Chapter Twenty-Three Ava #2
“Forty-eight-hour scholarship sprint,” she said.
“Five thousand dollars by Friday at five. We set up a donation table at the snack shack, QR code for online donations, social posts from the official Ridgeview Challenge account, and team-run mini-events every evening. No mention of Hale unless someone asks. No personal drama. We say the funding gap opened and the community can close it.”
Denise nodded immediately. “I can get a donation jar and print signs.”
Ellie scribbled. “Snack shack upsell. Would you like to round up for youth scholarships?”
Ava pointed at her. “Yes.”
Tyler’s hand shot up again.
Griffin let it stay this time.
Tyler sat straighter. “I have an idea that might not ruin everything.”
The silence that followed was deeply suspicious.
Ava narrowed her eyes. “Proceed carefully.”
“Players volunteer for sponsored dares. Clean ones,” Tyler added quickly when Griffin moved. “Like dunk tank, speed shot contest, lake trivia, kids versus players shootout, Coach Doyle says one nice thing about each of us for a dollar amount.”
Coach Doyle said, “That last one is expensive because it is difficult.”
The table laughed.
Tyler looked thrilled and terrified. “See? Fundraising.”
Nate nodded. “Speed shot booth works. Five dollars for three shots. Beat a player, get a coupon from the snack shack.”
Denise said, “Coupons require approval.”
Ava looked at her. “Can we approve them?”
Denise smiled. “Already did.”
Ava respected that.
Soren leaned forward. “Goalie challenge. Ten dollars to take a shot on me. If they score, I donate ten.”
Beckett stared at him. “You are just betting on yourself.”
“Correct.”
“Beautiful.”
Griffin said, “We can run a silent skills clinic Thursday. Parents donate what they can.”
Miles lifted the chips. “Snack sponsorship?”
Everyone looked at him.
He shrugged. “What? People like chips.”
Ruthie said, “People like being asked plainly for a good cause. Do not dress the ask up until it trips over itself.”
Coach Doyle nodded. “Mrs. Lane is correct.”
Ruthie looked pleased.
Ava made a note to warn Coach Doyle that Grandma Ruthie’s approval was addictive and possibly binding.
Paulson looked from the table to Ava. “This could work.”
“It will work,” Ava said.
The sentence came out before she could soften it.
No one corrected her.
No one told her to calm down.
No one called her dramatic.
Nate smiled at her from across the table like watching her take up space was his new favorite sport.
Ava had to look down at Ellie’s notepad.
“We need a name,” Beckett said.
Ava groaned. “No.”
“Fundraisers need names.”
“No puns.”
Tyler whispered, “Puck the Gap.”
Griffin said, “Absolutely not.”
Miles said, “Mind the Gap?”
“British,” Soren said.
“Hockey Helps?” Karen suggested.
“Good,” Ruthie said. “Plain.”
Ellie wrote it down.
Nate looked at Ava. “Hockey Helps: Five by Friday.”
Ava stared at him.
It was clean.
Clear.
Annoyingly good.
“Fine,” she said. “But do not look proud.”
“Too late.”
She pointed at him.
He grinned. “On purpose.”
Ruthie leaned toward Karen. “They bicker well.”
Ava pretended not to hear.
Nate absolutely heard and looked like he might cherish the comment until death.
Disaster.
By the end of the meeting, the plan had legs.
Denise had signs.
Paulson had the official donation link.
Coach Doyle had approved player involvement.
Karen had promised to share the campaign with three church groups, two book clubs, and a gardening circle that Ava had not known possessed fundraising power.
Ruthie had volunteered to sit at the donation table for one hour, which everyone understood would create both revenue and accountability.
Tyler had been assigned to social posts under Griffin’s supervision.
Beckett had named himself vibe coordinator.
Soren had silently crossed that out and written goalie challenge.
Ava stood at the end of the table, looking at the messy notepad, the scribbled total, the names beside tasks.
For the first time since reading Martin Hale’s text, the fire in her chest did not feel like panic.
It felt like direction.
Nate came up beside her after everyone scattered.
“You built that in thirty minutes,” he said.
“I assigned chaos into categories.”
“You were incredible.”
She looked up. “You already used that word today.”
“Still true.”
“Dangerous.”
“Persistent,” he said.
The word was soft now.
Not a bit.
Not exactly.
Ava looked at the lake because looking at him had become increasingly risky in daylight.
“We need to raise five thousand dollars,” she said.
“We will.”
“You sound sure.”
“I saw the meeting.”
Ava’s mouth twitched.
Then her phone buzzed.
She looked down.
Unknown number.
For a second, the old freeze tried to come back.
Then she remembered she had blocked Trevor.
This was not him.
She opened it.
**UNKNOWN: This is Mara from the Ridgeview Gazette. We saw posts about Hale Development withdrawing support from the scholarship challenge. Are you willing to comment on reports that a personal dispute caused the funding gap?**
Ava stared at the screen.
The lawn noise faded.
Nate leaned just enough to see her face, not the phone.
“What?”
Ava handed it to him.
He read it.
His expression went cold.
Not at her.
For her.
Across the lawn, Tyler shouted, “GOOD NEWS, THE FIRST POST IS UP. WAIT, WHY ARE PEOPLE ASKING ABOUT HALE?”
Paulson’s phone started ringing.
Coach Doyle turned from the parking lot with the face of a man whose paperwork had just grown teeth.
Ava looked at Nate.
Nate looked back.
The scoreboard had gone public.
And now the story wanted blood.