Chapter 20
Nikolai
I shut the textbook with a groan, leaning back in my chair. The air in this part of the library is stuffy, and I’ve had a
hard time holding back my yawns. I’d like to be unconscious, but now that the hockey season is in full swing, if this paper
about the sociopolitical climate in Western Europe ahead of World War I is getting written at all, it has to be now. It doesn’t
matter what my grades are, but I won’t give Grandfather another thing to hold against me. After lunch with Mom last week,
I called him, and he droned on for an hour about the moves he’s making to give me the best possible start at the company.
It was a relief to cut him off once I had practice.
It was an even bigger relief to have Isabelle there for the lunch. Mom had fun talking to her, and I didn’t have to suffer
through too many stilted questions. My father’s ghost lingers whenever we’re in a room together, but Isabelle chased away
those shadows, at least a little.
“Nik?”
I jolt, the legs of the chair hitting the floor with a crack. My heart leaps as I look at Isabelle standing in the doorway.
She had a match this evening, but she’s dressed normally, her damp hair falling over the collar of her orange sweater. She
swipes at her nose; it looks like she’s been crying.
“Hey,” I say worriedly. I kiss her cheek as she settles next to me at the table. “You okay? How was the match?”
She makes a face at my computer screen. “This looks complicated.”
“It’s fine. What’s the matter?”
“And you wrote half of it in Russian.”
“I’ll translate it later.” I nudge my leg against hers. “Match didn’t go well?”
She arranges herself in a pretzel on her chair. My legs hurt just looking at it. Even though the quiet way she’s holding herself
has me concerned, I can’t help but smile as she leans her head against my shoulder. She smells like her signature citrus perfume.
“What do you do when you make a mistake during a game?” She fiddles with her necklace. “Do you just... keep imagining it?
Like, on a loop in your brain?”
“Is that what happened?”
She lifts her head, lip caught between her teeth.
“Of course I do.” I take her hand, stilling her fingers. “It’s worse than getting destroyed when we watch tape.”
She lets out a breath. “I ruined a rally. It cost us the lead in the set.”
I know enough about volleyball now to understand what she’s talking about. “Did you lose the set?”
“Yeah. And it was the...” She shuts her eyes. “The tiebreaker for the match.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll bet whatever mistakes you’ve made, they’re not that bad.”
“Oh, I’ve done that, too. Last season, I completely misread a play. Puck went right through my legs and into the back of the
net. It helped send your brother to the playoffs.”
She winces. “Okay, that’s pretty bad.”
“And I thought about it way longer than I should have. I don’t think I slept for a week.” She doesn’t quite smile, but she
doesn’t look like she’s about to cry, so I’ll consider that a victory. “I just kept imagining it, over and over.”
“That’s basically what’s happening.” She keeps chewing on her lip. “If I can’t even handle what my coach is giving me now, how the hell am I supposed to convince her to give me more responsibility? We should have won.”
I drape my arm over the back of her chair. “Do you want advice, or do you just want me to listen?”
“Advice.” She kisses me softly. “And thank you for asking.”
“You’re not the whole team. That play might’ve been on you, but your teammates could have stepped up throughout the match
to make sure it didn’t come to a tiebreaker in the first place.”
“Fair enough,” she grumbles.
“Plus, mistakes happen. They’ll happen again, to me and to you, and the only thing to do is get back out there and do better
with your next opportunity.”
“You know how closely she’s watching me.”
“And I know that you’re rising to the challenge.” I tug gently on the ends of her hair. “Will vending machine candy make you
feel better?”
When I come back with a packet of M my heart squeezes with fondness—giving me a look that lingers longer than I’d like.
“Are you sure? You already helped me tonight.”
“So? I can keep going.” I lean in, delighting in the way she shivers as my breath washes over her ear. “All night, sunshine.”
She jabs my side. “Don’t you dare try to make math sexy.”
“That sounds like a challenge to me.”
She glares, but I catch the way her lips twitch. “Fine. Teach me about variable data.”
I’m about to answer when I remember the fall festival in Moorbridge that she mentioned to me in passing the other day. Going
into town together would be risky—there’s a reason why we go to the pool so early, and why we’re careful about who sees her
come to my dorm—but she’d love it. I know we’re just friends, and I ought to be reminding myself of all the reasons why I
could never be with her, but for an evening, it’d be nice to pretend we’re more.
“If you promise to sneak out with me tomorrow.” I can tell she’s intrigued by the way her eyes light up. “Maybe you can finally
give me that tour of town you’ve been promising before the festival.”