Authors: Donna Freitas

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Death & Dying, #Love & Romance

The Survival Kit (10 page)

BOOK: The Survival Kit

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ENERGY

At school later that week I found myself face-to-face with Chris Williams in the hallway. We stared at each other. Neither one of us knew what to say or do, and my heart began to race.

“Chris,” I said, once I’d recovered enough to articulate a coherent word. My tone was formal and polite, like we’d just been introduced at a wedding. Sometimes the hurt from our breakup was still so close to the surface that it covered every inch of my skin.

“Rose,” he said. The expression on his face was blank but his eyes were pained. There were no smiles exchanged between us, no pleasantries. I was about to leave when Chris spoke again. “You’re listening to music,” he said, gesturing at the iPod wedged into the pocket of my jeans.

As promised, every day at lunch Krupa and I listened to a new song. “I’m trying to,” I told him. “It’s not easy, but it’s getting easier.”

“You must be feeling better then,” he said.

“I guess so.”

“I’m glad.”

“You are?”

Chris nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at me and for a second I thought maybe this was it, the moment when Chris and I somehow found our way back to each other, but then the bell rang. “I’ve got to get to class,” he said.

“Me, too.”

“Okay.”

“See you.”

I watched as he walked away, disappearing into the crowded hall, my mind full of Chris Williams and our short but significant conversation. Since the day I gave back his jacket we had managed not to talk at all.

After my next class, I saw Will by his locker loading books onto the shelves. He appeared and disappeared as people milled around between us. I leaned against the wall, trying to decide whether to say hi. This was the closest we’d been since last weekend, and for all I knew unless I walked up to him and started a conversation we might not talk again until the spring. My heart began to race.

Suddenly Krupa appeared at my side and gave me a curious look. “What’s on your mind?”

Red bloomed across my cheeks. “Nothing important.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Something is giving you a dreamy look.”

“Nah.” I pushed myself off the wall and we started down the hall. “I have to stop by our locker.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Chris and I spoke today.”

Krupa studied my face as we wove through the crowd. “Well, what happened?”

“We exchanged hellos. No, wait, I said Chris, then he said my name and there followed an awkward silence as if we didn’t know each other at all. That part was fantastic.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was. He saw the iPod and asked about it. I told him I was trying to listen to music again and he seemed genuinely happy about it. We even shared a moment.”

“A moment? Please explain.”

I tried to think of what it was that I felt with Chris. “You know, it’s funny. For a second I thought he might bring up the possibility of getting back together, and I was so hopeful at the time. But as much as I still care about Chris, with even a little bit of distance I’m not sure it’s what I want anymore.”

Krupa gave me a look. “Really.”

We arrived at our locker. She opened the door and retrieved her American history textbook, which landed in her bag with a loud thump.

“Really.”

“You’re getting over him?”

“Maybe I am.”

“I knew you would.”

I grabbed my book for class and slammed our locker shut. “That’s enough smugness for the day.”

Before Krupa could say anything else, Kecia Alli appeared. “Hey, guys,” she said. “I was hoping to run into you.”

“Hi, Kecia,” Krupa said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and the three of us began walking.

“What’s up?” I asked her.

“Friday night is the second hockey game of the season.”

“I know.”

“You both should come this time,” Kecia said. “I’ll save seats.”

“I don’t know. Maybe …” I hesitated.

Krupa didn’t. “Sounds great,” she said.

I turned to her in surprise. “Really?”

“Rose and I will be there,” she told Kecia.

“Perfect. See you tomorrow then,” Kecia said, and headed upstairs.

We arrived at the door to our class and I laid my palm across Krupa’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re not sick, agreeing to go to an entire hockey game?”

People streamed around us on their way into the room. “No,
you
want to attend a hockey game, and I, your esteemed best friend, will accompany you.”

“But you hate sports.”

Krupa looked thoughtful. “After your enthusiastic review I thought I should give hockey a chance.”

Her tone made me suspicious. “You have an ulterior motive. Spill.”

“I do not,” she protested.

“Right. Not buying it.”

“Okay, fine. You want to know why?”

I nodded. “Please.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but last weekend’s game was the first truly social thing you’ve done at school since the spring.”

