Any Way You Slice It (22 page)

I hear a cheer from the stands, and I realize the game isn't over yet. Suddenly, I desperately want to get back out there.

“Let's go watch the Rink Rats win this thing.
”

It's hard sitting in the stands for the end of the game, but Jake holds my hand and we watch the final seconds tick down.

It takes a full minute for the last fifteen seconds on the clock to play out. But the guys aren't letting it stop them. We're up three to two. Flores and Temple are on top of Ryder when he loses the puck. Flores reaches out with his stick and gets control. He cruises down the ice with all of varsity bearing down on him. Warren gets on his tail, but somehow Jimmy manages to stay just out of reach.

Coach is banging on the glass, looking like he might climb over the wall onto the ice. Even the guy behind at the snack bar is jumping up and down behind the counter.

I know I'm supposed to be sitting still, but I can't help it. I clap my hands and yell, “Flores, Flores, Flores!”

The crowd takes over the chant, and Jake grins at me. “I can't believe it; He's going to score!”

The buzzer finally echoes across the building, just as Flores takes the swing and the puck flies between the goalie's legs into the net. It's literally the first time Flores has scored. Ever.

The crowd is on their feet, screaming like its New Year's Eve. Or the end of the world. Which it just might be considering the Rink Rats just beat the Vernon High varsity Vikings. My mother is frantically trying to get me to sit, but we're all jumping up and down and strangers are hugging each other.

Carter gestures wildly for us to come down to the ice. I look at Jake, and then Mom. “Go ahead. Just don't fall for God's sake,” she says.

Jake holds onto me and we slide in our street shoes onto the ice for a team huddle. Coach pats my back and gives me a thumbs-up.

Varsity barely stays long enough for the postgame handshake. Warren begrudgingly shakes my hand, but he says, “Nice game, Spaulding. You weren't bad out there.”

I think I might have to scrape my chin off the floor. “Thanks.”

I don't know exactly how things are going to change on Monday, if at all. But I do know that the Rink Rats are going to be holding their heads high.

The camera crew makes their way onto the ice and films the final moments. They're packing up their equipment. I wonder how my fall will translate into ratings, once our episode airs. Or if it will even make the show.

Mark Wilder waves at us. “I just got off the phone with the senior producer. This thing is going to be our biggest show ever!” He shoots me a double thumbs-up. “You kids are something else. That cheating angle is going to make this episode a fan favorite for a long time. Thank your friend for the tip.”

I giggle. “Warren is never going to get over this one.”

I look around the rink at the crowd. It's the same rink I've known for years, but it feels different. More like home than it's ever felt. Jake pulls me into his arms, and looks down at me. “You know,” he says with a smile. “You're a pretty good skater. Have you ever thought of playing hockey?”

He brushes the hair away from my face and leans so close I can smell his cologne. My knees go weak.

“I didn't think hockey teammates were supposed to kiss each other,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“I'll make an exception, just this once.”

Of course the
Local Flavor
episode featuring Slice Pizza is scheduled to air the same night I'm cleared to be back on the ice.

It's been a long time since I've had all my gear on; it takes longer than it should to get dressed and the guys are champing at the bit to get started. “You coming to watch tonight?” I call to everyone sitting on the bench when I exit the locker room.

“Spaulding …” Carter snickers, as he jumps up and gestures to his seat. “Thanks for finally gracing us with your presence.”

I make a big show of bowing and gesticulating, before I sit—princess-like—on the bench.

Jimmy punches my arm. “You're kidding, right? We wouldn't miss our television debut.”

“Ready for this?” Jake strolls over and thumps me on the shoulder. It's as much contact as I'll get in front of the team.

I grin. “Oh yeah, but I'm not sure he is.” I point to my dad, just emerging from the locker room and making his way toward the ice.

“Don't worry! I'm coming,” he calls. He's holding on to the wall with one hand, but he's steady on his skates.

Coach has a huge grin on his face. “Adam. It's great to see you here.” He holds out his hand and my dad grips it, like a life preserver.

“You look great, Dad.”

He's got the biggest, goofiest grin I've ever seen on his face.

“Nice jersey, Mr. S!” Jimmy yells.

Dad's wearing a brand-new jersey, with Slice Pizza printed boldly across the front.

Coach looks up at the clock. “Brace yourself. This thing is about to start.”

The doors swing open and a crowd of kids swarms through the front doors en masse. Some of them are already dressed in hockey equipment, some stop in their tracks and drop trou to gear up. The parents look confused and disoriented. We're all off the bench and helping the kids get dressed where we can. Of this group of fifteen, five of them are girls. As soon as they spot me, I'm immediately surrounded by adoring faces.

“Hi, girls. Are you ready to play some hockey?”

“Did it hurt when you hit your head?” “How much do you love skating?” “Is one of these guys your boyfriend?” They are all talking at once, so it's easy to ignore the hard questions.

“Let's get you all out on the ice. You can ask questions later; we only have an hour to get you skating circles around these boys.”

Coach set up the expo in an effort to get more traction out of the publicity from our recent trounce of the Vernon High Vikings. I don't give a crap about that—I'm just happy to be back on the ice. The next hour goes by in a blink with five ten-year-old girls who love to skate but who want more out of skating than sit spins and circles around the rink.

I reach out to adjust the grip of the closest one to me. “Hold the stick like this.”

Jake grins at me as he races by with three kids at his heels. I can't imagine going back to life before hockey.

