The Survival Kit (9 page)

Read The Survival Kit Online

Authors: Donna Freitas

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

BOOK: The Survival Kit
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I gave her a quick hug. “Talk to you tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she said, and we parted ways.
The rest of the night, three periods of hockey players crashing, racing, and almost killing each other to get behind the puck, to take the perfect shot at the goal, fronted by a goalie so padded and monstrous he looked like something out of a horror movie, my eyes never left Will, whether he was on the players’ bench for a breather or in the penalty box for doing something violently against the rules. The constant movement on the ice, how aggressive it was, took me in and kept me.
“Go to hell, ref,” Tamika shouted, in the company of other, slightly more vulgar catcalls around us as the penalty clock was
reset for a Lewis player. She turned to me, a smile forming on her lips. “What? Don’t give me that look. I am
not
in uniform right now.”
I laughed. “I wasn’t giving you a look. Yell whatever you want. I’m not the cheer police.”
When the final buzzer rang and the crowd let loose a frenzy of cheers on behalf of Lewis’s win, I was almost disappointed—I didn’t really want to leave. Amid a rising tally of penalties, Will scored twice. Watching him out there was pretty amazing and for a couple of hours I’d forgotten about everything else: my responsibilities, the sadness about my mom, my breakup with Chris. I’d needed this, though I didn’t know it until tonight.
“Do you want a ride home?” Kecia asked as she gathered her stuff from under the bench and we began to file out of the stands.
“Oh. I guess I do. I hadn’t really thought about how I’d get home after Krupa left. Thanks,” I said, as much for the offer of a ride as for her pushing me to stay tonight. We reached the bottom of the bleachers and an interesting idea popped into my head. “Hey, do you know where the players come out after the game? Or don’t they?”
I suddenly wanted the chance to congratulate Will. I wanted to tell him how much fun I’d had tonight. And I wanted him to know I’d seen his game. Though maybe I was just being crazy. “You’re probably leaving right away, though, right?” I added. That this was likely made me feel relief.
“We’re not going anywhere for a while. We usually hang around and talk to people so you’ve got plenty of time. The players come out down there.” She pointed toward the far end of the rink below the stands. “If you walk in that direction you’ll see signs for the locker rooms and people waiting outside. We’ll be in the ticket lobby.”
I hesitated. Will and I hardly knew each other, and then, he might get the wrong idea. But my curiosity about meeting Will Doniger, star hockey player, to see if he was any different from the boy I saw at the house eventually won out over my uncertainty. “Okay, thanks,” I said, and headed toward the crowd of parents and girls lingering at the back of the rink. One of the mothers smiled and waved me over. She had two young girls with her and she seemed familiar but I couldn’t quite place her.
“Rose,” she said when I was close enough to hear. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Cindy Doniger. Will’s mom? This is Jennifer”—she placed her hand on the shoulder of the taller girl—“and this is Emily. His sisters.” The girls were fidgeting, distracted by all the activity around them.
“Hi,” I said. “Nice to meet you. Or, I guess, nice to see you again?”
“I knew your mother,” she explained, and I recognized the mix of apology and sadness in her voice.
“Oh.” I never knew what to say when this subject came up.
Mrs. Doniger nodded with understanding and I noticed that her eyes were the same blue as Will’s. She placed a hand on top
of Emily’s head, patting her daughter’s braids, and reached out for Jennifer, but her other daughter hovered near the vending machines. Then I heard Mrs. Doniger telling Emily, “See over there? It’s your brother,” she added, pointing toward the door of the locker room.
Will was wearing a school letter jacket that I’d never seen before, his dark hair still wet from the shower. The uncomfortable smile on his face grew even more so when a crowd of girls approached. He dropped his duffel bag to the ground against the cinder block wall and laid his hockey stick across it as girls corralled around him. His face was like stone as they talked at him.
I guess Will was reticent with everyone.