I thought about what she’d said. “Okay. I’ll give you that.”

“And you used to be Miss Socialite.”

“That was because I was dating Chris.”

“Maybe.” Krupa’s eyes reached up to meet mine. “Listen, all I am trying to say is that last Friday when you came to tell me you wanted to stay for the game, I saw some sort of spark in you. One that I haven’t seen in a long time.”

“A spark,” I repeated.

“It’s a good thing,” she said right as the bell rang. Before I had a chance to think too much more about her observation, class began and the teacher was passing out a quiz.

After school I was in my room studying when Jim called with news that he was none too happy about. “Guess what?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

“Are you really going to make me guess?”

“Well, no. Grandma Madison is coming for Thanksgiving.”

I groaned. Grandma Madison was not known for her people skills, and the reminder that our first major holiday without Mom was around the corner didn’t help my feelings either. “God, really?”

“Yeah. And get this, she’s staying through Christmas.”

“A whole month?”

“For my entire winter break.” He made a choking sound.

“I’ll be stuck with her the most anyway.”

“Just stay out of the house a lot,” he advised.

“I can’t. Who’s going to take care of Dad?”

“Grandma Madison, you idiot. I think that’s the point.”

“Like Dad told you that.”

“No, she did.”

I tapped my highlighter against the edge of the book on my desk. “She said that straight-out?”

“Well, during our conversation she implied that she was a combination of worried about and angry at Dad.”

This surprised me. Grandma Madison never let on that she knew anything about Dad’s up- and downhill trips, but then again, I wasn’t the grandchild she called all the time—Jim was.

“She also said it was important that we fill up the house with as much life as possible during the holidays, you know, without Mom.”

We were both silent a while before I moved the conversation
away from this sad place. “I don’t think of Grandma Madison as someone likely to liven things up,” I said.

Jim snickered. “But at least with her around you won’t have to cook Thanksgiving dinner by yourself.”

“True. Though she isn’t very fun to cook with.”

“I’ll help.”

“Right, Jim. Like I haven’t heard that one before. The last time you tried to make something we actually had a small fire.”

“That was not my fault.”

“On that note, I’ll be going.”

Jim laughed. “You know I’m kidding. But I’ll leave you alone. Love you.”

“Love you, too, and I can’t wait to see you.”

“I know. Until Tuesday, then, Rosey girl, less than a week away.”

I clicked
end
, just as a sharp sadness about Mom hit me hard and fast. I tried to focus on my schoolwork to distract myself, which didn’t help much at all, but then I remembered what Krupa had said earlier today, about seeing a new spark in me, and I felt a little brighter, only a little, but it was enough to make a difference.

TAKE IT HOME

On Friday night MacAfee Arena was even more crowded with hockey fans than the weekend before, if that were even possible. While Krupa waited by the teams’ boxes to sing the anthem, I made my way up through the stands to find Kecia and claim our seats.

“You’re staying, right?” Kecia asked as I squeezed by her onto the bench.

“Yes. Both of us.”

“That’s great.”

I set my bag down to save the spot meant for Krupa. Cheerleaders surrounded us on all sides and people smiled when they saw me and said hello, as if there hadn’t been a period when I’d stopped hanging out with everyone. No one seemed to hold a grudge that I’d quit, and in fact it was the opposite. Amber Johnson, a fellow junior, even gave me a hug and said, “Stop being such a stranger. We’ve missed you.”

“Thanks,” I said. I was beginning to realize that avoiding the cheerleaders might have been a mistake, especially since they
were acting like we were still friends. Maybe they were right, and we were.

Kecia reached under her seat and pulled a cup off the floor. “Hot chocolate,” she explained, cradling it close to her lips so she could blow on it, while steam rose up from the little circle at the top. It smelled good and I considered asking for a sip. Tonight I was prepared for the cold with gloves, a warm coat, and a scarf, but hot chocolate seemed like an even better idea to deal with the freezing arena. “It’s part of the ritual,” she added.

“The ritual?”

“You always get up and dance when they play music.”

“Yes, I remember from last week.”

