“Doesn’t look like anyone heard about the incident,” Dani says, sticking an order ticket into the slot over the grill. “I think we’re in the clear. Sub mashed for fries on both of those, Trick.”

“Dani?” I whisper.

Her eyes flash over me for a minute, then she turns, reaching up into the pantry for condiments. “Well, don’t just stand there withholding info again. How’d it go?”

“It didn’t.”

“You didn’t place?” She turns to face me, a ketchup bottle in each hand, her forehead crinkled with concern and confusion.

I shake my head. “I didn’t skate. I forfeited.”

“So you bailed on us tonight, and you didn’t even—”

“Look, I know you probably hate me, and whatever you want to say, say it.” I grab the ketchups from her hands and set them on the counter. “But first I need you to do me the biggest favor in history.”

Her cheeks go from brown to plum as she takes a step closer. “You’ve got some kinda nerve coming at me with this. I can’t believe—”

“For Hurley’s. For my family. I don’t have time to explain. Just say you’ll help.”

“Convince me. Ten seconds.”

“Mom says we need a miracle, right?”

“Five seconds.”

“I’m changing the specials to half-price apps. Then I’m packing up all of the cupcakes and desserts from the pastry case.” I grab my coat from the stool and dig out the keys, dangling them in front of her. “Warm up the Tetanus Taxi and wait for me in the passenger seat. I’ll meet you outside in five minutes.”

“Hud, what are you—”

“I’ll explain on the way. Five minutes!”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dani wipes the fog from the window with her sleeve as we roll out of the parking lot, the entire backseat covered in white bakery boxes and paper plates.

“Mom was really counting on that review tonight,” I say.

“Yeah, thanks for caring, like, three hours ago when we could’ve used the help.”

“Just because I’m mad at Mom doesn’t mean I don’t care. I don’t want her to lose the restaurant.”

“You should’ve been there, Hudson.”

I smack the steering wheel with my fist. “The guy didn’t like the food! He—”

“You still should’ve been there. It’s your family.”

“I know. And this is the only way I could think of to get Hurley’s back on the map.”

“What way? Where are we going?”

I downshift, slowing on an unplowed stretch of road. The wheels slip, but I keep us going in a straight line. “Baylor’s.”

“The Wolves game?”

“Finals. It’s a big-deal game.”

She shakes her head and lets out a half laugh. “Are you really that selfish, or—”

“The whole school’s there tonight, Dani.” Snow falls in big, sideways flakes against the windshield. I turn the wipers to a higher speed and downshift again, the engine whining in response. “Half the town, too.”

“Yeah, and I’d be there with them if I could, but some things are more important—”

“And they’re all probably hungry.” I flip on my turn signal and ease into the right lane. “Mom asked for a cupcake miracle? Well, here comes the freaking holy angel of icing, at your service.”

Dani looks at the white boxes stacked across the backseat. From the corner of my eye, I catch her smiling.

“Angel of icing?” she says. “That’s the craziest, corniest, most whack-ass stuff I ever heard in my life.” She turns away, looking out the window as the Fillmore smokestacks rush by. “Freaking brilliant,” she whispers.

I wasn’t supposed to hear that last part, but I did, and I smile, too.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hudson Avery’s Last-Chance Triple/Triple Combo Cupcakes

Dark chocolate espresso cupcakes topped with cinnamon café au lait icing, white chocolate chips, and chocolate-covered espresso beans

I bribe Marcus, the Baylor’s manager, with two cupcakes in exchange for locating a folding table and setting us up near the rink exit. With only minutes left in the game, Dani and I spread the cupcakes out on plates in a colorful display, chocolate and sugar and mint mascarpone mingling in a wave of sweet air.

“I hope you’re right about this.” Dani licks a smudge of vanilla frosting from her finger. “And I hope they dig your skatetrix getup.”

I drop some plastic forks into a cup at the end of the table and shake my rainbow-sequined ass. “I rock this thing and you know it.”

“Oh no, you did not just say that.” Dani laughs, but we’re both startled by the loud, game-ending buzzer. For a split second time stops, and then the cheers grow louder, a roar pushing out from the rink as the arena doors fly open. The crowd is insane, swarming the ice en masse. Above the center line, the school jazz ensemble flashes its brass horns, ready for a victory song.

Trust me—until you’ve heard Watonka’s future jazz stars blow Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf,” you haven’t lived.

“They won!” Dani stands on her toes, trying to catch a glimpse inside.

Seconds later the first wave crashes through the doorway, breaking on our table like an avalanche.

“Get your free Wolves victory cakes here!” I cup my hands in front of my mouth and shout over the roar of the crowd as they surround us, mouths open, hands outstretched. “Free cupcakes, courtesy of Hurley’s Homestyle Diner! Stop by tonight for half-price appetizers with every meal.”

“Free cupcakes!” Dani echoes. “Free Hurley’s gourmet cupcakes! Celebrate a sweet season with a sweet treat!”

“Stop by Hurley’s on Route Five for more great food and great company!” I say it as often as I can, whenever another hand reaches out from the mob to snag a cupcake. Their rabid, mannerless devouring is the highest compliment, and with every cupcake-muddled thank-you, I make a wish that this crazy plan is enough. Enough to save Hurley’s. Enough to mop up the spills. Enough to bring us all back from the abyss.

For the next half an hour we’re engulfed in a sea of blue and silver, but the boys aren’t in it. No way they would’ve spotted us from the ice, and by now they’re in the locker room recapping their epic win and planning a well-earned night out. Papallo’s, maybe, or one of Luke’s or Amir’s infamous parties.

I hand a Razzle Berry Blast Cupcake to another waiting fan, ignoring the burn in my chest. I miss celebrating with them. I’m sure Dani’ll score an invite from Frankie later, but these days, Princess Pink isn’t high on anyone’s A list.

By the time the crowd blows over, we’re completely cleaned out, nothing but cake crumbs and chocolate smudges from table to floor. After we clean up and stash the table with Marcus, I slip into the arena, hoping against logic for a glimpse at Josh. But save for the cleaning crew sweeping up rejected popcorn kernels and other left-behinds, the place is vacant. On the rink the Zamboni machine does its usual circuit, erasing slashes and gouges, the on-ice evidence of tonight’s record-breaking victory march wiped clean.

Back on Route Five, in an unprecedented comeback of its own, Hurley’s diner is slammed.

Dani and I push our way through a small mob in the front doorway, wading through wall-to-wall bodies to get to Marianne.

“Hudson, you genius little devil!” Marianne calls across the crowd, beaming. “We’re on a forty-five minute wait for a table. Get in here!”

Dani throws her coat under the hostess stand and jumps back onto the floor while I zoom to the back, digging my reserve cupcakes out of the cooler. Dani delivers them as fast as I can thaw and frost, no time for a nonsmoke break, no time to explain this half-baked plan to Mom. Out in the dining room Earl’s got the Sassy Seniors Knitting Club taking orders and refilling coffees. Even Bug has a job, writing down names for the wait list in his notebook, Mr. Napkins tucked secretly and securely in the backpack on his shoulders.