He nodded when parents said hello and laughed when teammates slapped him on the back, but showed almost no emotion until he made a beeline for his sister Jennifer, who was still lingering by the vending machines. He picked her up like she weighed nothing, flipping her upside down, while she squealed, “Let me go!” From the giggling it was clear she’d be equally fine if he left her hanging there. He walked over to his mother and kissed her on the cheek, still holding his sister by the feet, shrieking and laughing, banging his legs with her fists until he set her down and gave Emily some attention. Witnessing this made me wonder what it would take to get past the guard he put up.
That’s when Will saw me and his eyes widened. He walked
toward me and I felt nervous again. Maybe I shouldn’t be here after all.
“Hey,” he said. “Who are you waiting for?”
“Well, I was at the game tonight and I thought I’d say hi.”
“To …” He waited for a name or an explanation.
“Um, I thought I’d say hi to
you
,” I said with a laugh.
“I didn’t know you were a hockey fan.”
“You didn’t tell me you played.” This came out of my mouth before I could think it through.
“Why would I tell you something like that?” His eyes searched mine, maybe for a clue as to why I’d stayed to see him afterward.
“Well, sorry. I mean, I can go, since I know there’s a lot of people here to see you—”
“No,” he cut in, stopping me. “I wouldn’t have thought my being on the hockey team would interest you.”
“It’s kind of a big deal, don’t you think? You and hockey?” I asked.
His expression didn’t change. “It’s important to me.”
“And for a while there, we were talking, like, every morning.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve mentioned something. You know, for small talk’s sake?”
He tugged at the bottom of his jacket, the blue of his eyes as bright as its color. “I suppose.”
“Well, now I know,” I said.
“I guess so.”
“I met your family,” I told him when I didn’t know what else to say.
“I noticed.”
“Your mom is nice.”
“My sisters, though,” he trailed off, glancing at them frantically pushing buttons on the vending machines. “They’re a little out of hand.”
“You seem to like them.”
He nodded.
“You don’t come by the house anymore,” I blurted next.
“Winter’s here. I have hockey practice every day.”
“That makes sense,” I said, looking around, feeling awkward. “Well, I guess I should go. I have to find my ride. I’m sure you’ve got …”—I paused, looking at the scene around us, a hovering crowd of parents and players, plus Will’s family and a pack of girls hanging back, waiting to try to talk to him again—“things to do.”
“Sure,” he said, but didn’t move, still looking at me in that way of his.
“Tell your mom bye,” I said, and started to leave, but I’d gone only a few steps when I turned around again. “By the way, you were amazing out there,” I called back to him.
“Thanks,” Will said, and then he smiled.
I watched as our breath puffed wispy white clouds between us. “You almost never smile, you know.”
Will’s smile turned into a grin. “Neither do you, Rose,” he said before turning away to greet a group of teammates who
bulldozed him into the wall in what seemed like a gesture of affection—they were all laughing.
As I walked the length of the bleachers to meet up with Kecia a smile crossed my face, too. I couldn’t help it. By the time I reached the lobby there was a slight bounce in my step. Almost imperceptible, but sure enough it was there.
I felt it.
MY BABY JUST CARES FOR ME
Sunday afternoon, Krupa and I were hanging out at my house, making a salad for lunch. She was whipping up dressing at the kitchen table and pressing me for details about the real reason I stayed to watch the game on Friday, while I sliced a tomato on the counter and did my best to avoid mentioning Will.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked, her tone laced with curiosity and doubt about my response.
I kept my head down to hide the blush deepening across my cheeks. When I finally dared a glance at Krupa, I was startled to see the iPod cupped in her palms. She was turning it around and inspecting it from different angles.
“This isn’t yours,” she said.
“No, it’s not,” I agreed, not knowing what else to say.
Krupa hopped onto a stool on the other side of the counter and placed the iPod there. “Whose is it then?”
My lungs expanded in and out, wide and big, as I tried to calm myself and think of how best to answer. “It’s … I mean, I found it actually …” I stopped. I wasn’t ready to tell her about
my Survival Kit. “It was my mother’s,” I finally said, which was close enough to the truth.
“I didn’t know she even had one,” Krupa said.
I stared at the cutting board, noticing the nicks and the thin lines and grooves made from years of use. Despite many attempts to put in some earbuds and listen, I hadn’t yet heard a single song that was on the iPod. “Me neither. I was surprised, too.”
“Have you had it since the funeral?” Her voice was gentle.
“Not exactly,” I said. “Just for a couple of weeks.”
“Where did you find it?”
“In her closet.”
“I can’t picture your mom with an iPod. I mean, she still listened to the radio, and god, I totally remember her putting records on that old turntable.”