“And you always get hot chocolate. For some reason it tastes better at a hockey game.”

“Maybe because they set the rink temperature to arctic conditions.”

Kecia laughed. “They kind of do, don’t they?”

I held up my mittened hands. “Just slightly.”

Kecia looked at me. “I just want to second what Amber said—we really do miss you.”

“Yeah?”

“When you just up and quit, we devoted an entire practice to discussing what to do.” She paused. “You know, um, because of the circumstances.”

The circumstances.

Kecia took another sip of her hot chocolate. “But you seemed to want to be left alone so we didn’t pry.”

“At the time I did, or thought I did,” I admitted. “I guess cheerleading always seemed more about Chris and me than just me.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said, and I wondered whether she was right. Chris was the reason I tried out freshman year, an excuse to be even closer to him at his games, but maybe there were other reasons for me to go back. “Anyway, you still have a spot on the squad if you want it. After all, nobody can flip like you do.”

“Thanks. That’s good to know,” I said. It was nice to feel wanted, but I wasn’t ready to commit to anything one way or the other.

The buzzer sounded, signaling that the game was about to start, and people stood for the anthem. The two teams took the ice, some players hopping straight over the wall and others passing through the narrow, low door in each of the team boxes. They circled the rink as Krupa made her way out, and this time when the players removed their helmets I was prepared to see Will. Even so, I felt butterflies.

By the time Krupa finished and reached our seats the game was already two minutes into the first period and Will had scored the first goal of the night. People were cheering wildly. “Look at you,” she said as I clapped, my eyes following Will’s jersey. “Miss Hockey Enthusiast.”

“I’m just being a good fan.”

“You should’ve seen Rose last week,” Kecia said.

Krupa nudged me. “Can you at least tear yourself away from the ice long enough to explain to me what’s going on?”

“I think I can do that,” I said, trying to remember what I’d learned so far. As I alternated my attention between Krupa and the game, I did my best to explain what it meant to be offsides, what icing was, high sticking, too, and other reasons why players ended up in the penalty box. It wasn’t long before Krupa was cheering as much as everyone else and wincing when there was a fight or if the players thundered into the boards.

“I’m not sure I can say I like hockey yet, but it
is
riveting,” she said at the start of the first break. Kecia and a few other cheerleaders went to stand in line at the bathrooms, and once they were out of earshot she added, “Speaking of riveting, who is number six?”

I studied the metal beams crisscrossing high above us and contemplated my answer. “It’s Will Doniger,” I said finally.

“The landscaping guy from your house? The senior?”

“That’s him.”

“Huh,” she said.

“Krupa,” I warned—her wheels were already turning, I was certain. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Then help me understand the sudden interest.”

I shrugged. “He helped me dig the new flower bed.”

“For the peonies? And you are just telling me this now?”

“Yes, for the peonies, and calm down, it’s totally minor.”

“It is not, considering what it means to you. That was awfully nice of him.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Krupa watching me, her brow furrowed.

“It’s his job.”

She looked smug. “Did he get paid for it?”

I made a face. “Not exactly.”

“Very interesting. Did he know why you were doing it?”

“What is this, twenty questions?”

“Stop stalling.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Sort of. He knew my mother some, I guess. I mean, I think somewhere deep down he understood.”

“He understood deep down,” she repeated.

I turned to her, exasperated. “Will you stop searching for hidden meaning, please?”

“He’s really good-looking,” was Krupa’s nonanswer. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

I shrugged. “You can’t even see him under all that gear.”

Understanding dawned on her face. “Is he the real reason we’re here tonight?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head even though this was more or less a lie. “We’re here because you had to get your hundred bucks and because Kecia invited us and because last week was fun and I could use a little fun as you of all people keep reminding me.”

“Hey, don’t get all defensive on me now. I was just curious.”

Thankfully, the buzzer sounded ending the break, and the players started lining up to wait for the second period to begin. When Kecia returned she didn’t even bother to sit, and she didn’t need to because barely thirty seconds in, Will and two other Lewis players were nearly in a fight.

“I think your new friend is about to get punished for almost killing someone,” Krupa said, and I punched her shoulder. “Hey!” she protested.

