Chapter 25 Harper
Get a grip, Harper. You have work to do. He’s moved on, and you should too. Man your merch table, avoid the rink, and try not to think about hockey players.
That used to be so easy. Surely it can be again.
“Spirit bracelets for sale!” I call. “Support your Hamilton Lakes Hawks!”
After my run-in with Noah, I had a moment of panic at the idea of selling bracelets outside the game where the whole school would be screaming Dawson’s name.
But I couldn’t flake. Even if Dawson and I never speak again, spending time with him has shown me how much heart and soul goes into the games I used to mock.
There’s no way I’m letting Noah discourage me from playing some small role in it.
And this is definitely good for business.
With Marissa’s help, I managed to put together a huge stock of spirit bracelets.
I made some simple, just school colors; some with players’ numbers on them; and my favorite, the ones with little charms. All the things that now make me think of hockey season.
Sticks and skates and pucks, hot chocolate and pom-pom hats.
I even found a little Zamboni driver in the depths of the internet that I rush-ordered to get here in time.
If anything can give my grant application the last pizzazz it needs, it’s a tiny silver Zamboni driver. I mean, come on.
Sabrina and Marissa are by my side, taping up posters advertising the merch and pricing. Sabrina is a Michelangelo with glitter paint. Marissa… not so much. But she snuck us in to use the newspaper’s copier, and that alone is worth its weight in gold.
“Thanks for your help,” I say, smiling gratefully at them both. “I’m not sure I could do this without you. Not everyone is so excited to see me.”
As if on cue, a group of girls walking past gives me a criminal side-eye. One of them mutters traitor; the other says Dawson’s name in a dark tone, but I can’t catch the rest.
My stomach flips. My moment of belonging was short-lived—whoever saw me with Dawson at Skate Night is surely clocking the way we’ve been avoiding each other ever since. Who knows what he’s been saying.
The trouble is, this time I deserve it all.
“Just wait until they see your bracelets,” Sabrina says. Raising her voice, she calls, “Spirit bracelets! Spirit bracelets for sale!”
I’d sell my left kidney for a quarter of her confidence. And I’d give her my right one out of gratitude. Without her support, I doubt I’d be selling anything.
Well. Her support and Ryan’s. That menace of a manwhore (affectionate) stopped by the table and bought a whole arm’s worth of bracelets before the game, promising to distribute them to the rest of the team.
He complimented Marissa’s puffball sweater, and she expressed her shock that he hadn’t customized his hockey uniform to include some sort of paisley print.
To Sabrina, he’d raised an eyebrow and asked, “So when are we doing that foosball rematch? We have some unfinished business from Thanksgiving.”
“Already drawing up a bracket for winter break,” Sabrina said, raising an eyebrow right back. “You’re going to have to get in line.”
For once, Ryan didn’t have a flirtatious comeback to that one, and I swear a blush rose on his cheeks. Kind of nice to see him flustered for a change.
But I can’t pry further, too busy wondering what distributing bracelets to the “rest of the team” means. Does that include Dawson? Will he wear one?
Regardless, between the jocks and the Spirit Committee, this might actually work. Sabrina was right about Hamilton Lakes athletics bringing people together. Liv and Miguel even file in wearing Hawks gear and chatting animatedly with students from the jazz band.
“Excuse me, can I purchase one of these fine creations?”
I look up, grinning, at the familiar voice. Lindsey’s standing in front of the table in a cute pink puffer vest, insulated travel mug cupped in her hands. “For you, they’re on the house,” I say.
As she peruses the merchandise, the music inside gets louder, cheers reaching a fever pitch. She looks up at me with a raised eyebrow. “Big game.”
I nod. “The biggest. I hope Daw— the team’s feeling okay.”
Lindsey’s eyebrow climbs even higher. She doesn’t miss a beat. “Dawson’s barely eaten all week. Won’t even touch the burgers at the diner.”
I gasp. “Not even the bacon ones?”
“Not even the bacon ones.”
We lock eyes, absorbing the gravity of the situation.
Then Lindsey adds, “You know, my brother’s an idiot sometimes.
