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Later that morning, as I’m pouring out some cereal, Cash looks worried. “Are you doing okay, man?” he asks. “You don’t look like you slept very well.”
“I’m doing alright,” I say, setting the bowl down. “Homework just took a little longer than I thought it would last night.”
Something has definitely got to change sooner or later,I think to myself.Preferably sooner.
13
WREN
All week long I’m talking to myself, convincing myself to stay the heck away from Hunter, and especially his bud, my stepbrother, Cash. But like the fool I am, I find myself at their hockey game.
I head into the bleachers and pick a bench way up high, so maybe the two guys won’t see me. Groups of kids from the college are out here in full force, jersey-attired with handmade signs, cheering and whooping it up. They are dominating the lower rink stands. I’m a fish out of water with those guys, so I stay clear.
All week long, too, Hunter’s been at me by text or by phone to come to this game. I guess he doesn’t care if Cash knows. I don’t know. The high vantage point will let me say I was here, but not throw my appearance in anyone’s face. The last thing I need is more drama.
The organist begins and both teams come out on the ice, doing their circular warm-up at either ends of the ring. I hunker down into myself, trying to make myself look small. But it takes less than a minute for Hunter to spy me and shoot me a gloved wave.
Cripes. He spots me. A wide smile with that wave. Hm…
Oh, God, Cash sees Hunter waving. That won’t be good. I’ll get a load of his mouth for this later. Geez.
Cash looks up and stares at me, non-committal. A distanced stare. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I don’t wave back. I stare, too, but my stare has an edge. A look to Cash, like,back off, doofus. I’m here. Deal with it.
My heart is thumping, and I’m excited to be here. I know I am. But I sit here with an uneasy feeling, too. Like walking on eggshells, waiting for the shoe to drop. Oh, God, I’m full of mixed feelings. I can’t even think straight.
I watch Hunter and Cash blade around on the shiny ice the Zamboni driver just smoothed out. I can see they’re talking a bit as they skate around. Their demeanors look calm. No red faces, no wild arm movements. God, I hope I’m right.
I’m here at this game not because of my stepbrother, but because of Hunter. I know it. Hunter knows it. And I guess Cash knows it now, too.I wonder why Hunter let the cat out of the bag, waving at me like he did? Is he standing up to Cash? Is he trying to make us legit? Public?
As much as I want to be here, my level of trust with Hunter hasn’t risen. Attraction’s rising – God, yeah. Trust, no. I jockey with excitement, arousal, and fear when I’m with him. I don’t like the mix. I don’t like it at all. But it won’t stop, and I won’t stop putting myself in this vulnerable position. That’s painfully obvious.
The game starts. The audience is glued to the action. I get up and skulk to the concession to grab a soda and some popcorn. I need time to think. And I need time away from looking at Hunter. The Coke is cold, and the popcorn is salty, so at least that’s good. I wander back to my seat. Nobody knows I’ve been away. I’m a college ghost.
Back and forth, penalties are called and goals are scored. Cheering, booing, even a couple fights. Cash is in one.That figures. An hour and a half later, our team wins. Air horns blow. People rocket to their feet and fist bump and cheer. The arena by game end is packed. It gives me an easy chance to escape.
I manage to cross half of the parking lot when some kid runs up to me and taps me on the shoulder. He looks like the coach’s helper. Some young boy who dreams of greater hockey height but is content with being the water and towel boy for now.
“Hey, are you Wren?” the boy asks.
“Yeah, why?”
“A message from Hunter Fowler. He said I’d find you leaving. He wants you to come back and wait for him and Cash. You’re invited to the after party.”
I sigh.You have got to be kidding me.I smile instead. “Thanks, kid.”
The kid smiles in return and races back to the arena.
I, on the other hand, walk so slowly as to nearly not walk forward at all, talking to myself the entire way.
“Yay, another party that’ll make me cringe. You know, girl, you could have told that kid to say you’re not interested. That was your chance. What are you? A robot who only does what Hunter says?”
I inhale, then exhale like a deflated balloon. A tiny part of me is thrilled I’ve been invited. God knows I need all the social help I can get. But to be physically near both Hunter and Cash? My stomach growls. Suddenly, the soda and popcorn don’t like their new home in my tummy.
* * *
Another house partyon another street in Boston. My college life is rolling out as predicted, I guess.
I’m sitting between Cash and Hunter in the backseat of one of their player’s cars. Talk about a figurative vice grip on my brain. I say nothing. I barely breathe. Hunter and Cash talk over me about the game. They barely notice I’m there.Thank God.
