Chapter 24
Lucy
Mara comes over at five-thirty with eyeliner in one hand and a Wolves crewneck balled up in the other, and she announces, walking through my door, that I am going to look like a person who watches hockey tonight.
“Isn’t that going to be too much?”
“Lucy, Lucy,” she laughs. “Baby girl. Gianna’s not here. You only have me, and right now, I’m not going to pretend that you don’t have the captain of the hockey team chasing after you.”
“Chasing after me?”
“Girl,” she says like she can’t believe me right now. “I saw him run after you right after he threw down with Paxton for wanting to kiss you.”
I blush.
She laughs as she drops the crewneck on my bed and unscrews the eyeliner with her teeth. I’m already in jeans and a cream long-sleeve. I sit down at my desk. She turns my chair to face her. She tilts my chin up with one finger and goes to work.
“Don’t blink.”
“I won’t.”
“You blinked. Don’t blink.”
I smile. “Okay.”
“Don’t smile.”
I hold back my laugh. She’s in a feisty mood tonight. She does my eyeliner and rubs a smudge off the inside corner of my left eye with her thumb. She steps back to assess.
“Wolves crewneck on. Hair down. Mascara.”
I put on mascara. She pulls the crewneck over my head without asking. She spins my chair back toward the mirror. I look ready.
“Benson is going to eat you up tonight.”
“Mara,” I scoff, flushing.
She smiles. “Gianna’s not here. We can talk about it. I can tell he really likes you.”
I don’t have anything to say to that.
She adds, “Benson doesn’t chase.”
“He doesn’t?” I ask, terrified to say anything about him.
She shakes her head. “If you like him back, go for it.”
I don’t know how much I can trust her, but I say, “I think I really do like him, Mara. Is that bad?”
She shakes her head with a smirk. “Only to Gianna because she’s territorial.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s always been in competition with him, you know. It’s been her entire life, so I kind of get it.”
I think about Gianna living in her brother’s shadow. It’s fair for her to feel the way she does, and I get it, too.
“But don’t be sneaky, Lucy. Tell her before he does. She’ll respect you more.”
“Shouldn’t she hear it from her brother?”
Mara scoffs. “He’s a boy. It’s not the same. Us girls need to stick together.”
“You’re right.”
“I am always right.”
We walk to the rink at six-fifteen. The air is colder than it has been all week, and our Camdenth is making small clouds in front of us. Mara has on her own Wolves crewneck and the same eyeliner she did on me. Her hair is in two French braids. She is in a mood.
Halfway there, she nudges me with her shoulder. “You know Gianna and Benson’s parents are going to be at the rink tonight, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Do they know who you are?”
“Um,” I say. “I’ve said hi to her mom over the phone. They know I live with Gianna.”
“Right. We probably won’t see them anyway.”
I inhale. I hope not.
We get to the arena at six twenty-seven. The line into section 117 is a slow shuffle of Wolves crewnecks and the smell of nachos. Mara has decided that we are sitting halfway up the section on the right side because that’s the side they attack twice, Lucy, we are getting our money’s worth.
We are not paying for these seats. Mara’s logic remains. The seats fill in around us. The crowd noise is starting to build. The lights drop into the pre-game blue. The PA cuts in with the announcer’s voice. The team comes out of the tunnel.
I find him without trying. He’s third out of the tunnel in his jersey with the C on his left chest. He’s looking down at the ice, and even from halfway up the section, I can see how he’s in his element. He looks beautiful. He looks like a captain.
The team takes the blue line for the anthem.
Mara stands. I stand. Everyone in the rink stands.
The girl behind us is singing, and she sounds pretty good.
Benson has his helmet under his arm, looking at the flag.
Then his eyes scan the crowd — quick, professional, the way I have watched him scan a room at a party — and they find me.
My heart leaps. He just stares for a moment, and he looks back at the flag.
The anthem ends. The crowd roars. The teams Camdenk up. He puts his helmet on.
Halfway through the first period, on a power play, Blue carries the puck up the right side and dumps it in behind the UCLA defenseman.
Benson is there. He picks it up off the boards.
He cuts to the net. He puts the puck on net, and the goalie kicks the rebound out.
And it lands on Benson’s stick. He tips it up and over the goalie’s left shoulder.
The arena erupts.
Mara screams. I scream. The girl behind me screams in a singing voice. Benson is mobbed by Stanley and Blue and the other player I don’t know. The horn is going. The PA is announcing his name and number. The replay is on the big screen.
