From my usual spot at the prep counter, surrounded as always by cupcakes and mixing bowls and white rubber spatulas, I look out through the window over the grill, right into the dining room. The joint’s so rowdy, I can’t pick out a single conversation. Underneath all that laughter and togetherness, bright circles of red and orange and yellow and white dot every table, some half-eaten, some still untouched. Only a true cupcake connoisseur knows the rules—you wait for when the conversation pauses, the moment you can devote your entire mouth to the all-important task of snarfing down the goods.

Mom catches my eye from across the dining room, and my stomach bubbles. I steady myself and wait for the glare, the portent of oh-honey-red-alert troubles to come. But she just tilts her head and smiles, looking at me over the entire city of Watonka. Most of it, anyway.

Body aching and sequined dress splattered with icing, I smile back at my mother, and her eyes sparkle like they haven’t in years.

Me and my bright ideas.

As Trick’s radio hums those sad, familiar notes, I lean against the bricks outside, enjoying a long white puff on my noncigarette. I must’ve been on my feet for two hours straight, running between bowls of cupcake batter, the ovens, and the dining room before we finally got off that wait.

My friend the seagull is still hanging around the Dumpster, scratching at the ground for crumbs. He pretends not to notice me and I close my eyes, loosening the tangle of thoughts and images I haven’t had time to sort out this winter. Walking away from the Capriani Cup. My father and his blog. My brief stint with the Wolves. My briefer stint with number seventy-seven. Everything that almost happened with Josh, but didn’t. Finally apologizing to Kara. All the arguments with Dani, still unresolved. My mother. The diner. My future, even less certain now. That old Erie Atlantic whistling on the track, still calling me to run as Trick’s radio sings into the night.

I been downhearted baby, ever since the day we met …

Guitar.

Horns.

Bass.

Cue those smoldering—

“You really are brilliant, you know.” Dani bangs her way out the door, startling the seagull into a shadowed corner. “What you did tonight? That was pretty rock star, Hudson. We’re still taking tables. And a bunch of people asked about catering and stuff. Your mom is, like, perma-smile. I don’t think she even remembers about the food review guy.”

Guilt pinches my stomach again, prickling up my spine. If I’d stayed here tonight, maybe we could’ve been more attentive to him. Maybe I would’ve recommended a different dish, something he’d like better. Maybe …

“Maybe no one else will remember him, either,” I say.

“Eh, no one around here reads anything but the sports page, anyway.” Dani smiles and looks at me for a long time, silent. Waiting. It’s my turn to talk. My turn to undo the knot of our troubles, to save us like the angel of icing stunt saved the night. One chilly winter doesn’t seem long enough to kill a friendship, but I guess all it takes is one bad day, leading into another and another and another, excuses endlessly regurgitated. Do it often enough and intention stops mattering, too.

I think again of Kara, all the times I could’ve said something to explain, to apologize, to try, but didn’t. I let our entire friendship die because I was too embarrassed about what I’d done, too eager to go into hiding. I still don’t know if Kara and I are on true speaking terms, let alone friend terms. And I have to accept that. It was my choice, after all—three years ago and every day after.

But now, faced with the same opportunity to let it all go? To let another friendship fade into memory while I hide out behind an apron and a mixing bowl?

“Dani, we really need to talk. Not over lunch, not next weekend, but right now.”

She lets out her breath, a big white sigh. “I’m so glad you said that. I have so much to tell you.”

I flash her a devious grin. “Yeah, you and Frankie Torres, huh?”

She nods and looks at the ground. “We’ve been hanging out since that night at the movies. It started just as friends, but then he was calling me all the time, inviting me to the games, sitting next to me at lunch. He’s a really sweet guy, Hudson.”

“I know. You should’ve seen him on New Year’s—when I told him you were in Canada, it was like his puppy died.”

“Seriously?”

“Dude, he spent the entire chorus of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ staring out the windows, pining away. Totally gross.”

Dani returns my smile. “I wanted to tell you that I liked him, but every time I tried to bring it up, you either changed the subject or just … drifted off.” Her smile fades as she meets my eyes, her face crinkled and sad. “It’s like you weren’t even around anymore, Hud. Like you already left Watonka.”

“I’ve been a crap friend, and I’m really sorry. I screwed up. And I totally miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” She steps closer, letting the door close behind her as she stomps her feet against the cold.

“I know I made mistakes this winter, but I’m pissed at you, too. I thought you had my back on the skating thing. But the closer I got to the scholarship, the more you clammed up. I felt like you couldn’t be happy for me—not because you were jealous, but because you didn’t want me to leave Watonka.”

“But I was jealous,” she says. “All of a sudden my best friend had all these new hockey friends and plans that didn’t involve me. We didn’t even get to hang out at work because you kept giving away your shifts. I knew how much skating meant to you, but after a while, it wasn’t about skating. It was all about the guys, then all about getting out of here.”

“You know I want out. That’s how I feel.”

Dani frowns, shoulders sagging. “Okay. Watonka isn’t the most cosmopolitan place in the world, I get it. But it’s still home—at least for me. So not only was I never seeing my best friend, the few times we hung out, she was trash-talking my home. It was crappy, Hudson. And then today, when you said you didn’t want me at your skating event … It was like I didn’t even know you anymore. Like you were already a million miles away from here.”

I look out past the lot behind Hurley’s, the lights on the highway blurring into two bright ribbons, red and white. For months my single mission was the ice, the competition, winning the scholarship and my one-way ticket out. A hundred, a thousand, a million miles away—nothing seemed far enough. I was so focused on that point in the distance that I didn’t bother looking back, didn’t consider what I’d be leaving behind.

All the people I love, my family and the friends like Trick and Dani who’ve become family. All the little quirks that make even the most barren, frigid places beautiful, that make a tiny gray dot on the map the one place you’ll always call home, no matter where your glamorous, boring, adventurous, average, ridiculous, impossible, epic, romantic, bacon-infused life leads you.

“I’m sorry, Dani. I was a million miles away. But not now. Listen … you’re my best friend. I can’t imagine my life without you in it, no matter how much we fight or who we’re with or where we live. None of that stuff matters. We’re sisters, you know?”

She nods, wiping her eyes on the edge of her apron. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Do-over?” I whisper.

“Do-over.” Dani reaches out and squeezes my hand. She leans in for a hug, but I pull back.

“Wait. There’s one more issue to discuss. Probably the most important one of all.”

“What?” she asks, eyebrows crinkling.

“I’m not sure how to say this.” I put my hand on her shoulder and look deep into her eyes. “Dani, does Frankie … does he know about your obsession with pirates?”

“Are you kidding me? Pirates are soo last month. I’m on to ninja spies now. Bedroom Assassin, by Ella Drake? Very sexy.”