Is she avoiding me?
That thought prickles my neck as I lace up my skates on a small park bench.
It’s a week before Christmas, and I only have one more final left, then I leave for a minuscule break before arriving back on campus for hockey practice and games.
But right now, I’m doing a little stress relief for myself.
It’s a cold December day, and the pond ten minutes from campus froze over for the first time this season. I discovered this ice by accident last year, getting lost on unfamiliar roads as a freshman. It led me to a quaint spot in the woods, with only a few houses around.
After my laces are tight, I zip up my jacket and throw on my winter gloves.
I stand up and walk the two feet to the ice before my legs take over, and my brain focuses on other things.
I’ve been skating since I was two, and it’s muscle memory at this point.
The wind whips my hair and my face as I speed up, taking a lap around the pond. When I close in on my first lap, I notice a lone shadow on the ice.
Another skater.
The shadow is petite, and her strides are perfection on the ice. I pick up my speed, but the shadow does too, as I do my best to catch up. It takes much longer than I anticipate, but as I match her stride, she turns and huffs.
“Dallas,” she sighs. “Figures.”
Wait.
I know that sweet voice.
“Ella?”
“Uh, yeah,” she responds with a little bite.
“What are you doing here?”
“Trying to avoid everyone. Clearly, I can’t even do that right.” Her shoulders slump as the words leave her lips.
“Why would you want to avoid me?” I ask, confusion lacing my tone.
She lets up on the speed, and I follow suit, as we transform into a slower stride.
“Are you kidding me? You’ve been avoiding me ever since you found out thatI’mBBUGirl.”
“Wait, what?” I stop cold on the ice.
She raises her brow as she skates around me in a circle, assessing me, before stopping right in front of me.
A fake laugh bubbles out of her mouth. “We made eye contact. Twice.” After a second of no response from me, she tacks on, “After I was humiliated at my dad’s rink, my favorite place.”
My throat is dry and scratchy as I take a gulp. “Will you sit with me as I explain?” I point to the bench toward the parking lot, as she nods.
We skate over in silence and take a seat, leaving a foot between us.
I swallow.
This is it.
“I, uh,” I scratch the back of my neck. “I need to tell you the truth about me. Not many people know this, but I, uh…”
God, why is this so hard?