“You seriously need to calm down.”

“Doniger spends half the game in the penalty box,” Kecia explained, giving Krupa and me a strange look before turning back to the ice. The rest of period two passed without Krupa making any other comments that might embarrass me, a fact for which I was grateful. At the beginning of the second break, once again techno blared through the arena. Everyone jumped up to dance, and like last week I sat there, frozen.

This time, Krupa came to my rescue. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“Great idea,” I said, and we made our way across the bench, doing our best to avoid flailing arms. On the stairs, I stopped and turned back. What I saw made me feel a pang for the days before my life changed so drastically. The cheerleaders looked like they were having the time of their lives, their gloves and scarves and hats a moving rainbow of color, and for a minute I wished I was dancing alongside everyone else. Would I ever feel that carefree again? “Let’s get hot chocolate,” I suggested, thinking that at least there were other, simple things I could enjoy. “Apparently, it’s a tradition.”

“Sounds good, my treat,” Krupa offered. “I’m the one getting paid to be here anyway.”

“True.”

We pushed through the crowd to the snack bar and inched our way up to the counter. My eyes were fixed on the cups going by, the steam rising in thin wisps through the cold air, and I sighed in anticipation.

“Thinking about number six?” Krupa asked.

“You need to stop,” I said, and shot her a look of warning. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions. Besides, it hasn’t been that long since Chris and I broke up.”

“It won’t always be that way,” Krupa said as we reached the front of the line.

She ordered and paid and we stepped to the side to wait. When our hot chocolates arrived I grabbed them off the counter and handed one to Krupa. The third period began and we rushed back to our seats. The score had been tied all night at 1–1 and when the timer on the board reached the game’s final minute nothing had changed. The crowd was tense and, much to the Lewis fans’ dismay, at the very last second a player from the opposing team slipped the puck by the Lewis goalie and we lost, 2–1, in an upset. The arena fell silent, stunned by this unexpected finish, and the Lewis players skated off in different directions, their shoulders hunched in defeat. The big padded gloves on Will’s hands were up around his head, his helmet off, tossed to the side on the ice, his face hidden.

Krupa turned to Kecia and me. “That was disappointing.”

“No kidding,” Kecia said. “I guess there won’t be any celebrating tonight.”

“Do you mind if Rose and I meet you outside in about ten minutes?”

“Sure,” Kecia said, and headed down the stairs with the rest of the cheerleaders.

I blocked Krupa from exiting the row. “Where are we going?”

“To wait by the locker room,” she said, and pushed past me.

“Stop scheming,” I begged as she yanked me along. “What has gotten into you?”

“Stop accusing me of stuff. Besides, I’m sure Will could use some consolation after losing his game.”

I didn’t even bother to respond.

We reached the crowd outside the locker room. Mrs. Doniger noticed me and waved. I hoped Krupa didn’t see her, but then she asked, “Who’s that?”

“If you must know, it’s Will’s mother.”

“Perfect,” Krupa said, and walked toward her. There was no choice but to follow.

“Hi, Mrs. Doniger,” I said. “Nice to see you again. This, ah, is my friend Krupa.”

“Hello, Rose. It’s nice to meet you, Krupa.”

“Hi,” Krupa said, and launched into something entirely unexpected. “So I need to run and I was wondering—the car is kind of full, and since Will and Rose are friends …” Her voice trailed off.

I wanted to kill her.

“Oh, of course. I’m sure he’d be happy to give Rose a ride,” Mrs. Doniger said, and smiled at me. She waited for me to say something, and I opened my mouth but no words came.

Krupa’s eyes danced. “Okay, great! Gotta go, call me later, Rose,” she said, and ran off before I could protest. I watched as she disappeared across the arena and when I turned around again Will was standing there.

My cheeks caught fire. “Hi,” I said to him. “Sorry about the game.”

He shook his head, obviously upset. “Yeah. Thanks for coming.”

“Rose needs a ride home,” his mother said, before I could excuse myself and escape. “You can take her, right?”

“Oh, sure. I’ll drive you,” he said without any hesitation.

Maybe Krupa wasn’t so crazy after all.

BOOK: The Survival Kit

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