Chapter 10

SeeingShaun being so secretive made me feel a little wary.

What could he possibly want to show me? If it was something about teenagers and food, I was going to?—

"So, I know this isn't as fancy as the ones that all the moms all over the world make, but I thought it might be… I don't know… nice?" He pulled something out of his backpack, something big. "I know there's supposed to be lace and shit around the edges, and the front and back are supposed to be fabric-covered, but I didn't have any lace or fabric, so I left it as it was." He passed over a scrapbook. One that he must have gotten from a dollar store kids' aisle because it was the most glittery, unicorn-laden thing I had ever seen.

I took the offering, letting it rest on my open palms. The March wind was cold, a sign that winter was not quite ready to let go of Pennsylvania just yet. I shivered but wasn't sure if it was from the brisk winds rolling through the quad or the fact that Shaun had made me this amazing gift. With his own big hands. Didn't matter what was inside it. The fact that he'd sat down and done this, for me, was… well, it made me teary.

"No, oh shit, did I do something wrong?" He was at my side in an instant, standing over me as if he could protect me from all the wrongs in the world.

I shook my head, sniffled, then turned my face into his chest, the scrapbook now pressed between us. His arm came around me, stiffly at first, his palm landing on my back with a thud. I snorted at his fumbling attempt to console me.

"You did so good," I coughed out, my nose buried in his Chesterford jacket. He smelled of fabric softener and some sort of dark woodsy cologne. "I'm not sure why I'm being such a tool," I said into the soft material covering his wide chest.

His pats began to soften as I sniveled. Softer, less a whack and more a caress. I melted into him as much as I dared in front of the braver students.

"Maybe we should go inside?" he asked as my sniffles quieted.

I nodded, stepping away from his warmth. He studied my face, sapphire eyes filled with concern. Always such a worrier. Even when we were kids Shaun was the one who would fret over everything and everyone. Which made him an excellent captain and friend.

"Your cheeks will get chapped being all wet." He used his thumbs to dry the dampness from my cheeks. I yearned to rise to my toes to kiss his soft lips. I nearly did when someone dashed past, shouting about the wind coming off a glacier. Some random dude, no idea who, but it was enough to snap the mood in two like a wishbone. Oh man, did I have a few wishes swirling around inside my head. "Come on," Shaun said, plucking my apple from the table, then steering me into the drama building.

Which seemed kind of fitting to me. Shaun and I were the epitome of teen drama. For real, we could be leads in one of those John Hughes movies my parents were so fond of. We slipped into the wardrobe room; the heat felt good as we settled on an old steamer trunk amid racks of costumes from past performances.

"Sorry for that outburst," I whispered, peering down at the scrapbook now resting on my thighs. "I've been kind of whirly ever since we had our pinkie moment."

He made a sound that reminded me of a sad puppy. Not exactly a whine, but something soft and plaintive. I let my head rest on his shoulder.

"I'm really confused right now, Kenji," he confessed, his words mere puffs of a whisper.

"I know," I replied as we sat there side by side, the smell of mothballs thick on the air. "You can talk to me anytime. Discovering things about yourself that you didn't know before is really hard."

"I think I knew it," he said, his thigh solid and strong beside mine. "Like, I knew I had feelings for you that were more than just friendship. I don't think I feel this way about anyone else."

My heart soared. "That's… you're so sweet. I feel the same."

And I let it drop. I didn't want to push him. This was big for him. Huge. He had to do this at his own pace. "So, let's travel back in time?" I patted the rainbow-bright cover and chanced a peek to the left. He was watching me, his lips flat until our eyes met. Then, he smiled. It was wobbly, but still breathtaking. I opened the book. Glued to the page was a picture of us when we were little guys. We looked lost inside our hockey gear. I chuckled. "Oh man, I was so tiny."

"You're still tiny," he remarked.

Yeah, that was true. Compared to him, I was a sprite.

"Hulking guys on skates play hockey, and tiny guys on skates dance on ice," I threw out as I flipped the page to another old snapshot of us, maybe a year past the first, Shaun already six inches taller than me at the age of ten or so. I was in a skating costume in this one. I remembered it well. A bright yellow top with slim black slacks. I'd won a medal at my first competition, third place, just a bronze, but that win had been the thing that had led me from hockey to figure skating. It had lit a fire in me to combine the ice with fluidity and music. A fire I had been sure would never burn out. Now though…

"That's not always true. There are some small guys who play hockey. Lots of pros are under six-foot-tall. Size means nothing," he quickly countered.

"That's what all the giants say," I teased.

