Chapter 7 Dawson
The next week passes in a blur. Early morning practices, my breath fogging out into clouds even before I hit the ice; classes where I’m struggling to pay attention and not lose myself in anxious anticipation of our first game against Washington; silent hours at the diner where, on the rare cases Harper and I don’t work out our shifts so we never have to see each other, we keep a wide berth and communicate only in passed order slips and curt nods.
I’m hyperaware of her presence—so I can avoid it, of course. I’ve never realized quite how many times I pass her locker in the halls, how many hours out of the week precalc occupies, how her voice cuts through the crowd.
But we don’t exchange a word. True to our bargain.
The closest we get is when she catches me staring at her as she answers a question in class. She arches a dark eyebrow, and I can practically hear her asking, What happened to “stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours”?
Unfortunately, the way my nemesis raises her hand activates the same hyperfocus I get on the ice. The intensity reminds me of tracking a player on the opposing team, admiring their game while trying to defend myself against them.
It’s something about the way she always pulls herself upright like there’s a string attached to the crown of her head, bracelets jangling around her wrists.
She’s not afraid to take up space when she knows she’s right.
If she didn’t direct that energy in so many annoying ways, I would respect it. It makes her a worthy opponent.
As it is, though, it fills me with frustration. If she used all that rabble-rousing confidence to get Red fired, it might end my career before it even starts.
I turn around to face the whiteboard, and our stalemate remains solid as a brick wall for the next week.
“I need you to cover my shift,” Harper announces.
The library’s only open for another thirty minutes, and I’m one of the few students left studying here as the sky turns violet outside. At the sound of her voice, I bolt upright, startled out of my studying daze. My knee bumps the table from below and the impact knocks my math textbook off. “Fuck!”
Ms. Faubert looks over from the front desk, scandalized. She’s typically pretty indulgent—she’s let me camp out between class and practice more times than I can count—but she draws the line at noise.
“Sorry, sorry,” I grimace whisper. “Won’t happen again!”
Harper holds up her hands. “Don’t look at me.”
When Ms. Faubert’s gone back to her BookTok scrolling, Harper crosses her arms. I stare at her for a minute, unable to totally catch up to this conversation. She’s wearing a short floral dress with tights and clunky boots today, and it takes more effort than it should not to stare at her legs.
They’re nice. Especially for a nonathlete.
“Well? Can you cover my shift tonight or not?”
I blink, refocusing. “I have extra practice this week before our first game. And a mountain of precalc homework I’m behind on, and we have that test coming up, okay? I’m busy.”
She props her hands on her waist, and I fight to keep my gaze on her face. “And I need tonight to work on my website, since your rumor mill cost me so much business.”
I wince. Is this revenge? It’s not even totally out of line. I’ve asked her to cover my shifts enough times already this season.
“I can’t do tonight, but I can cover you tomorrow,” I say. “As long as I figure out this messed up permutation shit.”
I wave the problem set Ms. Moore gave us in the air.
Permutations and combinations… Ten choose two means how many ways can you choose two items… or is it how many ways you can choose ten?
More like ten choose whatever the hell I need to do to get this assignment over with.
I expected her to leave as soon as she got what she wanted, but Harper’s still standing there. She’s frowning like she’s faced with an impossible dilemma. I track the clouds passing over her face with curiosity.
Finally, she sighs. “Let me see that.”
“I thought we were staying out of each other’s way.”
“Trust me,” Harper says, “I’m not doing you any favors. I need you to cover my shift and this seems like the fastest way to make that happen, okay?”
I purse my lips in contemplation. This girl is not exactly the first person I’d come to for help. Honestly, I don’t trust her not to deliberately mix up her explanations so I bomb the test. I’m still not sure whether to take her at her word that she had nothing to do with Red’s firing.
Harper rolls her eyes, fed up with my hesitation. “What, are you trying to end up on academic probation?” She pauses to twist the knife. “Again?”
I open my mouth to retaliate, but she has a point. So I sigh too, pushing back from the table in a have at it gesture. “I’ve got ten minutes.”
She drops into the chair beside me. “I only need five.”
Before I can say something irredeemably stupid back, she’s grabbing my notebook, bending her head to the problem set.
“It’s pretty simple.” Her voice as she explains the difference between permutations and combinations is brusque and businesslike, so I don’t even feel particularly condescended to.
