Fake Skating(115)

“I know, I know,” I panted, holding my side, barely able to talk. “I need Alec.”

“Whoa,” Alec said, appearing behind his dad. His smile was big as his dark eyes crawled all over me. “What’s going on here, Collins?”

“Harvard,” I wheezed, holding up the envelope.

“Holy shit. Harvard,” he said with his eyebrows raised, coming out onto the porch. “Did you get it? Are you in?”

“Dunno,” I managed, shaking my head. “I didn’t want to open it without you.”

“Wait—did you run all the way here?” he asked, grinning and grabbing my hand, pulling me over to the big porch swing.

I heard John close the front door.

“Yes,” I said, still breathing hard. “Now, are we going to talk or open the envelope?”

I settled onto the swing beside him.

“Calm down, you little shit,” he said, pulling me closer with his good arm even though his bad one was getting better every day. “Open it.”

“I think I need you to do it for me,” I said, shaking my head, suddenly so nervous. “I’m too scared.”

“Let’s do it together,” he said, taking the envelope and putting his fingers on one end, then placing mine on the other. “On the count of three.”

“Okay,” I said with a smile, because it just felt right, doing this with him.

“One,” he said, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.

“Two,” I said, shutting my eyes and hoping with everything I had.

“Hang on for a sec,” he interrupted.

“What?” I said with an exasperated giggle, because leave it to him to stop this progress. “Come on, Barczewski.”

“I just want to say that if for some reason you don’t get in, that’s bullshit and you’re meant for better—you know that, right?”

“Better than Harvard?” I said with a face.

“If Harvard doesn’t take you, then yes, absolutely there is way fucking better than Harvard.”

“Okay,” I said, and I actually meant it.

If I didn’t get in, I knew I’d be all right.

Because not only did I have Alec, but I felt like I’d finally found my place in the world. Southview, Cassie, Lillie, Liz, living with Grandpa Mick, meat raffles at the PNA… I belonged here.

Home.

If I didn’t get into Harvard, I’d be okay, because I had the support of home to make it all better.

“Can we move on to three now?” I asked impatiently, because I still really wanted Harvard. “This is killing me.”

“After I kiss you,” he said.

“Dude,” I complained, “you know I love you, but I’m dying here.”

“Here’s the thing, though,” he said calmly with a finger raised, slowly and with zero sense of urgency. “This is either going to be our last kiss before you’re officially a Harvard student, or our first kiss in the new era where you’re trying to figure out which other school’s offer you’re going to accept. I feel like this warrants a moment.”

“Okay, now I have to kiss you,” I said, climbing on his lap, madly in love with this big hockey player who was ridiculously sentimental. “But make it fast.”

And, well… he didn’t.

And I was great with that.





ALEC’S EPILOGUE June




“Are you going to cry?”

I glanced at Dani, who actually was crying, and swallowed. “Fuck, no.”

But I wanted to.

As we stood there in the Doug, staring at the new addition to the mural that’d just been unveiled in front of a cheering, packed arena, not crying seemed like the toughest thing I’d ever had to do.

A CHAMPIONSHIP SEASON.

The words were huge, plastered just above the team photo that’d been snapped after we beat Minnetonka to win it all. The guys were grinning, sweaty messes after playing in one of the longest state championship games on record (four fucking overtimes), holding up their fingers in a pile on the ice with all of Southview doing the same in the glass behind them.

Vinny would forever be a god in this town with sixty-five saves that night.

“It’s okay if you do,” she said. “Kyle’s bawling.”

“Thanks for that, Collins,” Kyle said, and when I glanced over I couldn’t not smile, because his face was bright red and his eyes were full of tears. “And I’m not bawling, for Christ’s sake. I’m just… misty.”

“Oh, fuck that, I’d rather bawl than be ‘misty’—what the hell is that bullshit?” Vinny said in disgust. “Are you an eighty-year-old grandmother? Do you need a crocheted box of tissues for your fucking misty eyes?”

“This is lovely,” Cassie said, laughing. “Truly.”

“I feel sorry for you if this mural doesn’t make you misty,” Kyle said, and I knew he meant it.

“Oh, will you stop with that word? I’ll bawl my fucking eyes out for you if you’ll stop saying ‘misty.’?” Vinny wrapped his arm around Kyle’s shoulders and added, “You emo little MVP.”

Kyle had played his ass off in that game.