Bug continues to stir, scraping the sides at regular intervals, just like I taught him. “It makes me sad.”
“Me too.”
“Then again, if Dad never left, you probably wouldn’t be the Cupcake Queen. And if you weren’t the Cupcake Queen, I wouldn’t be the Cupcake Prince. And then I couldn’t do this.” He spoons out a huge dollop of chocolate batter and shoves it straight into his goofy, giggling mouth.
“Hey!” I laugh. “Save some for the customers, Prince!”
“It’s quality control, Hud. We are a rare oasis in the culinary tundra. We can’t feed the good people of Watonka any old garbage.”
“Just don’t put that spoon back in the bowl, okay? We already dodged one health code violation this month—let’s not push it.”
“NBD.” He flings the spoon into the sink and grabs a fresh one.
I back off and let him work, loading the used bowls into the dishwasher. As I pack up his extra ingredients, I glance at the frame hanging above the pantry—the picture Dani finally submitted for her photo project. She took it last week—me and Mom and Bug, all leaning over a bowl of cupcake batter that Bug accidentally exploded when he set the mixer too high. Mom’s laughing with her eyes closed and Bug’s got chocolate goo all over his face and glasses. And me, I’m just digging right in there with a spoon.
Passion.
She got an A.
“I think the Chocolate Cherry Fixer-Uppers are ready for the cups,” Bug says.
“Fixer-Uppers?”
Bug nods, his grin lighting up the whole kitchen. “Once they’re cool, we break them apart and then spackle them back together with cherry cream cheese frosting, mini chocolate chips, and chopped Martian cherries or whatever those things are. I was thinking of using a little whipped cream in the frosting so it doesn’t get too pasty.”
“Um, okay, wow.”
He shrugs, pushing his glasses up his nose with a chocolate-smudged finger. “Mr. Napkins thought they had potential when we discussed them last night.”
“More than potential.” I kiss him on the forehead and set out the silicone baking cups. “I gotta watch my back. These babies are gonna be best sellers, kiddo.”
After we pour out the batter and slide the CC Fixer-Uppers into the oven, Bug retreats to the dining room for grilled cheese and gravy fries and I head out back for my nonsmoke break. The sky has darkened to a deep purple, flecks of faraway lights flickering on the other side of the hill. Beyond the rise, the train screeches against the tracks, chugging and idling until it decides where it’s off to next.
“They never stay long, do they?”
I know that voice.
Josh.
I turn to find him behind me, looking over the hill toward the plume of smoke billowing from the train engine. We haven’t spoken since they came into Hurley’s after the finals. A wave at school here, a half smile in the parking lot there, but no real words. Nothing close. Nothing like before.
“Five minutes, give or take,” I say.
“Your brother told me you were back here. I hope it’s cool. I mean, I know you’re on break. I don’t want to—”
“It’s cool.” I force myself to meet his gaze, the icy blue-gray of his eyes, intense as ever. He’s got a short, scruffy beard now. They all do—some playoffs superstition thing. I shiver and pull the coat close around my neck.
“Look,” he says. “I know things got kind of … weird between us. I didn’t mean to freak out like that at the semis. I was pissed at Will, and when he said that stuff about you, it just … it bugged me. And everything with the coach …” Josh shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I understand.” Until that night at semifinals, I didn’t know the extent of Will’s plans, but it doesn’t matter. I was willing to keep his secrets because I needed mine kept, too. I was doing the same thing—using the team to get what I needed, running away from the truth.
“Will told Dodd about you, by the way,” Josh says. “The night after the fight, he told him everything. How you’ve been helping us, how the whole team came together because of you. He also told Dodd he’s not interested in ditching us, and that the coach can either come back and start acting like a real coach, or let us do it on our own. Either way, he’s pretty convinced we’ll go to nationals, with or without Dodd’s stamp of approval.”
“Are you serious?”
Josh nods. “You saw what happened this season. And Will’s right—it was all because of you.”
I shake my head, that train still idling at the station. Catching its breath. Bracing for the long, cold journey ahead, grateful it doesn’t have to stay here long. “You guys are really good. You just needed a push.”
“And you gave it to us. We made it into the division championships, Hud. We could win this thing.” He steps forward, closing the space between us. “I came to say thank you. I mean it.”
“You’re … um … you’re welcome.”
“This is for you. It’s from everyone.” Josh hands me a package from inside his coat, warm from resting against his chest.
“What did you guys do?”
He grins. “Just open it.”
I tear off the paper to reveal a baby-soft pile of blue-and-silver fabric. It can only be one thing.
“A jersey? That’s so cool!”
“Not just any jersey. Check it out.” He unfolds it and holds it up so I can take a closer look. AVERY, it says, stitched across the back over my very own number: forty-two.
“That’s my favorite number!”
“Well, it’s yours now, forty-two—no one else can use it. But the best part?” He flips the jersey around. On the front, there’s a wolf’s head, just like on the boys’ jerseys. But mine’s a she-wolf. And she’s wearing a sparkling pink tiara.
“What do you think, Princess Pink?”
I slip off my jacket and pull the jersey on, right over my Hurley Girl dress. “I don’t know what to say.”
Josh smiles. “Say that you’ll come back and help us train for nationals. We’re good, but not undefeated. I think you can still teach us a few tricks.”
My heart races, but I force it to slow down. I know in every bone, every muscle, that I belong on the ice. Not as a solo competitor in some glossy-perfect parallel life, but as a team skater. A part of something more than glitter and roses thrown on the rink after everyone else has been eliminated. I think about Amir and Rowan and Gettysburg and even Will, and how much they grew together as a team this season, despite Will’s initial solo plans. I helped them get there. And they helped me. And now they want me back.
“Do you remember that day we crashed at Fillmore?” I ask.
“I’ll never forget it.” His fingers reach for my forehead, but stop just short. “I thought I gave you a concussion.”
“Then you came to Hurley’s and asked if we could spend some time on the ice together. Just the two of us.”
Josh nods. “But you got suckered into training the whole pack. Lucky you.”
I pull the jersey sleeves over my hands and sigh. “Josh, listen. I’m not training with the wolf pack again. I promised my mom I’d stick it out at Hurley’s until we bring in some new people, and I want to spend more time with Bug. But if the offer’s still on the table, I wouldn’t mind skating with you sometimes. Just the two of us.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“As long as I don’t have to give back the jersey? Yes.”
“You got yourself a deal, Avery.” He pulls me into a hug, but it only lasts a few seconds, the awkwardness of everything creeping back up, fracturing our momentary reunion.
Below us, over the hill, the train starts up again, its breath ragged and loud as it prepares to exit the station. Josh puts his hands back in his pockets, and I know in my heart that this is one of those times, those now-or-never moments that we grow to look back on for the rest of always, asking whether we did the right thing, the best thing, the true thing. Maybe he doesn’t want me—maybe I misread all the signs and looks and the near kiss. Maybe he really does want me, and we’ll fall in love and then one day he’ll decide he wants a female Elvis impersonator instead. Or maybe there’s a real romantic pirate-ninja-assassin love story in there somewhere, just like in Dani’s books.