But I was wrong. I’m strong enough to carry any dream on my own. I was just trying to carry the wrong one.
“Dad’s gone,” I say, “and I let him take skating with him. For three years I told myself he ruined it. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. I miss it, Ma. I miss being on the ice. And I’m tired of sneaking around to do it.”
Mom leans back in her chair, eyes glazed with tears. “Baby, I had no idea you were skating again. No idea you wanted any of this. You could’ve told me and saved us both a lot of grief. Not to mention money—how much extra cash have you been floating Mrs. Ferris?”
My face goes hot. “Enough to cover a few months of gas bills.”
“Oh, Hudson …”
“I felt like I couldn’t talk about it because you’d get upset, either about the cost of everything, or just remembering stuff with Dad. So when I got that letter, I thought if I could find a way to skate and earn a scholarship, I could tell you after. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about paying for college, and I could still do something I love.”
“Hudson, your father and I have a college savings for you.”
“You—what?”
Mom reaches for a tissue. “It’s not fifty grand—not even close—but it’s a start. Enough for in-state tuition, anyway.”
“But …” I close my eyes, memories resurfacing. “You guys had the lump sum thing. I remember the lawyer explaining it when we sold the old house. Dad didn’t have to pay anything else.”
“That was for alimony and child support, hon. He’s still putting up for part of your education. He makes a deposit every other month. As much as it pains me to say this—and trust me, it does—he’s not a total heartless jerk.”
I fold my arms over my sequins, images of Dad and Shelvis flickering through my head. “I don’t want anything from him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s your father, even if he’s not around. Helping with college is the least he can do. Believe me.”
I stand up and shove my chair back. “No. He bailed on us, Ma. Divorce is one thing, but he totally bailed. He never calls, he barely ever e-mails, and even then it’s just to talk about himself.”
“I know, and it tears me up that he does that to you kids. But college is expensive, and it’s his responsibility as a father to—”
“He’s not allowed to feel like a good father just for writing a check. I’d rather have a mountain of student loans than let him buy me a single textbook.” I slump back into the chair.
Mom reaches for my hands across the desk. “You don’t have to decide about that right now, and I’m not trying to turn this into a conversation about your father’s issues. The point is, you could’ve been honest with me. All this time you’ve been training for another competition, and I was in the dark. I didn’t even know you still had skates. Are you signed up for anything else? More competitions? Scholarships? Lessons?”
I shake my head. “No competitions. But I do want to keep skating. Maybe just at a club or coaching little kids or whatever.”
“What about work?” Mom releases my hands and shuffles through the mound of papers on her desk. “You’re still on the schedule this month, and you’ve got a ton of Valentine’s orders coming up, and—”
“I know. And I want to do them. All of them. I like baking cupcakes. I like being here with Trick and Dani in the mornings, hanging out in the kitchen, inventing new flavors.”
“You do?”
I nod. “I just don’t want to work at Hurley’s forever. Not as a waitress and not as the future owner. Who knows what’ll happen down the line, but right now, I don’t want the same things you did. I want my own life.”
Mom straightens the papers on her desk, flipping through the stacks with her thumb. I pick at a loose sequin from my dress, pulling it off and rolling it between my fingers. Mom opens her desk drawer and shoves a stack of inventory sheets inside. Closes it. Taps a pencil on the arm of her chair. I roll and unroll my leg warmers, stretch them out, pull them up over my knees.
“So the diner’s not your big dream,” Mom finally says, dropping her pencil into the abyss on her desk. “I can accept that. It’s my dream—always was. The thing is, right now, it’s also our family’s only source of income. And I really can’t make it work without your help.”
I lean back in my chair and let out a long sigh, remembering Ms. Fanny Pack and her viable income models. “I know.”
“I kept telling you the waitressing gig was only temporary, but I guess it didn’t work out that way.”
I shrug. “I understand, Ma. I know I didn’t make it easy, and I know you do a lot for me and Bug. I want to help. Just, maybe in a different way.”
“What way? We got a huge boost tonight, sure. But that review comes out next week, and it could really break us. If that happens, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this place open. This isn’t a guilt trip. It’s a fact.”
“Let’s just see what he says. Maybe it won’t be that bad. Besides, Dani made a good point—people around here only care about the sports page.”
Mom laughs. “True.”
“Anyway, I’m not ditching again—keep me on the schedule for now. Tonight was good. Dani said she got a bunch of catering and party requests, so things might turn out fine. In the meantime, I really just have one request.”
“What’s that?”
“Eighty-six the uniforms. The Hurley Girl dresses are a little ridiculous, Ma.”
She smirks. “Says the girl in skintight rainbow sequins and pink leg warmers?”
There’s a knock on the office door, and Dani pokes her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a table here for Hudson.”
“Mind getting their drinks?” I ask.
“Already done. Now they’re just getting impatient, banging their silverware on the table and everything. Very middle school, if you ask me.”
Bug trails in behind her, rubbing his eyes. “Jeez, your friends are loud. Some of us are trying to sleep!” He crawls into Mom’s lap and rests his head on her shoulder.
“Ooh, there they go again. Listen.” Dani pushes the door all the way open. From the dining room, all through the kitchen, right straight into the office, a silverware-banging chant floats on the air.
“Pink! Pink! Pink! Pink!”
“Pig?” Mom asks as she arranges Bug on another chair. “No, wait … pink? Is that what they’re saying? Dani, why are they saying that?”
Dani shakes her head and laughs. “It’s … a really long story.”
“Those are the best kind.” Mom tightens her ponytail and ushers us out into the kitchen. “I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee. Hudson, see to your table. You won’t have the honor much longer, so make it count.” She winks at me, and I turn toward the dining room, still clad in my skating getup and a frosting-spattered half apron, ready to face the music. Er, chanting. Whatever.
I push through the doors. Crammed together around a long row of pushed-together tables, all nineteen of the Watonka Wolves—plus Ellie, Kara, two of Amir’s cousins, and a handful of other girls from school—whistle and cheer as I make my dazzling appearance.
After the fight on the ice last week, Will’s scandal with Dodd, everything that happened and unhappened between Josh and me, the rise and fall of my big fat skating plans—I didn’t expect to see them again. Not like this.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask.
“Celebrating,” Amir says. “Not sure if you heard, but we’re kind of a big deal around here. Championship contenders and all. Howoooo!”
The other guys join in and pull me into some kind of fumbling group hug, and even Kara gives me a quick squeeze.