I hand Josh the puffy outer layer of my jacket and push off with my toe pick, gliding backward to the other side of the runoff. I haven’t choreographed my full program yet, but with Josh smiling at me across the ice, I set my nerves to steel and silently count to ten.

A cold breeze rolls over my skin, and in the next heartbeat, the music starts in my head. Not “Bittersweet” this time. Maybe “Freaktown,” the Undead Wedding song with the paper birds that Josh likes so much. My muscles recall the beat and tense, uncoiling like a spring to launch me forward. I take long strides, tucking in my arms and head as I pick up speed. As I approach the edge, I look for the perfect spot to curve, looping at an angle as I gain momentum for my first jump. My skates cross over … one, two, one, two … and up … my feet drift through the air; I rise to the sky for a single axel. Josh whistles from the sidelines, but hold it, boy. I’m just getting warmed up.

I move through another set of jumps and spins, forward and backward, fast and slow, making up the sequence as I go. I speed up again, zipping around the perimeter of the runoff, legs burning from the effort, lungs on fire, heart ready to burst out of its cage, but this is it. This is the stuff I was made for, the freedom, the speed, the furious jog of my heart, the cold breeze biting my skin. When I look across the ice and see Josh watching me—really watching me—I spring into my triple flip.

But I know as soon as I leave the ice that I won’t get enough lift for the full rotations.

I manage to turn it into a double and land without wobbling.

Josh cheers, and I launch into another double, land, and twist immediately into a camel spin. The song in my ears starts to slow, and I let the spin fade into a gentle glide, the bright white sky motionless as I sail uninhibited beneath it. I push off one more time, gaining momentum, zooming closer and closer. Then, in my favorite finish, I cut my blades hard and shower him with ice.

Phishhhh …

I can almost hear Lola laughing. Enough showboating, greenblades. I was making moves like that when I was six. But she’d smile when she said it. And so would I.

“What do you think, fifty-six?”

“I think I’m glad I don’t have to skate against you in the competition.” Josh hands over my jacket. “You were wrong about one thing, though. You didn’t make me wish I never got up.”

His comment hangs in the winter air between us, blood rushing back to my cheeks as I catch my breath.

“I messed up that jump,” I say. “I’ve been working on this crazy triple/triple combo at Baylor’s. Back in the day, it was my signature move. Lost my edge a little.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“You’re not a skating judge.”

“You’ll figure it out in time, Pink.” Josh nudges me with his hip, but as usual, I don’t see it coming. He grabs me just before I fall, catching me against his chest, arms tight around my waist, neither of us moving for a moment.

“Hudson,” he whispers, and I look up into his eyes, so bright and blue in all this whiteness … my heartbeat quickens as he leans closer. His grip tightens and my legs go wobbly in a way that has nothing to do with slipping on the ice. He could kiss me. He could kiss me right now, and then I’d know for sure.

We’re alone out here, just us and the seagulls and the harsh December wind. I close my eyes and lean forward, ever so slightly, waiting for him to make the move.

Here’s your chance, Blackthorn! Now or never!

“Sorry,” he says, letting go of my arms as my eyes pop open. “I didn’t mean to knock you over. You okay?”

“I’m … um … I brought snacks!” My announcement is loud and awkward enough to wake all the ghosts of Fillmore, but it works to break the not-so-momentous moment. I skate over to my backpack and dig out the small box of cupcakes and some balled-up Fresh ’n’ Fast bags. Side by side, but not too close, we sit on the plastic bags beneath the signpost and chow down.

At least now I know for sure. Friends. Just friends. I can live with that.

“How lame is it that I have to stay home on New Year’s every single year?” I ask between bites of chocolaty goodness. “I swear, if I’m ever allowed out for the ball drop, Dick Clark will accuse me of cheating.”

Josh taps the blade of my skate with his. “You and Dick, huh? Sorry, I don’t see it.”

“Aw, you just don’t know Dick like I know Dick. Dick and I are like this.” I cross my fingers and hold them in front of Josh’s face. “Like this!”

Josh snorts, dropping crumbs down the front of his jacket. “The party isn’t all that, anyway,” he says, brushing them into the snow. “Believe me—your eight-year-old brother probably needs less supervision than those guys.”

“If you ask me, Bug needs no supervision. He’s the smartest, most well-behaved kid on the planet. I can’t believe Mom doesn’t—wait. That’s it! Josh, that’s totally it! You’re so brilliant I could kiss you! I mean, not kiss you, but … you’re really, um … smart.”

Okay, ice? If you’re thinking about killing anyone, now would be a great time to crack open and suck me under. No hard feelings, pinkie swear.

“Yeah, well.” Josh smiles, looking down the shore. “Last year Gettysburg tried to make out with a mounted deer head and Will woke up in Amir’s bathtub wearing one of Mrs. Jordan’s nightgowns. I’m still recovering from those images. I’m telling you, you won’t be missing much.”

“Exactly.” I lick the last drop of chocolate icing from my thumb and pull my gloves back on. “I won’t be missing it at all.”

Chapter Fifteen

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Cupcakes

Um … cornbread

By the time I convince Bug to accept my best-in-class New Year’s bribe—four custom cupcakes, unlimited television, and no set bedtime—and get to Amir’s, it’s well past eleven, and everyone inside is well past the “I love you, man” stage. I find Will immediately, his showstopper laugh rising above all the yellow plastic horns and sparkly, dollar-store noisemakers.

“You made it!” Will beams as I enter the kitchen and wraps me in a warm hug.

“Princess Pink, in the house!” Brad Nelson gives me a fist bump and pulls a pink-and-white feather boa from a box on the counter. “Saved it for you. It’s pink, get it?”

“Um, yeah. Thanks.” I smile and drape it over my shoulders, blending right in with the party people. It’s funny to think that just three weeks ago I was at Luke’s house with the same crowd of hockey boys, unsure if they’d ever accept me. They’d just won their first game in years. Josh gave me the music mix. And then Will pulled me into the crush of the living room, bass thumping through the speakers, all of us laughing and dancing, Will’s arms strong and steady as we bounced to the beat.

That night was when it all started—when they let me in for real. And now I’m a part of the group, not just for the hockey stuff, but as a friend, in on all the jokes, wearing my Princess Pink nickname like a badge, hanging out like I’ve always belonged. Not just with Will, but the other guys, too.

I glance over the mob, hoping against the odds I might find Josh. But I already know he isn’t here—I can feel it. He may not be the center of attention like Will, but his absence leaves a palpable hole in the vibe. Maybe after all his stories from last year’s party, Abby didn’t want to come.

“Where’s your friend tonight, mamí?” Frankie Torres steps in front of me, hands in his pockets.

“Blackthorn?”

“No. Danielle.” He says her name the longest way possible: Dan-y-elle.

I raise an eyebrow. “Dani has a family thing in Toronto.”