Chapter 5 Dawson
Harper’s cheeks flush with something that could either be shame at getting caught or insult at a false accusation. It’s impossible to tell.
I narrow my eyes. I forget all about Alex and Ryan and Noah crammed into this booth alongside me as I lock in on Harper. She tucks her hair behind her ear, taking a deep breath as if to steady herself. I’ve never seen her at a loss for words like this.
Is the pulse fluttering in her throat a sign of guilt? The bracelet she’s always wearing dances on her wrist, as if she’s trembling.
I frown. She’s annoying as hell, but would she really get someone fired?
“I know you’d love to think we all care enough about you to scheme behind your back,” she says when she regains the power of speech, each word clear and clipped. “But frankly I don’t have the time or energy. If you find whoever busted him, though, tell them their onion rings are on the house.”
She whirls away. Ryan snorts his approval, muttering something about free onion rings being a pretty good incentive to take up fighting crime, but he shuts up when Noah shoots him a look.
“I know she did it.” He stabs an emphatic finger after her.
His voice rises above the chatter inside the diner, and I have to fight the urge to tell him to quiet down.
He clearly doesn’t care who overhears. “She’s always bitching about how hockey gets all the school’s money instead of her book club or whatever—”
“Young Entrepreneurs Program,” I correct.
Noah waves a hand. “Sure. But it wouldn’t be like that if they did anything worth funding. We were league champs last year!”
“Thanks to Coach Red,” Ryan mumbles. When we all shoot him a glance, he holds up his hands.
“Sorry! Pointing out the obvious! I’m just saying, I’m going to double down on training for baseball.
Or maybe I’ll get Tyler to teach me how to throw a football in time for next fall’s season.
Not putting all the pucks in one net, or whatever. ”
I nod as my own stomach dips. I get it. I only wish I had anything other than hockey to bet on for myself.
The noise of the Lakeside roars in my ears, clattering plates and shouted-out order numbers from the line cooks and the jukebox in the corner playing old Norah Jones songs.
As if it’s all reminding me what’s on the line this year.
If I’m ever going to get out of Hamilton Lakes, this is the only way. It’s sure not going to be my grades.
Noah’s barely listening to Ryan. He’s too busy narrowing his eyes at Harper as she takes orders across the diner, like he suspects her of using her notepad to plan a smear campaign.
“Listen,” he says. “It makes sense. Who else has it out for us?” He spreads his arms wide to encompass the entire diner, and maybe all of Hamilton Lakes. “Everyone loves us!”
We all nod. It’s not even about being cocky. They just do. This town lives for its sports, and it’s basically a coming-of-age ritual to either pledge your devotion to hockey or football.
“She has to have something to do with it. Even if Coach did steal the funding”—Alex flinches, and Ryan shakes his head—“someone wanted to get him fired. Who has the motivation to sabotage the program? Besides,” Noah says, leaning forward over the table, “I saw her and her friend going in to talk to the principal the other day and figured it was more of their usual complaining. But what if it was about this?”
I go cold all over. I’d forgotten until now, but Harper did tell me outside the new rink that she was going to talk to the principal about the school’s use of funding.
I’d thought she was just making a bad joke, but what if she was evil-villain taunting me, about to drop a bomb on Castillo, waiting for our team to find out the truth?
I watch Harper, for once not even caring if I get caught. She’s smiling at her customers—an expression I never get to see, warm and friendly and considerate. Which face is real?
She’s always been annoying, but I’ve never seen her as a narc before. But Noah’s right: she’s the only one we know who has a motive. What was it she said the other day? A bunch of bullies on skates who have maybe ten good years left before they’re washed up and dreaming of their glory days.
The memory of her staring up at me outside the rink makes the blood rise in my cheeks. You don’t see me going around mocking her jewelry hobby.
Even though I know it’s a fruitless quest, a part of me wants her to know how good we are. See how hard we work. Watch us sweep this season. It’s a tiny part, but an increasingly persistent, loud one.
Alex sighs. “Well, there’s no way to know for sure. And at this point, we need to get on with the season. We still have morning practice, right?”
“With Dan?” Noah scoffs. “Yeah, I guess.”
The idea turns my stomach, and I slide out of the booth. “I’ll put in an order of onion rings.” Since Harper couldn’t care less if our whole team starves. “I should probably help my folks close up, though. I’ll see you on the ice tomorrow.”
Noah’s eyes follow mine across the room to Harper, who’s flying between tables delivering burgers. “Just watch out for rats.”
I don’t get a chance to talk to my parents until we’re at home after closing down the diner.
Mom was too busy balancing the books from the day, and Dad was in the kitchen making his famous mac and cheese (the only thing he can cook better than Mom, so we have it whenever it’s his turn).
Lindsey left work early to see her girlfriend Sara, who’s got her dipping out of the diner more and more frequently these days.
Normally it’s a little annoying, but today I’m grateful.
I need to have this conversation before Lindsey makes it back home—she and Harper are too tight.
“How was practice?” Dad asks as he brings a casserole dish to the table.
