, you should ice it. Heat will make it swell.”
“Thanks for the tip, Dr. Avery.”
“Saw it on House.” Bug nudges in front of me to get to the sink. He reaches for the faucet. Turns it on. Fills the water bottle. Twists and twists and twists the cap closed. Stretches to shut off the water. Dries the bottle on the hand towel. Turns toward me. And wraps his tiny arms around my waist, pressing his cheek against my robe. “It’s from Mr. Napkins,” he says, words muffled by the closeness of us.
I run my hand over his head and squeeze him back.
“Almost time for Hurley’s,” he says. “Mom said I can peel gum off the tables today. Holy cannoli!” He pumps his fist in the air. And then he’s gone.
He forgets to close the bathroom door.
I down the rest of my coffee and meet my eyes in the mirror. This is it. The day I’ve been training for all winter. In ten hours I’ll skate in front of a panel of judges for a chance at a fifty-thousand-dollar scholarship. Every one of my nerves stands at attention, my whole body buzzing with equal parts excitement and dread.
In ten hours, I’ll finally prove myself.
I’ll nail it.
I’ll win.
I’ll—
“Hurry up, Hudson!” Bug shouts from his bedroom down the hall. “Mom’s waiting for us.”
“Fifteen minutes!” I call back. I look in the mirror again, one last time before everything changes.
“Hudson, are all the blinds dusted?” Mom asks, zipping around the Hurley’s kitchen like some kind of cracked-out, nightmare hummingbird.
“Yep,” I say.
“Even the ones in the kitchen?” she asks.
“Did them myself. Twice.”
“And the tabletops? Did you check for gum and—”
“Bug’s on gum detail.” I push open the doors to the dining room and point to the booths by the window, where my brother diligently scrapes specimens from table underbellies into a small bucket.
“What about the walk-in cooler?” Mom asks. “Did you chuck any expired food and make sure everything on the shelves is alphabetized and—”
“Ma, he’s not the health inspector, and he’s not coming for two more days. You’ve been at this all week—calm down.”
“Go.” Mom points to the walk-in without further explanation, and thirty seconds later I’m knee-deep in dairy, organizing milk products for the third time this week.
“Holy meltdown.” Dani ducks into the cooler five minutes later, pulling the door shut behind her. She wraps a sweater around her shoulders and joins me at the shelves. “Girlfriend’s on my last nerve out there.”
“Tell me about it.”
“The dining room is so clean you could eat off the floor.” Dani picks through a few bricks of butter, separating the salted from the plain. “The guy’s gonna love us.”
“I wonder what he’s like,” I say, eager to keep our nonargument going. “Like, will he show up with a notebook and tape recorder, all official?”
Dani laughs. “Testing, testing, this is Bob Barker, reporting live from Hurley’s Homestyle Diner on—”
“Dude, no. Bob Barker is the guy from The Price Is Right.”
“When did the Price Is Right guy become a restaurant reviewer?”
“This year, I guess.” I laugh and check the time on my phone. Just under an hour until I make my escape.
“Soooo,” she says, stretching it out until it’s so long and loaded I already know what’s coming next.
“I haven’t spoken to either of them.”
“That bad, huh?”
I sniff a recently opened carton of heavy cream and set it back on the shelf, face out. “Josh thinks I conspired to get Will in front of hockey scouts and screw the rest of the team. It’s this whole mess with the coach—he’s Will’s godfather.”
Dani nods. “Frankie told me that part. But why are they mad at you? You obviously helped the whole team, not just Will.”
“There’s a lot more to it. I was hanging out with Will, but then Josh and I were supposed to … okay, it’s a crazy long story.”
She reaches for another stack of butter bricks, checking the dates. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just thought …”
“Are you working brunch tomorrow? Maybe we can go to Sharon’s for a late lunch after and talk about stuff?”
“Lunch tomorrow would be awesome,” she says. “But I’m working a double tonight, so if you want to start filling me in on the basics …”
I check my phone again. “I can’t.”
“Why are you so antsy?”
“I have the … my competition starts in a little while.” I pick up a tub of sour cream and inspect the contents. “The scholarship thing.”
“That’s tonight? I totally forgot! Why didn’t you remind me?”
“We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms.”
“Hudson.” She leans against the metal shelving that holds all the eggs, hands on her hips. “I know things aren’t all lovey-dovey, but that doesn’t mean I’m ditching out on the biggest event of your life.”