But only when he cares. He kills himself for this team because it’s the most important thing to him.
And he hates looking foolish. Putting all that work into something that lets him down in the end.
” She pauses meaningfully. “He’s like that with people he cares about, too. ”
My cheeks are burning. Are we really talking about my relationship—or whatever it was—with Dawson?
Wait a sec. Did Dawson talk about our relationship—or whatever it was—with Lindsey?
“He hates me,” I blurt. “Noah told me. I went to the rink after practice, and—”
“Sorry, back up.” Lindsey frowns. “You listened to something Noah told you? That little turd comes into the diner just to stare at my ass. And he doesn’t even tip!”
I pause. Lindsey makes a point. Why would I take Noah’s word for anything? Even if he took down those reviews—under duress—he’s obviously a bully and a snake. I feel like an idiot, but my embarrassment is washed away by a rising tide of hope.
Maybe I have more of a chance than I thought.
“I miss Dawson,” I say before I can lose my courage.
“I’m sorry if this is weird, Lindsey, but oh my God, I really like your brother.
I thought he was stuck-up for so long, but that’s not actually him, you know?
He can fall under the spell of it all, but he cares about those guys.
He cares about his team. The other night he told me the thing he’s most scared of is letting them down.
Can you believe that? With all his talent, he’s still trying to justify his spot on the team?
” I take a deep breath, my eyes burning, but I can’t even bring myself to be embarrassed at how much I’m spilling to Dawson’s sister—to the woman who’s basically my boss.
I’m way past that point. “He gives his all to it, and that’s not stuck-up.
And he gets so much back. I’m kind of jealous of that. ”
“Well, for what it’s worth, he feels the same way about you,” she says.
I flush, trying not to let on how much it means that it wasn’t all in my head.
That I haven’t been hoping after nothing.
“Seriously. He’s always talking about your work ethic and your morals and your passion.
Grumbling, honestly. But he’s said more than once this year that you inspire him to be more committed.
To stand behind what you believe in and what you want to put into this world.
” Lindsey shrugs. “I broke up with Sara.”
I blink. I’m not at my best today, but I’m pretty sure that non sequitur would throw anyone for a loop. “Sorry?”
Lindsey smirks. “After watching you two. It kinda made me think I deserve better, or whatever. Anyway. This one, please.”
My mouth is hanging open. I half expect someone to reach over to pick it up off the floor. “What?”
“This bracelet.” She points to one of my blue ombre effect ones. “The game’s about to start, so… I should get out there.”
“Oh. Yeah, of course.”
I fumble to wrap up her purchase, blushing furiously as I do, hyperaware of Marissa and Sabrina trying very hard to pretend they’re not eavesdropping on this conversation. Definitely not listening. Not them, no sir.
But when Lindsey heads for the doors, Sabrina clears her throat. “I’m going to go watch. We can close this place up during the first period, come back during the break? Do you two want to come?”
To my eternal shock, Marissa nods. “We’re already here, so. May as well.”
The two of them stand, waiting for me. “Harper?”
For a minute, I perch on the edge of the cold folding chair. I could sit here for the whole game. Focus on selling my bracelets. Ignore the cheers and boos coming from inside the rink. I don’t have to see him.
But I can’t just sit out here and wonder in silence.
Even if I can’t talk to him until after the game, I have to see him play.
I stand. “Well, it would be a shame to let all my newfound hockey knowledge go to waste…”
Marissa smirks, and Sabrina jumps up and down with an excited squeak.
We follow the flow of people inside the rink, clambering up to the top of the bleachers. The nervous chatter of the crowd reverberates through my chest.
I wrap my arms around myself against the cold of the arena, my pulse racing. Maybe I used to be able to write Dawson and his team off. A few months ago, I couldn’t have cared less about how they played and whether they won.
Maybe it’s time to admit I care. To show up for this team the same way everyone has shown up for me.
We really aren’t so different. We all need that.
The team skates out onto the ice to a roar of approval from the crowd, and I rise to my feet with everyone else, shouting and applauding. My heart in my throat, I reach into my bag and draw out a bracelet.
And I wrap #47 around my wrist.