At six o'clock, the whole team shows up to watch the show and I hear the bacon sizzling for Jorge's celebratory pizza. “Turn it up!” I yell from behind the counter. “I want to hear every horrible line.”

Even though technically I was grounded during my monthlong ban from hockey, Jake and Lori came by every day, so it didn't really seem like being grounded. After the first three weeks without screen time, we watched a few episodes of L
ocal Flavor
and laughed until we cried. It didn't help to calm my nerves though. Even though I'm no longer worried about him blowing my secret, I'm still terrified that Warren is going to sabotage the restaurant.

There's Troy's smiling face, beaming out of the television. It feels like he's right here in the room with us. “Here's a little
Slice
of heaven nestled in southern New Hampshire.” He's standing on the corner, pointing to the restaurant behind him. Then he claps his hands. “Let's go meet the locals.”

The live tweeting starts right away. Some of them happen right in front of me, with almost everyone in the restaurant on their phones, thumbs flying. We cheer when we see a person we know stream across the live feed.

Pen Spaulding rocks! #GirlPower

I can't believe how great their pizza is! #BestInState

Hot hockey boys in New Hampshire! #Yummy

I roll my eyes. But I'm smiling so hard my teeth hurt. Jake slides up behind the counter and squeezes my hand. “How did you ever think this wasn't going to be awesome?”

I look up and it's the part of the game where I fall. They actually show it in slo-mo. I cringe and the room groans.

The tweets.

Ouch #ThatLeftAMark

OMG

That girl is tough as nails.

In unison, the room turns and looks at me. Jake starts clapping, and soon the whole room is on their feet applauding. Roaring, hooting, whooping. It's so loud, I have to cover my ears. Carter starts chanting, “Spaulding! Spaulding! Spaulding!”

Mai Ng steps up to the counter after the sound fades, and nervously smooths her sweater. I think she's going to order her usual Hawaiian pizza, but she stands at the counter and looks at me seriously, the way only a ten-year-old can look. “Penelope, can you teach me how to play hockey?”

I look at Jake and then smile at Mai.

“Absolutely, yes.”

I've shared this journey with so many people. It's been a wonderful ride getting my first novel out in the world. Writing is less solitary than you think. It may be cliché to say, but it really does take a village.

First, thanks to Katie and Phil. Writing takes a lot of my time and energy and I love you both more than you know for giving me the space to do it.

Thank you to my parents (Helen and Earl Carlson) for their unending support and encouragement over the years I've been working at this writing thing. Love and hugs to my siblings (Cyndy, David, and Susann), my sister-in-law (Pam), brothers-in-law (Chris and Tom) and all the kids (Tanner, Kayla, Jacob, Camden, June, Addison, Aidan, and Maggie). You all are the best family ever!

Thanks to my original critique group—writers Natasha Sass, Laura Pauling, and Jennifer Carson. You guys are where it started and I'll always have your backs.

Thank you to my beta readers—Taryn Albright, Joyce Shor Johnson, Trisha Leaver, Jennifer Malone, and Alicia Gregoire. Thank you for your encouragement, tough love, and detailed editorial notes. You make me a better writer, and I love you all!

Thanks to my teen reading team, Riley Mullen and Carrigan McLeod, for your enthusiasm and suggestions for Pen and Jake.

Thank you to Pam Vaughn, without whose hockey expertise Penelope's game would have fallen flat. You understood Pen better than anyone, I think!

Thank you to Diann Haduch and the rest of the staff at the Reuben Hoar Library in Littleton, Massachusetts. You've been my cheerleaders since my first short story and I love you all!

Thank you to my agent, Kathleen Rushall, for your calmness, professionalism, and positive attitude. I'm so happy to have you in my corner.

Thank you to my editor, Meredith Rich and the rest of the team at Bloomsbury Spark, for believing in my writing enough to take a chance on a small thread of a story. I hope I've made you proud!

Thanks to my cover designer Ashley Poston and the rest of the design team for being absolutely brilliant. I'm in love with the girl on the cover.

Thank you to my lovely colleagues, the other authors at Bloomsbury Spark, whose words and stories continue to inspire.

And finally, thank you to the writing community on Twitter, my friends on Facebook and Blogger, and my real life friends in my hometown, at the Writers' Loft, and at SCBWI New England. It's amazing to know support and encouragement is only a mouse click or phone call away.

Kristine Carlson Asselin
lives in Massachusetts and writes Young Adult and Middle Grade fiction and nonfiction. In addition to ANY WAY YOU SLICE IT, she is the author of fifteen nonfiction children's books for the elementary school library market. The most recent, DANGEROUS DISEASES, was published in 2014. Kris is a volunteer with the Girl Scouts of Eastern Massachusetts, and loves
Harry Potter, Doctor Who
, classic rock from the 70's and 80's, and anything with a time travel theme. She is a proud member of SCBWI-New England, and contributes to the
Sporty Girl Books blog
and is a host for the weekly twitter chat #MGLitChat.

Kris presents writing workshops at schools and libraries all over New England and loves talking with kids and adults about their favorite books. ANY WAY YOU SLICE IT is her debut Young Adult novel. Find her online at
www.kristineasselin.com
and on twitter at @KristineAsselin

Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney

Copyright © 2015 by Kristine Carlson Asselin

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means, (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

First published in April 2015
by Bloomsbury Spark, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
www.bloomsbury.com