“No,” I say. “I’m staying on. I mean it. I’m learning stuff from you guys, too.”

“Okay, okay. Princess stays. But you’re already an amazing skater, Hud. I’m not kidding.” He sits next to me on the bed, so close that I fall into him a little when the mattress sinks. “Probably the best in Watonka since that two-hundred-year-old Olympics chick.”

“Lola Capriani.” I wonder what Lola would say if she were in the room with us now. You’re speed skating down the toilet with this boy, Avery. Right down the crapper. “She was my coach.”

“That explains a lot.” Will smiles. “I still think you’re better than her. Definitely got her beat in the hotness department.”

I laugh and cross my legs, casually inching away from him. “Don’t change the subject. I was talking about the boys. They need me. They don’t have the NHL genetics like you do.” I’m teasing, but the smile fades from his lips. He looks back out the window as a gust of wind pelts the house with wet snow.

“I don’t know about the guys. I’m just looking for a way out of this place.” He meets my eyes, and for a second there’s something familiar behind them—vulnerability, maybe. Something empty and unfulfilled. But then it’s gone, his usual charm and gregariousness back in place, his fingers looping through the end of my ponytail. “Anyway, I’m surprised they can focus on hockey when you’re on the ice.”

“Give me a break.”

Will moves closer. “That’s not what I’m gonna give you.” And before I can present him with the trophy for the cheesiest one-liners in a single bound, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me toward him. His lips are millimeters from mine, breath warm and silent, all discussion of hockey boy skills and sin in the Puritan age blown out the window into the swirling snow. Will smiles at me, and for a split second I wonder whether this might be a stupid, pointless venture. For weeks my thoughts have been consumed with a single boy, and his name is definitely not Will. But then, not-Will is not here, not now, not running his hand down my back, not slipping his fingers behind my neck, not watching me with ever-intensifying eyes and flashing that deviously sexy smile. He’s probably home, waiting for another call or text from someone else. And I’m here. Now. With Will.

So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting of the seventy-seven nature?

Will raises an eyebrow and I lean in closer, our lips touching, then melting together, everything else disappearing into a soft, barely there buzz.

Oh. I kind of forgot what a good kisser he was, even back then, even under less than ideal circumstances. And unless I’m remembering it wrong, he’s definitely improved his game….

Thankfully, no clothes were harmed or removed in the making of this movie, because a sudden, impatient throat clearing from the hallway lets us know we’ve got a live studio audience. Will jumps off the bed and lands in his chair in an instant, the chair rolling back into the desk and rattling his computer monitor.

“I have a feeling this isn’t part of your English project.” Mr. Serious Pants leans against the doorway, arms folded across the Sabres’ bison-and-swords logo on his chest.

“Dad, um, we were just … Hudson was—”

“I think Hudson was saying good-bye. You’ve got a game tomorrow, William.” He looks at me with that barely tolerant smile, taps the face of his watch, and vanishes back downstairs.

“Hudson, Dad. Dad, Hudson,” Will says under his breath. “Sorry about that. He’s always on my ass. He seriously talks like I’m bound for the Sabres—like I have a real shot.”

“Maybe you do.”

“The man knows my schedule but doesn’t come to the games. I don’t think he believes it—it’s just his mantra. ‘Don’t be Derrick.’ That’s what he’s really saying.” Will’s face changes, his eyes far away as he stares out the window. For the second time tonight, he drops the used-car salesman vibe, the I’m-too-sexy-for-my-own-good stuff fading into something a little less certain. Scared. Sad, even. But the moment passes quickly, and by the time he turns his green eyes back to me, they’re sparkling with mischief again.

“I should walk you out. But first …” He leans in for another kiss, but I turn away, mirroring that flirtatious grin.

“Maybe on the second date, Harper.”

“Good. New Year’s Eve? Amir has a party every year. Come with me?” He reaches for my hand, his eyes never leaving mine as he waits for my response. “We can have dinner first, then hit the party. At midnight, I get to kiss you again. Unless you already have plans.”

I shake my head. Dani always goes with her parents to some jazz fest thing in Toronto for New Year’s, and I’m always home with Mom and Bug and my never-aging date, Dick Clark.

But not this year. For once, I have a date with a cute boy. And a party with the guys, besides? Done and done.

“I’ll go,” I say. “As long as I don’t have to do your English homework first.”

Will smiles. “No homework. I promise.”

I grab my stuff and follow him downstairs. A soft blue glow emanates from the living room at the other end of the house. Will’s father chuckles in halfhearted intervals with the canned laugh track.

Will opens the front door. “See you at the game tomorrow?”

“No. I work doubles on Saturdays. Waitressing and cupcakes, yay.”

“Yay for us, anyway. Thanks again for the cupcakes. Can’t promise I won’t dig in before Mom gets home.”

“That’s why I brought six. Try to save her at least one.”

“I’m not paying to heat the outside, kids!” Mr. Serious Pants calls out from the living room.

“She’s leaving, Dad.” Will grabs my hand. “Hey, are we cool? I mean, the stuff about Dodd—you’ll keep my dirty little secrets?”

“Hmm. The part about your godfather not being allowed to know about me, or the boys not being allowed to know about your godfather?”

“Yes.”

“We’re cool,” I say. “Good luck tomorrow. Text me the score.”

Outside, the evening air tastes like tap water, cold and a little overchlorinated as my lungs turn it into hazy white puffs. As I warm up the truck, thoughts of everything flicker through my head like a slideshow: Coach Dodd. All that kissing. All that smoldering. The New Year’s party date. The other party guests. More specifically, one other party guest.

This is crazy. I just made out with Will Harper, and all I can think about is his co-captain?

W.W.H.D (What Would Hester Do)? I wonder. Then I totally laugh at myself, because Hester didn’t have it so hot, either, what with all the public scorn and sneaking around. Not to mention the fact that I’m seeking advice from a four-hundred-year-old fictional character about high school boys—never a good sign.

I back out of the Harpers’ driveway and onto the street. As I shift gears and roll forward, a plastic bag swirls in the current overhead, following me until it tangles into the branches of a bare oak, and I make a right turn toward the railroad tracks, toward home.

Chapter Thirteen

Bah Humbug and a Merry Who Cares to You, Too, Cupcakes

Dark chocolate cupcakes iced with white peppermint buttercream, piped with red stripes; to finish, jam a black jelly bean right in the middle with your thumb

I know I’m dreaming, because I was just swallowed up by an ice-fishing hole in the middle of Lake Erie and I can totally breathe underwater. I can see, too—all of my fingers are turning blue before my eyes. It doesn’t hurt, but I’m shivering. Will swims toward me in his Wolves uniform, but each time I’m about to grab his hand, he morphs into Josh and slips away. Through the bright white hole over my head, a polar bear reaches in and pokes me with his giant paw. “Wake up, Hudson,” he says evenly, like he’s just passing through Watonka on his way to Antarctica and thought I should know. “Wake up.”