“I know.” I closed my eyes at the sting of the memory. Without asking Jim and me for permission, Dad got rid of Mom’s records and the player less than a week after she died. If I’d had a say I never would have given away her stuff like that.
“Rose, don’t you miss listening to music?” Krupa asked.
I shrugged. “It’s just … it’s so hard. Every song makes me emotional and I am so sick of crying.”
“It won’t always feel that way,” Krupa said.
“No?”
She shook her head.
“I wish I believed that.”
Krupa held out the iPod. “So what’s on it?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know.”
“Hang on a sec.” Krupa disappeared into the living room and returned with the iPod dock that had been sitting on a shelf, collecting dust.
I watched, frozen, as she plugged it in and set the iPod into the cradle. “Krupa,” I warned.
“Let’s listen to one song,” she said. “Just one. We’ll do it together. It will get easier once you start. You haven’t listened to anything since the funeral, have you?”
I shook my head.
Krupa placed a hand over mine. “I miss hanging out and listening to music with you, and going out dancing. We used to have so much fun. You remember, right?”
I nodded. Of course I remembered.
“Okay then. I think it’s time,” she said.
Every muscle in my body tensed as her fingers surfed the menu. Half of me desperately wanted her to stop and the other half wanted her to go ahead and make this task of my Survival Kit begin because I wasn’t sure I could do it on my own. Maybe I couldn’t do any of the tasks without help—not the peonies, not the music. My eyes became watery and I swallowed hard. I hadn’t heard a single note and already there were tears. “Krupa, wait—”
“Rose.” She handed me a napkin to wipe my face. “When you were in eighth grade and you imposed that ban on music when your mother was going through chemo, she literally marched
you into the kitchen and told you, enough is enough, that your moratorium on music was becoming ridiculous, and she made you listen to the entire sound track of
Rocky
.”
I smiled a little at the memory. “I know.”
“Because she knew you loved the theme song and that hearing it would make you laugh. And she was right, too, and eventually you got over this need for constant silence.”
“But eventually she got better, Krupa,” I said, and my throat caught. “Now she’s gone forever.”
“I’m not your mom, but I love you, too, and I’m not planning on going anywhere.” Then she said, “Ready? Because I’ve got the perfect song,” but before I could answer she pressed
play
.
Nina Simone’s big husky voice filled the kitchen and “My Baby Just Cares for Me” floated from the speakers. Mom loved the great women jazz crooners, and this song in particular. With my eyes closed I could almost see her standing by the sink, doing dishes, singing loud, and for an instant she was alive again, like magic. Music was so potent and powerful it could almost raise the dead. But as reality came rushing back and I remembered that Mom was gone for good, I went to shut down the power.
Krupa put out an arm to stop me. “Just wait,” she said.
Nina Simone kept carrying those lyrics into the kitchen, and for the first time in ages I let myself sink into all this beautiful noise. When the song ended Krupa hit
pause
and the only sound left in the room was breathing.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Krupa removed the iPod from its dock and placed it on the kitchen table. “I have a proposal. Tomorrow you are going to bring your mom’s iPod to school and we are going to commit to listening to one song every day. We can do it at lunch. Before you know it, music will be a part of your life again. Pretty painless, right?”
“Okay,” I agreed. It wouldn’t be painless, but I was grateful to Krupa nonetheless. She knew exactly what I needed to get through this. I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes to dry the tears. “It’s a good idea. I’ll have it with me at school. Promise.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, and looked so pleased with herself that I had to make fun of her, at least a little.
“Don’t get too carried away—it’s not that big a favor,” I said, already feeling a bit better.
She rolled her eyes at me, walked around the counter, and slid another knife from the wood block, grabbing a bright yellow tomato lined with grooves and smooth bulges around its circumference and setting it on the cutting board. “Let’s eat soon,” she said, slicing up one section, then another. Krupa nudged me with her elbow. “Are you going to help or what?”
“I suppose I could,” I answered, smiling. Eventually I picked up my knife again to finish preparing our lunch, but not before the watery blur cleared from my vision. I didn’t want to lose a finger.

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