He did ask to meet up. Once. Right before school started, a little over a month ago now. I didn’t say no per se, but I also didn’t say yes either. I just never gave an exact answer, and he never brought it up again, but maybe…maybe I should.
BBUGirl: Do you think we’ve met on campus?
SoloSurfer: Our college has over 5,000 students
SoloSurfer: But it’s possible
SoloSurfer: I’ve been so busy that I haven’t gotten out much this semester
BBUGirl: Same
I agree easily, but I don’t tell him that I’m a huge loser who only goes to class, work, and home to serve the stepmonster.
Maybe someday I’ll get out more and maybe meet my SoloSurfer.
Chapter Four
Ella
“Ella! Mop this floor this instant!” Vienna demands as she enters the small snack bar area of the ice rink where I work.
I stare down at the black-and-white tile squares and glance up. Before I can mention cleaning them an hour ago, my stepsister, Seraphina, waltzes in with a large fountain soda and dumps the dark liquid on the floor.
“See,” my stepmother announces. “I told you it needed mopping!”
Seraphina snickers at me as my other stepsister, Anastasia, enters the room and joins in. I’m certain she has no idea what she’s laughing at exactly. She just likes to blend in with the awfulness of this family.
Yes, I also live with my two stepsisters, who also attend the same college that I do. I have no idea how this happened, considering the admissions process is extremely selective.
Maybe Ishouldhave applied to a college far, far away. But as I glance around my father’s ice rink, and my eyes lock with his best friend, Harry, who is sharpening skates near the shop, I remember why I stayed.
My hands clasp the overfamiliar mop to distract myself from wallowing in grief. Even after eight years, I am still a mess some days. It’s probably why I spend so much time in the ice rink tobegin with, even when I’m technically off the clock. It reminds me of my dad and all the wonderful memories I had here, especially on skates and dissecting any hockey game we could.
It’s definitely why my eyes are on the hockey players practicing on the ice right now. Yup, I’m just watching for one hundred percent hockey reasons, and definitely not drooling over any of the players. Okay. Fine. Ninety percent hockey reasons. Maybe eighty. Sue me.
The coach whistles, and the players end their drill and start skating over to the exit. I glance down at my watch, and it’s later than I expected. The guys make their way to our dreary locker rooms that haven’t been renovated since my dad bought this place. It was next on his renovation list actually, but then the accident happened, and nothing’s happened to this place since. Well, kind of.
Vienna took over instantly, booking this place with the highest paying teams and families, canceling any low-paying youth leagues and free skates that were quite popular. She also extended the snack bar menu to more difficult items and stuck me behind the counter as soon as she could get away with it.
I guess she did makesomeupgrades. If you count the frivolous, unnecessary kinds like a brand new jumbotron or a new flashy sign in front of the ice arena that replaced the original one. A new fryer and consistently working refrigeration was not on it, however.
“Hey, snack bar girl!” A sweaty hockey player appears from the lockers. “I’ll take your largest hot dog and a large lemonade. Make it extra big and sweet.”
I tamp down any snarky comments and get to work.
A few more players wander over. I take their orders and get to work making them since I’m the only one manning the snack bar. The other lone worker has a rare day off, and right now, it’s all me. Even though my stepmother and sisters are available, butdecide to watch and mock me instead. Yep, Vienna is a cheap and lazy bitch.
Well, the twins are also multi-tasking, I guess. If you count harassing both the hockey players and me, just in deeply different ways.
“Dallas.” Anastasia fawns all over him as he strides over to the snack bar with a teammate. “You must be so sore from all that hockey playing. I can massage your shoulders later if you want!”
“I can massage anything!” Serafina pipes in.
“Uh,” Dallas stutters. “No thanks,” he says as he breaks by them and heads straight to me.
“Can I just grab a bottle of water?” At the lack of any response from me, he adds, “I ran out.” He shakes his metal water bottle.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” I’m finally able to manage some actual words as I turn and grab a bottle from the cooler.
