Fake Skating(21)

Yesterday had been one of those times.

He’d FaceTimed after I got home from school to see what my room looked like, and instead of saying my mom’s name or the word “Minnesota” in the tone he always used that told me he didn’t approve of the move and everything that went along with it, he told me that Germany wasn’t the same without me.

And as nice as it’d been, it’d made me miss him so much that hours later, I still hadn’t been able to sleep.

Because the thing I found so hard about the divorce was the lack of forced proximity. In a normal, intact family, both parents being nearby was the default, whether you liked it or not.

But in a divorce, that was never the case and never would be again.

I felt my dad’s absence every day, just as strongly as I felt my mom’s presence.

And it sucked.

“Well, the game was crazy,” Cassie said, assuming I would be interested.

“Yeah?” I asked, trying to be a good conversationalist. Hockey was apparently interesting to everyone in Southview except for me. “Did we win?”

“We won, but we were down the entire third period until Zeus scored with five minutes left in the game.”

“He did?” How could Alec be Zeus, the player my grandpa was going on about and the one who’d inspired a thousand posters? He’d been absolutely unathletic as a child, adorably clumsy in an I’d rather play Roblox kind of way.

So how could he be not just an athlete, but a varsity hockey player?

It didn’t make sense.

I’d replayed our reunion scene in my head over and over again since it happened, getting angrier every time I thought about it. Not only had he notapologized for knocking me down with his bag, but he’d walked away like he didn’t know me and laughed about it with his friends.

He’d called me “some chick.”

I shouldn’t care, but the knowledge that my childhood bestie had turned into an oversized, arrogant jock was just straight-up depressing.

So much for the one good thing about the move.

“Oh yeah—he single-handedly won the game for us, but that’s not new. That’s kind of his thing.”

“So Alec is actually really good at hockey.” It just seemed impossible, even though the new version of Alec certainly looked like a hockey player.

“Are you kidding me?” She gawked like I’d just asked if the earth was round. “Saying Alec is good at hockey is like saying LeBron James is an okay basketball player. He’s broken a zillion high school records and he’s a potential NHL prospect. He’s like the best.”

“Alec Barczewski.” It was just too out-there to believe, even after witnessing the school’s reaction to him at the pep rally. “Shut up!”

He’d been as unathletic as me.

“So do you know him?” Cassie asked, her eyes narrowing. “Yesterday you said you didn’t.”

“That’s because I didn’t know him by the nickname,” I clarified, in total shock. “I knew him when I was a little kid, before he was Zeus. He’s like an… honorary cousin of mine, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t want her to think there was any tie between us, because the last thing I needed was for people to link me with the popular jock; that could mess me up before I made a single friend.

I added, “I haven’t seen him in years, so he’s basically a stranger.” Right as I said that, we walked by yet another poster of the hockey team, and this time my eyes found him immediately.

Zeus.

Ugh.

Something about his expression in that image made me think of his black eye, the one he got playing baseball the summer after fifth grade. A fly ball came right to him, but instead of catching it with his glove, he caught it with his face.

And he’d been happy about it because he got to sit out the rest of the game, and his dad bought us Dairy Queen afterward.

That had been my buddy.

I couldn’t believe Alec (sorry, Zeus)had become the exact kind of guy I’d learned to avoid at every single school I went to.

I guess it’s time to avoid my former best friend.

Although, that was apparently going to be easier said than done. Oh, universe, what did I ever do to you? I thought when I walked into my speech class later that day and saw him.

I already wanted to vomit because of my aforementioned terror of public speaking and first days, but there he was, sitting in the back with two other guys, each smirking with legs stretched out under their desks like they owned the room.

“This is Dan Collins,” Ms. Sykes said to the class, “and she is a new student. Everyone make sure to say hi to Dan and help her out. There’s a desk over there for you.”

I knew I should correct her—it’s Dani—but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

So now I’d probably be known as “Dan” for the rest of the year.

I looked in the direction of where she was pointing and it was on the other side of the room from Alec, which was good, but the chairs were arranged in a big U shape, so I could still see him and his friends at all times.

Wonderful.

I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at him when I walked by his desk, just as he tilted his head and met my eyes.

While smirking, like he was the king who found himself amused by the presence of a lowly peasant.