Chapter 36 #2
The second period flew by in a blur of impressive plays.
Mason was on fire, his defensive skills shutting down the opposition at every turn.
The Fusion scored another goal, extending their lead to 3–0, and the crowd’s energy soared with each successful play.
I was caught up in the game, but nerves started creeping in as the clock ticked down to the next intermission.
A loud crack brought me back to the present. The puck ricocheted off the glass in front of us. Gideon jumped, spilling what was left of his nachos. I laughed, the tension in my chest loosening for a moment as he scooped the cheese off his paisley pants with his fingers.
The minutes ticked by, the Fusion dominating, riding their lucky wave to what looked like another victory.
But as the buzzer signaled the end of the second period, my stomach clenched.
Game breaks meant entertainment. Entertainment meant banana-themed shenanigans.
And eventually, inevitably, my Epic Fail video on that massive screen.
Mason skated off the ice with his teammates, and a feeling of dread settled over me. It was coming. It had to be coming.
“Honey, you look like you’re about to faint,” Gideon said, eyeing me critically. “Deep breaths. Channel your inner beauty queen.”
I forced a laugh, but it sounded more like a strangled cat than a carefree giggle. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one whose most embarrassing moment is about to be broadcast to the entire world. Again.”
He squeezed my hand. “You’ve got this. And, whatever happens, I’m right here with you.”
I nodded, trying to believe him. But as the mascot took center ice, my breath hitched.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the moment we’ve all been waiting for!”
My heart sank. This was it. I gripped my rally towel tightly, my knuckles turning white.
The mascot circled the rink, carrying an oversized banana.
He began a theatrical performance, peeling it and then tossing the giant peel over his shoulder.
Then, with comedic flair, he pretended not to see the peel as he skated directly over it and went flying.
It was a spectacular wipeout, limbs akimbo, tail whipping around, ending with a sprawling slide that would’ve made any baseball player proud.
The crowd roared with laughter as the T-rex lay spread-eagled on the ice.
“Now that’s what I call an epic fail!” the announcer declared. “But remember, folks, it’s all about getting back up!”
Sure enough, Miamiasaurus bounced to his feet, jumping up with a triumphant pose.
“And that, folks, is how you turn an epic fail into an epic win!”
The mascot took a bow, and then pointed dramatically to the Jumbotron. My stomach dropped as the screen flickered to life, and the all-too-familiar strains of my pageant song filled the arena.
There I was, nineteen years old, in my pageant glory. The sparkly evening gown, the perfectly coiffed hair, the practiced smile as I stood before the microphone.
The dog trotted in, wagging its tail, and everyone in the arena laughed knowingly. I felt the blood drain from my face as I watched myself on the screen, belting out the high note just as the dog lifted its leg.
My desperate attempt to shoo it away without disrupting my performance. The puddle forming. My foot slipping. The horrifying moment when I went down, evening gown flying up to reveal those ridiculous banana-patterned spanx I’d worn for “luck.”
The video ended with a freeze-frame of me laying on the ground in shock, the dog licking my face, confetti raining down like the universe was mocking me. The screen faded to black, then words appeared in a playful font:
Everyone fails. It’s how you get up that matters.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t escape it. Then, without warning, the Jumbotron switched to a live feed. Of me. My wide-eyed, horrified expression broadcast for the entire arena to see. My stomach lurched, and sweat prickled along my spine.
“Let’s hear it for the original Epic Luck girl!” the announcer called out.
The place was silent for a moment, and then applause erupted.
They weren’t laughing. People around me were standing, cheering, some even doing the banana dance in apparent tribute. But all I could focus on was the burning sensation of thousands of eyes on me, the same feeling I’d had in that pageant moment when everything went so terribly wrong.
The Jumbotron flashed, and everyone’s attention was drawn back to it. A new graphic spun into view, dripping with cheesy hearts.
“And now,” the announcer continued, “it’s time for the Kiss Cam!”
The screen changed to the familiar heart-shaped frame, scanning the crowd before landing on me. Again.
There I was, magnified to gigantic proportions, my eyes wide and panicked like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Oh, come on,” I groaned, sinking lower in my seat. “This is just cruel.”
People in the stands began to chant, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
“Gid,” I hissed, panic climbing into my throat. “Do something.”
Gideon shrugged helplessly beside me. “Want me to take one for the team? I mean, you’re gorgeous, but you’re not exactly my type.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing for the floor to open up and swallow me whole. First my viral humiliation, and now this? Would I get rejected on the Kiss Cam too, giving the internet a brand-new reason to eat me alive?
A fresh clip. A fresh caption. Five more years of it.
The volume suddenly spiked, a wave of surprised gasps and excited cheers rolling through the stands.
“Mason!” someone shouted nearby. “Oh my God, it’s Mason Callahan!”
My eyes snapped open, heart hammering.
The rows around us shifted, phones already raised, capturing whatever spectacle was unfolding.
“Looking for a kiss cam partner, beautiful?” A deep voice was right behind me, a little breathless. “I’m your man.”
My breath caught. It couldn’t be—
I whipped around so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.
There stood Mason Callahan in all his sweaty, six-foot-four glory, still in his hockey gear, skates and all. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, his face flushed from the game, his eyes locked on mine like nothing else existed.
“Mason?” I gasped. “What are you—how did you—The game isn’t even over!”
He grinned, pure trouble and pure Mason. Then he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me like he’d made a decision and dared the whole arena to argue.
Everything went quiet. All I could feel was him. Warm. Solid. Certain.
The arena exploded.
Mason deepened the kiss just enough to make me stop caring that the whole arena was watching, his thumb brushing my cheek like I was the only thing that mattered.
When he finally pulled back, his blue eyes held mine, steady and intense.
The Kiss Cam frame around us filled with animated bananas and hearts as the announcer declared, “Now THAT’S an Epic Win, folks!”
Mason’s hand slid to the back of my neck and held me there, unapologetic. “I’m the lucky one.”
“I can’t believe you just did that.” My lips still tingled. The Jumbotron could do whatever it wanted. I wasn’t alone in the frame anymore. “You really know how to make a girl forget her past.”
Gideon, ever the dramatist, clutched his chest. “Lila’s hogging the spotlight again. What am I, chopped liver? What do I have to do to get on the Jumbotron?”
Mason grimaced, feigning a shudder. “Sorry. I’m not kissing you, Gid.”