“You aren’t ditching. It’s fine. You don’t—”
“What time does it start? I’ll call Marianne.” She digs the phone out of her apron pocket and flips it open, scrolling through the numbers. “Maybe she’ll switch with me so I can—”
“Dani, listen to me.” I reach across the small space of the cooler and close her phone. “It’s not you, okay? I know I haven’t been around much and I don’t even deserve your awesomeness, and I totally appreciate that you still want to be there for me. But this event … I just … I can’t really explain it.”
“Try,” she whispers, eyes shining.
“I need to go it alone.”
“Alone. Right.” She wipes fresh tears with her fingertips. “Guess you’ve made that pretty clear, haven’t you?”
“Dani, wait.” I grab her arm.
“Let go of me.” She pulls away and stomps out of the cooler. She tries to slam the door, but I catch it and follow her to the big dishwasher at the back of the kitchen.
“Please listen,” I whisper, keeping an eye out for Mom and Bug. “I’ve been so stressed about this, and the competition is so hard. That scholarship … it’s everything to me. You have no idea how—”
“No, you have no idea. I’ve been dealing with your multiple personality disorder for months. I kept telling myself, ‘Ease up, she’s having a hard time with her family.’ Then it was, ‘Cut her a break. She’s really busy with hockey and skating stuff.’ Then, ‘Wow, waitressing and baking and school and training—must be tough to balance it all.’” Dani shoves one of my mixing bowls into the dishwasher, followed by a cutting board and a few dinner plates.
“Dani—”
“I tried to convince myself that things would get better once you got the hang of serving, or after the Wolves won a few games, or once Christmas break started, or New Year’s, or blah blah blah. But it never happened. Know why? Because there’s always another reason, Hud, and there always will be. Always something to give you a bad day or put you in a funk. Life is hard—I get it. The thing is, best friends don’t use that stuff as an excuse to treat each other like garbage. Best friends don’t make you feel like the slush under your boots.”
Her eyes are wild and her words hit me like steak knives, but she’s right. I can’t argue a single point, and hearing the entire soundtrack of my horrible behavior set to the tune of her wounded, angry voice kicks me hard in the chest. I hate that I put that edge in her jaw, the angles in her stance, the stain on our formerly unblemished friendship.
“I totally hear you, Dani. I know I got caught up in my own thing this winter, and I’ve been a mess of a person, but this is my last chance. I need to be in the zone tonight. No distractions—not even well-meaning ones. If I don’t nail this thing, that’s it. I’m stuck in this hole for the rest of my life.”
Dani slams the dish rack into the machine. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy trying to bail on this ‘hole,’ you’d remember that some people call it home, and that you don’t have it all that bad. Maybe if you stopped trying so hard to escape, you’d see some of the good stuff, too.”
“For you, sure. You still have both of your parents. You know they’re going to help you, whatever you decide to do. Look around. Look at this place. This is my future. My whole life. Name one good thing—”
“One and two,” she says, counting on her fingers. “You have a mom and a little brother who adore you. Three, Trick always has your back. Four, a warm bed. Five, all those friends you made on the hockey team—crushes or breakups or not, those guys adore you. Six, a decent job, when you show up. Seven—”
“What about you? Do I still have my best friend, or is that just a regional thing? Because it seems you liked me a whole lot better when you thought I’d be stuck in Watonka, working as a Hurley Girl for the rest of my life.”
Dani moves toward me, anger rising from her lungs, coloring her face. But then she changes directions, breaking for the staff closet. She digs through her bag and pulls out a folder, neat handwriting etched across the tab: PHOTO—FINAL PROJ./PASSION.
“Seven,” she says, fingers ashen against the plain manila. “Something you love. Something that used to make you smile.”
“Dani, I—”
“You forgot who you are, Hudson Avery.” She flings the folder at the prep counter and a few eight-by-tens slip across the metal surface. I recognize them from the shoot we did months ago for the cupcake flyers. We’d just finished taking some close-ups and I was messing around with a bowl of frosting, licking the spoon mock-seductively. I did it to make her laugh—to make both of us laugh.
It worked. I laughed so hard I didn’t even notice she was still clicking away on the camera. And now, staring down at a picture of the former me—the me who only a few months ago could still laugh like that, who still believed a good bowl of icing and a best friend were the keys to happiness—my heart shatters. She’s right. She’s right and I’ve risked everything that ever mattered to me, just for one more impossible chance on the ice.
But I’ve come too far to walk away from it. After all this, I owe it to myself to try. To go after the one thing I know will make me happy. Skating. Winning that competition. Getting back out there and proving to the judges that yes, Hudson Avery does have what it takes. Knowing that I worked hard for this, no matter who else is standing with me in the kiss-and-cry room when they call out the final scores.
I scoop the photos into the folder and hand the packet to Dani. “If you still want to come with me—”
“It’s too late. You made your choice.” Dani marches to the other end of the counter and tears the folder in half, dropping the whole thing into the trash. “Good luck tonight, girl. I hope you win that prize. And I hope it’s everything you dreamed it would be.”
In the third stall of the ladies’ room, I shed my Hurley Girl dress and slip into jeans and a sweatshirt, my old, slightly too-small skating dress folded neatly beneath the skates at the bottom of my backpack. My eyes are blurry with tears, but I can’t let Dani’s words get to me—not now. I have to focus on the competition. Visualize my routine. The applause. The scores. Everything I worked for all winter, all my life, finally happening.
I open the stall door, set my bag and Hurley’s uniform on the counter, and splash my face with cold water. I’m okay. I have to be. I have my skates and a passable dress and a date with Parallel Hudson, ready to reclaim the destiny that should’ve been mine all along.
“Hudson?” Mom sticks her head in the bathroom doorway, face tight and splotchy. “Where’s Dani? She’s not in the kitchen.”
“Did you check out back?” I tear off a paper towel and blot my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Just got a call from the newspaper. The reviewer has an assignment in New York on Monday.”
“He what?” I grab my backpack and the crumpled Hurley Girl dress from the counter and follow her out through the dining room, back into the kitchen. “He’s not coming? But what about—”
“Tonight, Hudson. He’s coming tonight.” She scans the kitchen, taking inventory. “Nat should be here in fifteen minutes. I called Marianne in, too. See if you can find Dani. Trick? Get those steaks prepped.”
“Mom, I can’t—”
“What about me?” Bug asks from under the prep counter. His hair is sticking up in every direction, his glasses smudged. “I got all the gum off the tables. And I even found some other stuff, too. Like—”
“You can polish all the ketchup bottles,” Mom says. “But first help your sister find Dani.”
“Right here.” Dani steps in through the smoking lounge door, rubbing her arms. “What’s going on?”
“Critic’s coming tonight instead of Monday,” Mom says. “Can you two change out the specials for the beef tips, put on fresh coffee, and make sure the menus are spotless?”