Chapter 32 Mackenzie
Our art class spent the morning at the Ransom Community Center, setting up an exhibit to display everyone’s most recent works.
I didn’t have anything new to show. Instead, I hung one of the pieces I’d finished before my move to Ransom.
It felt a little like cheating, but Mr. Green didn’t seem to mind.
I think he was just happy to have another piece to brighten the walls.
“I thought you were doing something with mixed media,” Parker said, coming to stand beside me. It hurt to have him so close, knowing I couldn’t reach out to him. But it hurt even more when he stayed away.
He took his time as he looked over my artwork. The painting was of my brother in action on the ice. I’d spent countless hours perfecting it, and, although I was proud of the final product, I was a little sad I hadn’t been able to finish the new project I’d been working on.
“I like this one, though.” He finally turned to me. “Makes me feel like I’m on the ice right beside him, ready to pass the puck. It’s Max, right?”
“Right,” I said with a smile. “And I am working on a mixed-media piece, but I didn’t get it finished in time. I’ve kind of been rethinking it anyway.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I—”
We were interrupted as the door to the dance studio down the hall opened and a gaggle of lively old ladies spilled out.
They were chatting loudly and animatedly as they walked toward us, and I started to smirk when I recognized Dominic the hoop dancing instructor bringing up the rear.
He was helping two of his elderly students from the room, though I wasn’t sure they’d given him much choice.
They looked like they were gripping him so tight they might leave a mark.
I didn’t dare to look down at what was happening in his pants today. Jaz would be so disappointed in me.
“I guess hoop dance is for all ages.”
“Hoop dance?” Parker frowned as he glanced at the crowd of women slowly moving this way. Apparently, the class was just as popular with the seniors of Ransom as the moms.
I smiled and shook my head. “Jaz took me to a class a couple weeks ago. It’s like extreme hula hooping.”
“Why would anyone want to do that?”
“Someone has probably asked the same thing about people who put on skates, push a puck around with sticks, and get into fights on a big piece of ice.”
“Yeah, probably,” he said with a laugh.
“Aw, look at that cute couple,” said one of the old ladies walking past, not-so-subtly pointing us out to her friend.
“They’d make very pretty babies.”
“Oh, no, they’re too young for that. I hope they’re using protection.”
Parker spluttered out a laugh, but my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Why did some old people feel like they could say whatever came to mind? And they weren’t finished.
“I wish Earl still looked at me like that boy’s looking at her,” the first one said. “Like she’s the only one in the room. These days, he only looks at his dinner that way.”
“Well, you are a very good cook.”
As the group moved out of earshot, I turned to Parker, and my heart swelled when I found his eyes already on me.
I glanced back at my painting. Parker cleared his throat. “Uh, you were telling me about your mixed-media piece,” he prompted. “You’re rethinking it?”
“I am. I just…” My voice drifted as I tried to search for the right words. “My idea was to display the changing face of hockey over the years. The base layer was a collage of old hockey team photos, but whenever I looked at it, it just made me mad.”
“Why?”
“Because it was covered in boys’ faces.”
He nodded with understanding. “So, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking, screw the boys. I should be creating something that champions the girls who play hockey. The ones who paved the way over the years for people like me.”
The feeling had been cemented last night after talking to my dad. Now that I knew what my mom had gone through, I didn’t want it to be hidden or forgotten. I wanted to tell her story, and honor other women and girls who played this sport.
“So do it.” Parker slowly started to grin. “Throw the old piece out and start again.”
I laughed softly. “That easy, huh?”
“Why not? That’s what I did with my project. My initial concept wasn’t working, but then something else inspired me.”
“You changed your mind about the naked selfie?” I pretended to look disappointed.
He shook his head, still smiling. “I went with something I think you’ll like a lot better.” But a moment later his eyes dropped to the floor, as though he was suddenly less confident that was true. “Do you want to see the final piece?”
For some reason, I felt nervous. Perhaps it was because he seemed a little unsure too. Parker didn’t often show vulnerability, but right now he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Do you want me to see it?” I asked.
He hesitated. “Yes, of course, I do…”
“And you’re sure it’s not a naked selfie…”
“What’s the problem? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve scrubbed that encounter firmly from my mind.”
His head tipped forward as he chuckled. I loved it when he laughed that way; unguarded and unfiltered. It was like catching a glimpse of the real Parker. The one who hid beneath layers of flirty lines, smirks, and mischief. The one I was falling for.
“Well, if you ever need reminding, there’s plenty of photographic evidence.”
“Are you showing me your artwork or not?” I said.
“Yeah, it’s this way.” I swore Parker blushed as I followed him across the room. He’d been awfully secretive recently about whatever he was working on and, despite a few attempts in class, I hadn’t managed to catch a glimpse of it yet.
When he finally stopped by a piece on the wall, Parker said, “It’s not very good.”
I frowned at him, still wondering why he was acting so nervous.
But as I looked up at the wall, my breath caught.
I was immediately struck by Parker’s talent.
He’d created a comic strip that was so good it looked professional.
I stepped forward to get a closer look, and stilled when I saw the first frames.
There, drawn with beautifully vivid colors and painstaking detail, was a cheeky-looking raccoon. In the first frame it was waking up and climbing out of its dumpster, and in the second frame it was stealing someone’s clothes. I glared at him.