“You know, a combination lock should really be called a permutation lock,” she says at the end of her mini-lecture.
“You can’t just put the numbers in any old order! ”
I look at her with a raised eyebrow. “Wow. You have a lot of opinions about math. Didn’t know that was possible.”
She huffs and pushes the notebook my way, opening an old laptop and clicking busily over to her own work. “Do your problems.”
I solve them quickly, now that she’s shown me the trick. It’s surprisingly simple when I follow her instructions.
Harper looks them over and gives me a nod of approval. “Nice. I knew you had potential.”
I almost, almost smile.
“Thanks again for the help. What’re you working on?” I lean toward her open computer screen. “Shit, is that a whole e-commerce front?”
She slams her computer shut. “Yes. I told you, I have a website for my business. Since I have to figure out a way to win the Young Entrepreneurs Grant on my own. Gotta go big or go home and all. But the hosting plan isn’t cheap, FYI, and I’m not sure I can afford it with the customers I’ve lost this year. ”
Just like that, the air between us is frosty with tension again. Does she really blame me and the team for the lack of interest in her bracelets?
When she looks up, our eyes lock. I can’t help noticing how close together we are. Just a few inches. And icy though the atmosphere is, catching a whiff of that coconut scent from her shampoo makes me want to reach out and run my fingers through her hair.
I blink hard and lean back. What the fuck, dude?
That conversation in the back of the diner really got in my head.
I can’t stop thinking about her cornering me in the alcove, the flicker of a pulse in her throat, the warmth of her arm in my hand.
Even in the decidedly unromantic setting of the library, I can’t ignore the shine of her hair or the flush of color in her cheeks.
Should’ve known better than to touch Harper Braedon. Rookie mistake. It’s making it a lot harder than usual to remember that even poisonous snakes can be beautiful.
I glance at my phone. “Shit, I gotta drop these off before practice. I’m late.” Thank God I have two hours on the ice ahead of me, because I need to shake this conversation off.
She wiggles her fingers at me. “Have fun giving yourself head injuries. And don’t forget—I work four to nine tomorrow.”
I flip her off and head for the door. But I can’t resist stealing a last glance at her before I turn the corner.
She’s staring at her computer as if I was never even there.
The rink is less of a haven than usual. When I pass through the doors, Sabrina from the Spirit Committee is plastering the walls with posters advertising our first game of the season.
“Hey, Dawson!” she says, turning so quickly her blond ponytail whips through the air behind her. “I can’t wait for the Washington game. How’re you feeling?”
I can’t quite suppress my frown. “It’s going to be a tough game. They’re good.”
“But you’re better.” She waves a hand through the air, dismissing the other team without a thought. That’s Sabrina, optimistic and confident even when we don’t deserve it. “You beat them 3–0 last year.”
“Yeah. But we’re not the team we were last year. Not without Red.”
Sabrina shrugs. “Maybe you’ll be even stronger!”
I do my best to smile, but from the way she frowns in response, it must not be very convincing.
The locker room radiates the same weird vibes I feel. Everyone’s tense and quiet as I pull on my chest protector and elbow and knee pads.
My gut tightens as I skate onto the ice and see Dan waiting for us, waving to the guys to line up for drills.
Even after a few tense but normal practices that followed all of Red’s routines, every cell in my body screams, This is wrong.
Dan shouldn’t be the coach in charge today.
We’re not some amateur team—we need a guy who knows the game.
Who will challenge us to play like sharks and give us the connections we need and deserve!
“Does that guy ever stop smiling?” Noah mutters.
Alex frowns. “Red never smiled. Even when we won a game.”
Noah jabs a finger his direction. “Exactly. That’s how a coach should act.”
Alex opens his mouth as if to say something else, but then Ryan skates past, adjusting his helmet. “What do you think Red’s doing now?”
I shrug. “Soaking up the rays on a beach in the Caymans somewhere? I don’t know, what do you think embezzlers do?”
The guys look at me. “Damn, Dawson. You good?” Alex asks.
“Seriously, don’t let Red get to you.” Ryan spins into the least elegant pirouette I’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t even make me laugh like usual. “I want to enjoy this year with you guys. Have fun out there. He doesn’t get to ruin that for us.”
Of course Ryan just wants to have a good time. “I’m here for more than fun.”