He skates past our section a minute later as the line is changing. He doesn’t look up. I know he’s choosing not to look up. I know he’s protecting what we have.
Wolves win three to one.
The handshake line forms at the end of the third.
The teams move down the line. UCLA’s roster is about what I expected — except that Paxton Bowie is not in their lineup tonight.
He was on the bench for the first period, and then I did not see him again.
Mara leans into me at the start of the third and says into my ear, ”Paxton is sitting tonight, by the way, in case you were wondering. ”
I had been wondering. A horn blows. The guys shake hands. The lights come up. Music blasts, and the crowd starts moving toward the exits. Mara loops her arm through mine on the way down the steps.
I want to ask her if she’s going to be at the Hawthorne House tonight, but I’m afraid she’s going to ask me the same question, and I don’t want to lie.
We walk back to the apartment in the cold.
The sidewalks are full of people in Wolves gear.
A guy on State Street with a six-pack under each arm is yelling LET’S GO WOLVES at every other person who walks past. A girl in front of us is on the phone with someone telling them about Benson’s tip-in shot in detail.
At the stoop of our building, Mara hugs me. “I’m not coming up. I’m going home. I have a thing tomorrow.”
“A thing?” I question.
“A boy thing.”
I open my mouth. “What boy?”
“I’ll tell you at brunch on Sunday. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.”
She squeezes me. “You too.”
“Me too? What for?”
“You tell me,” she says with a wink, and then she walks off toward State.
I let myself into the building. The apartment is empty. I knew it would be empty because Gianna is at the post-game dinner with her parents and Benson.
I change into comfortable clothes, then I plop on the couch and put something on the TV.
At ten past ten, the front door opens, and Gianna comes in.
She’s in a soft sweatshirt, her hair is in a half-up bun that has slid down to a quarter-up bun.
Her mascara is mostly gone. She drops her bag inside the door and walks straight to the couch and flops next to me.
“Why are you watching this without me?”
“I waited two episodes. Now I’m catching up. How was your night?”
“It was good. I’m honestly so exhausted.”
She leans her head against the pillow, looks at the time, and says, “I have to be at the rink at six. Coach wants the gear sorted. Wolves played well tonight.” She nods to herself. “Okay, I’m going to crash.”
“Yeah. Get good sleep.”
“Are you staying up?”
“I’m going to turn this off and get into bed.”
“Okay. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
She gets up, walks to her room, and the door clicks shut.
I sit on the couch and watch the rest of the episode without absorbing any of it.
Around eleven o’clock, I turn off the TV.
I look at the time and wonder if what I’m about to do is reckless.
I look in the mirror, fix my makeup, readjust the clothes I’m in, and then I sneak around the house to make sure nothing looks suspicious.
I close my bedroom door and put on my shoes.
The street is empty. The air is colder than it was at six, and my jacket is barely enough. I walk toward the corner of Main and Hawthorne. My chest is tight. My hands are sweating slightly inside my pockets. I am doing this. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
He’s waiting at the corner for me, leaning against the lamppost in his Camden U hoodie. His hands are in his pockets. He sees me, and he doesn’t move from the post. He just watches me walk toward him. I stop a foot in front of him.
“Hi.”
He smiles. “Hi.”
“Have you been standing here for a while?” I ask, noting his red nose. I think he’s been out here for a while.
“I’m glad we’re hanging out tonight.” He pushes off the lamppost and holds out his hand. I take it.
The walk to Hawthorne House is two blocks. We walk fast because it’s cold out. His hand is warm. He leads me around the back of the house instead of up the front walk. It’s unlocked.
The party inside is much louder than it appears from the outside.
Benson pulls me through the house, and now I’m wondering what we’re doing. He leads me through the house, and we go up the stairs. We keep going past bedroom doors. A thrill of excitement pulses through me. He opens a door and pulls me through it.
His room is cleaner than I expected. There is a queen bed against the far wall, made with a navy comforter pulled tight.
There is a desk under the window with a closed laptop on it and three small stacks of paper.
Above the desk is a wall of schedules I don’t look at directly because it feels personal.
There’s a Camden Wolves jersey draped over the back of the desk chair.
There is a small stack of books on the nightstand. The room smells like him.
“What’re we doing in here?” I ask, warming myself up by rubbing my arms.
“I saw some of Gianna’s friends down there and figured it would be best to steer clear.”
I smile. “But they’ll notice that you’re not down there.”