Fake Skating(18)

“Oh shit,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “I don’t even know.”

I pretty much didn’t hear anything anyone said at lunch because I was irrationally annoyed that Richie had called her cute and my mom had called her gorgeous.

For starters, I didn’t give a shit.

But also, like, she shouldn’t be cute.

She wasn’t allowed to be gorgeous, dammit.

The last thing I needed was for Dani Collins to be beautiful and a student at Southview.

I had no room for distractions like that in my life. I put on my headphones and tried drowning out the chaos with “Come Apart,” but it was useless. The idea of her drove me nuts for the rest of the day, my head turning every time there was blond hair in my peripheral vision.



* * *



But by the time we got out early for the pep rally, at least I convinced myself it was normal behavior.

I was curious—that was all.

It was absolutely normal to wonder what a childhood friend looked like as an adult.

This wasn’t pathetic little Alec, searching for the girl he’d had a crush on since birth.

No; this was totally different.

I was different.

This was just me—Zeus—being curious if my shitty ex-friend had grown into a cute chick or not.

No big deal.





CHAPTER SEVEN Dani




Thank God pep rallies aren’t mandatory.

I made my way toward the doors, excited for this unexpected reprieve. I’d gone into the gym with everyone else when we were dismissed for the event, and I didn’t realize until we were three cheers and a fight song deep that I had the option to leave.

Talk about a bonus.

It was weird, though. Even though it wasn’t required, it looked like the entire school was sticking around for the pep rally. Not only that, but Grandpa Mick had been right: Nearly every person in that gym was dressed in black. I actually stood out in my off-white sweater, though I still stood by my tiny little act of rebellion, because it made me feel like I had a shred of life control.

Just as I reached the exit doors, the hockey team was announced, and I swear to God the entire student body jumped to their feet, screaming like they were at a concert and not a school-spirit event.

I turned back when it sounded like the crowd was booing, but as it turned out, they were just chanting “Zeus!” like a bunch of zealots.

I mean, even if “Zeus” was great at hockey, this adoration was absolutely unhinged.

And there was no way the boy wasn’t a total egomaniac.

I narrowed my eyes and went down the row of players, curious to see if by some chance I might recognize the guy who’d apparently mentioned me. But the tall dude wearing aviators and raising a fist in the air like Bender from The Breakfast Club was no one I’d ever seen before.

Thank God.

I left and headed for the counselor’s office, grateful for the empty halls and the extra time to get something accomplished. And when I got there, not only did I discover that my assigned counselor (Joan Hrznski, according to her name plate) had also chosen to skip the pep rally (obviously she was smart), but she had time to talk.

“Come in, Dani—have a seat. What can I do for you?”

I sat down, took a deep breath, and launched into the whole nightmarish story of how I was still in limbo.

I’d applied under Restrictive Early Action because I was all over my Harvard shit, but the divorce nightmare had had me so upset that my application hadn’t been as strong as it might’ve been.

As it shouldhave been.

Which led to me not being accepted, but being deferred.

God, I still couldn’t believe it.

When I freaked out over the news, the counselor at my school in Germany had recommended not only that I keep my grades up—Harvard is always watching—but that I beef up my résumé with extracurriculars at my new school.

“Well, I’m inclined to agree with her.” Ms. Hrznski nodded and said, “Keep writing to them, keep calling and pursuing the admissions office, and I’ll do the same on my end. Nail down the extracurriculars here at Southview, keep your GPA up, and I’m confident we can still make it happen.”

I had my doubts about her confidence, but I was going to delusionally believe her because what was my other option?

I wasn’t about to face reality, for the love of God.

I would rather call admissions every other day until the breath left my body. I’d pictured my first year at Harvard for longer than I knew what the word “freshman” meant; failure was not an option.

“Do you know of some clubs that might be easy for me to get connected with?” I asked.

I’d always been good at finding activities that looked great on admissions applications—environmental club, math club, Amnesty International—yet didn’t require a lot of social interaction.

Hopefully Southview would have the same.

“Well, it’s February, dear,” she said, her usage of the word “dear” irritating me because I wasn’t some annoying spouse or child who was asking for the moon, for God’s sake.

I just wanted to join a damn math club.

Then she added, “It’s a little late to join a club.”

So… why did you tell me to find an extracurricular if it’s too late?