“Just keep reading it.” He smiled back.
The next frames were just as bright and fun, and the details were so intricate.
It had so much life, and I could see the care he’d drawn it with.
His raccoon easily brought a smile to my face as it trailed dumpster food around the streets, got into scraps with other animals and, in one frame, splashed in a puddle.
But then, the story became even more familiar.
The raccoon showed up at an ice rink for hockey practice.
Its teammates, who were all monkeys, looked shocked as it took to the ice and they grew more and more frustrated as it littered the rink with trash, chewed on other players’ sticks, and struggled to find its rhythm in the first game.
There was even one frame which included the team’s coach, a huge silverback gorilla, yelling at the raccoon from the bench.
I couldn’t stop the smile on my face from spreading even further.
It was the final panels that truly resonated with me, though. The raccoon stepped up to score the winning goal of the game, succeeding despite everyone’s doubts.
“It’s…” I didn’t have words.
“Sometimes, people surprise you,” Parker said softly. “Sometimes, they may not seem like they belong, but they’re exactly where they’re supposed to be.”
I blinked up at him.
“And sometimes,” he continued, “the most chaotic, stubborn girl you’ve ever met skates into your life and proves you wrong about everything.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
“Don’t say that. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. More than ever, I was desperate to tear the stupid friendship bracelet from my wrist. And staring at Parker’s illustrations only made me wish I could be worthy of the story they told.
That I was the kind of player who could flip the narrative and shatter everyone’s expectations.
Who belonged despite their differences. Tonight, I’d get my last chance to do just that.
I blew out a weary breath as I stared at the pictures. Even if I could score the winning goal tonight, it may not make a difference.
“What’s wrong?” Parker asked softly.
“Unfortunately, I think I inherited my stubbornness from my dad,” I admitted. “We had a big fight last night.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I finally showed him the photo I found of my mom.”
“And…”
“And, he gave me an explanation, but a part of me wishes I didn’t know the truth.”
“What did he say?”
My throat tightened as I recalled our conversation. I was usually pretty good at clamping down any emotions when it came to talking about my mom. But right now, it all felt a little too raw.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” he murmured.
“No, I want to.” I looked into his eyes. “My mom was the one who didn’t want me to play hockey.”
His lips parted in surprise as I explained how she’d been bullied for playing on the boys’ team—how she’d asked my dad to protect me from suffering the same way.
My voice broke as I spoke. “I feel like I’m going against her wishes.
And how can my dad ignore what he promised her?
Even if we win tonight, it feels like there’s no way he’ll let me stay. ”
I felt like an idiot for even thinking I could get through to my dad. And worse, it felt like I was about to break down in front of our entire art class. And Dominic’s hoop dance groupies.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” Parker swept me up in a hug before I could object. He was so warm, his smell so inviting. Everything felt a little easier as he held me.
“We’ll make him realize you deserve to play. That things change and sometimes it’s okay to let past promises go,” Parker said. “Even if I have to show your dad my terrible art to convince him.”
“It’s not terrible.” I laughed. “I love it.”
“Parker, Mackenzie.” Mr. Green came up beside us. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” we both quickly responded, pulling back from one another.
“Then you should probably get back to work. We need to finish up soon, and you’re causing a bit of a scene…”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw one of the old ladies from the hoop dance class. She was looking at us and fanning her face. Another was pulling out her rosary beads. They could handle Dominic, but two teens hugging sent them into meltdown?
There was a wicked grin on Parker’s lips. “Sorry, Mr. Green. I couldn’t help it. My art just really moves people.”
I smothered a laugh as our teacher shook his head. “Yes, well, perhaps you can use your skill for moving things to help us pack up. We’re almost done setting up here.”
“Sure, can do.”
Mr. Green set off, but Parker lingered. “You know, I can think of a few ways we could really cause a scene.”
“Have I told you how impossible you are?” I asked him.
“Not today,” he said. “But then again, it’s early.”
He walked away, amusement pulling at the corners of his mouth.
I returned my attention to his comic, trying to stifle my own smile.
Parker was impossible. Impossible to ignore.
Impossible to despise—no matter how hard I tried.
But, more than anything, he made it impossible to be just his friend.
Bracelet or not, every time I was with him, I was only reminded how much more I wanted us to be.
Suddenly someone was beside me. “Moving, huh?”
I frowned up at Elliot. He hulked over me, peering at Parker’s work. “I don’t see it.”
He was standing too close, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. I fought the urge to walk away, and instead stood my ground.
“My ankle’s feeling better, you know,” he continued. “Doctor thinks I should be able to return to hockey soon. Great timing, since it’s your last game tonight.”
“You don’t know that.” I faced him. “I have every intention of staying on the team.”
“Sure, you might make the team,” he agreed. “But once I’m back, will you even get to play?” Elliot gave me a smug smile. “I think we both know that everyone will feel much better when I’m guarding the net again.”
“You’re not back yet,” I replied with much more confidence than I felt.
His eyes narrowed and he stalked away. As much as I wanted to ignore what he’d said, Elliot’s words continued to swirl in my mind.
Between my mom’s wishes, my dad’s probation and the harsh reality of what would likely happen once Ford was back playing again, it felt like the odds were stacked against me.
But as I glanced up at the comic Parker had drawn, inspired by me, I felt a flicker of hope. All was not lost just yet.