He still moves like a hockey player. A little clumsy on dry land, taking slow, lumbering steps.
But just wait until you see him on the ice.
The gleaming trophies lined up on top of the otherwise dusty sideboard are a testament to how fast he can move on skates.
Today they’re also a reminder of why I need to talk to him. He understands better than anyone what’s at stake if we don’t get to the bottom of Coach Red’s dismissal.
And he’s the one I’ll be answering to if this season flops.
I pick up my fork and take a deep breath. “Pretty shitty, actually.”
“Luke.” Mom shoots me a look.
“Crappy?” Still looking. “Bad, Mom. It was bad. Coach Red got fired.”
Dad finally glances up from his plate, his gaze sharpening. “What?”
I explain the situation as quickly as I can. “We don’t even know if it’s true!” I finish.
“The school wouldn’t fire a coach that good if it weren’t true,” Mom says with a frown. “He’s led that team for years, and done a damn good job.”
“You boys need him.” Dad leans forward, gaze locking on mine. “Especially you. If you’re going to make it into the USHL, he needs to get you in front of some scouts this year. And if you don’t get picked up by a Juniors team, it’s real unlikely you’ll play for Michigan—”
“I know.” Believe me, I know. My appetite disappears at the vision Dad paints.
Mom sets down her fork and knife, and that’s how I know she’s worried. “How did this all come to the school’s attention?”
I take a deep breath. Am I really going to do this? I don’t have any proof. But Noah’s argument made way too much sense. If he’s right and Harper’s the rat, who knows what else she’ll try to sabotage before the year’s over. I’m not about to take any chances.
“We don’t know for sure, but we have a guess. This is gonna sound bad, Mom, I’m sorry, but I think Harper might be involved.”
Dad’s frown creases deepen, and Mom’s mouth drops open. “What? Harper Braedon?”
“She hates the team. She was just bitching—”
“Luke.”
“—complaining about how much money the new rink cost and how there’s none for her entrepreneurship program. When Noah confronted her about it, she was super shady. I just don’t know if she’s trustworthy, okay?”
“I like Harper.” Dad leans back in his chair, frowning. “She works hard. Never complains.”
“She’s always picking up your shifts,” Mom points out. “Especially now that the season’s started.”
They’re right. I can’t help a brief surge of doubt, wondering if Noah’s off on a witch hunt.
But my thoughts are spinning faster than my skates on the ice, everything in an emotional tailspin.
I’m freaking out about this season and everything that’s on the line, and I’m not sure I can spend another minute staring at her annoying big green eyes and swishy hair while I think about the treacherous, sabotage-y schemes lurking beneath the surface.
This game means too much to me. Gliding so fast on skates you’re practically flying.
Hard work paying off, hours of training on the ice translating into real, tangible gains.
Its equalizing effect, where being the biggest or the tallest doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be the best. Guys like Alex making up for any skills they lack through a helluva lot of hustle.
The camaraderie in the locker room, on the ice and off.
I can’t let anything jeopardize it. Not this year, and not in the years to come.
“All the evidence points to her.” I spread my hands, do my best to look reasonable. “I’m just saying. Should she really be working at the restaurant?”
“I’m not pleased about the coaching news,” Dad says, expression dark. Not pleased is an understatement. “But maybe this is the time to keep your eyes on your own game. Focus on fixing that before jumping to conclusions and letting Harper go.”
The front door bangs shut as Lindsey walks through the kitchen, tossing her purse and jacket on the island as she grabs a plate. “Letting Harper go? What the hell?”
“She got my coach fired,” I say with a frown.
“According to some adolescent speculation,” Mom interrupts. “We’re not letting anyone go.”
Lindsey raises an eyebrow at me over Mom’s head. My frown deepens, and I slump back in my chair. Bickering with Lindsey like this always makes me feel five years old again.
“Well, good,” Lindsey says as she plops into her chair at the table.
“She’s the best waitress we’ve got. The guests love her.
She remembers that Mr. Abril doesn’t like ice in his water, and that Shannon Bittle’s on that new low-carb diet and needs a lettuce bun.
They don’t even have to ask! Do you know what that does for business? For tips?”
I bite my tongue. Of course I know how good Harper is at her job! She’s hardworking and a quick learner, and she seems to genuinely care about people—as long as those people aren’t me. If she weren’t so aggravating, I’d be inspired by her work ethic.
But she’s also a backstabber. Are we really going to let her hang around the family diner when we know she’s willing to stoop to some seriously shady levels to mess with the athletics programs in this town?
Mom spreads her hands at me as if to say, see? “We’re not letting Harper go without something bigger than her bitc— complaining.”
“Focus on your game,” Dad repeats. “You’ve got the talent, but this year, of all years, you can’t let it go to waste.”
I frown. “Yes, sir.”
As I clear the table and start doing dishes, all I can think about is Harper. Harper and her digs about ten good years and her smirky smile and the way she tilted her chin up at us even though we were practically her height still sitting down.
This isn’t over.
No one messes around with our season and gets away with it. Especially when my future’s on the line.