Fake Skating(14)

“You sure that’s wise.” I thoughthe meant it as a question, but there was a period at the end of his statement.

What was happening?

“It’s warm and I don’t even know what a Simley is, so yes—it’s perfect.”

“Dani,” my mom said, “it’s rivalry week. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to wear black today.”

Oh well, if it’s rivalry week.

I knew my mom meant it in the best way. She knew how much I loathed first days of school, so she was more concerned about me fitting in than anything else.

But the truth of the matter was that I knew all the rules of fitting in at a new school; I could write the damn rule book.

Rule #1—It’s not about fitting in; it’s about blending. Be invisible.

That wasn’t me being melodramatic; it was me knowing how to survive.

As a new student, you need to be relatively in style so the assholes won’t see a clueless dork and move in for the kill, but you can’t be too in style or it might look like you think you’re cool.

And you don’t want to be ugly because the jerks love that, but prettiness can be perceived as a threat too, so it’s best to be vanilla.

To look like everyone else.

To be utterly forgettable and absolutely uninteresting.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said. “I’m too new to care about rivalries.”

Wearing spirit-week clothing on your first day might be perceived as try-hard.

“Southview should win,” Grandpa Mick said, his eyes on the newspaper. “Simley’s got no answer for Zeus.”

“I’m assuming you’re not talking about the Greek god…?” I regretted it the minute the words left my mouth, because I couldn’t care less about sports.

“Helluva defenseman,” he said to me with his eyebrows up like he genuinely thought I wanted to talk to him about sports. “The kid backpedal hits like Kronwall, I swear to God.”

“What’s a Kronwall?” I asked.

“Niklas Kronwall,” he said, his eyebrows scrunching together in disgust. “Played for the Red Wings? Legendary checker?”

Now, I knew what he meant by “checker,” because even Iknew the Red Wings were a hockey team.

But I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Wait, ‘hits’—is this baseball? What’s this Kronwall’s batting average?”

“Hockey. It’s hockey.” He managed to scowl at me while also looking confused by my stupidity, like he couldn’t fathom that someone might actually respond that way. “I’m talkin’ about hockey.”

Minnesota men and their propensity for droppingg’s, I swear to God.

“Are you ready to go?” my mom asked, giving me a look that told me she knew I was being a pain in the ass on purpose.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, wishing I could just be homeschooled. I tried very hard to convince my parents to let me do online high school when they decided to divorce, but good ol’ Mom and Dad were adamant that the things you learn socially are just as important as what you learn in your textbooks.

Sure, I thought. It’s super important for me, as a senior, to continually relearn that I hate high school.

My mom chattered the entire drive to school. I knew she was trying to distract me, but all I could do was stare out the window at the snow and houses while trying my hardest not to throw up on my own lap.

My heart started beating faster when my mom turned into the parking lot, as I stared up at the ridiculously large brick high school that loomed in front of me.

Everything about it looked ominous.

Foreboding.

So freaking cold.

“It looks so different from when I went there,” my mom said, leaning forward to look up through the windshield. “But it’s a great school. And I gave you Alec’s number if you want to text him, right?”

Alec never showed up the other night, which was a relief at the time but left me still dreading the reunion. My mom gave me his phone number so I could text him if I needed anything, and I was contemplating sending somethingin hopes of getting the awkwardness out of the way before we had to meet face-to-face.

“Yeah,” I said, reaching down to grab my backpack as she drove closer to the doors.

“Text me as soon as you can, just to let me know how it’s going so I can stop worrying, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “But don’t worry—it’ll be great.”

I didn’t believe that, but what was the point of letting her into my stress? It wouldn’t make anything better for her, and she was already struggling to bounce back from the whole failed-marriage thing.

“I’ll text you later,” I said, reaching for the door and climbing out. Only the air punched me in the face as soon as I straightened.

God, how can it be so freaking cold?

“Bye, sweetie,” she said, giving me a wave before pulling away.

I swallowed and headed for the doors, careful to take deep breaths in through my nose to try to keep the panic at bay. An anxiety attack on day one would be a nightmare, so I was going to make sure that didn’t happen.

Please, God, no panic attack.

As soon as I entered the school, I saw the office.

Which was nice in that I didn’t have to wander around looking more lost than I felt.