He saw me smirking and chuffed in amusement. "Do you remember what I said to you when you told me you were done with hockey?"

"Sure. You said that the ice would always be a part of me, no matter if I were chasing pucks or spinning around like a top. That once you put skate blade to frozen water you were never the same. It was pretty profound for a kid of ten."

He blushed. "I wish I could say it was my words, but I kind of skimmed them from Tennant Rowe. I'd seen an interview with him when he first joined the Railers, way before he got married and became a dad. He was talking about how the ice was a magical thing, that when your blade met it for the first time it captured your heart. I wanted you to know that even though I was going to miss you on the hockey team that… well, that I wanted you to be happy."

He glanced away from me, his gaze going to a rack of medieval outfits. Feeling my emotions rising again, I grew bold. I chanced leaning up to place my lips to his cheek. His cheek was soft, the blond whiskers freshly shaved. His breath skipped as he inhaled.

"You are the kindest soul that I have ever known," I told him before returning to the scrapbook.

Another page turned. Shaun sat beside me, silent, his cheeks pink, his gaze darting from the pages with the old images, some plastered in sideways, some with tacky fingerprints where the glue had coated his fingers. Time felt as if it had stopped for us, but time runs on no matter how much we wish we could sit in a costume closet forever. The first bell rang.

"Shit, I have to get across campus to the Science building for Biology. Mr. Harrison loves handing out detention for being late."

"He's a dick. He got me twice already this semester. I have him first, and he has no interest in hearing about hockey as an excuse for being tardy. Tardy. Who even uses that word anymore?"

"Mr. Harrison because he's ten thousand years old and eats garlic on his Wheaties," I tossed out as we got to our feet. "Thanks for showing this to me."

I held out the scrapbook. "No, that's for you. I made it for you because…" He stared down at me as a hundred feelings cavorted behind his eyes. "Because I want to be your friend again."

"Only friends?" I asked, knowing I shouldn't have. I just wanted to be more than that to him.

"No." The word left him on an exhalation. He bent down to kiss me on the forehead. A fast peck that made my empty stomach swoop as if I were on a roller coaster. I blinked in shock. He smiled, then pressed the apple into my chest. "Eat that."

Before I could reply, he threw open the door. Students were passing by, voices loud, laughter filling the room. A few curious eyes found us before moving past.

"Thank you for the memories," I said while stepping out into the flow of teenagers hustling from lunch or other classes to where they needed to be next.

"You're welcome. We'll make lots of new ones for all the empty pages at the back, yeah?"

Second bell rang. The kids around me started hustling. "Yeah, lots of new ones."

We both took off in different directions. Me to try to beat the closing door of Mr. Harrison's science lab, and Shaun to whatever the rest of the day held for him.

I hoped he got to his class on time. I didn't. Dick Bag Harrison nailed me with a detention, which was going to piss Ilya off to no end. Still, it would let me spend an hour after school thumbing through the scrapbook in my backpack. Felt like a fair trade to me.

Shame my coachdid not share my thoughts about detention and old pictures of best buddies.

Ilya was livid when I texted him to let him know that I was in detention and would miss group skate. I was told to report to the rink after detention, and we would work privately. The mere thought of seeing him when he was in a temper made me sick to my stomach.

The apple I'd tossed into the trash on my way to science probably would have come back up if I'd eaten it. So, good thing I hadn't.

Ilya was at the rink waiting when I showed up, slinking in like a beaten-up tom cat who'd been out carousing for a week. I began to apologize but was shut down.

"I do not need excuses. If you had stayed home schooling, as I recommended, this delay would not have happened."

"I'm sorry," I whimpered as I rushed to lace up my skates. "I'll do better."

"Sorry does not win medals. Work wins medals. Dedication to your sport wins medals. Now, get on the ice before I remove your name from my list of students. Perhaps, that is what you are wishing for?"

I paused in tying my skate to stare at him in confusion. "No, Coach. I know you are the best trainer and choreographer that I could have."

His gray eyes burned into me as he stood on the ice, arms folded over his thick sweater. "Are you sure? Perhaps you should reconsider discussing my methods with your silly friends, who then tell other people of how we train. Then, those people call me up with idiotic American ideals on how to teach belligerent, ungrateful children who show up late to practice ten days before a competition!"

"I'm sorry," I repeated, not a clue as to what had him so pissed off. "I have no idea what you mean, Coach. I never talk about your methods."

"You are also a liar." He bent down to place his hands on my shoulders, his gaze hot with indignation. It was more than a little scary. "The next time you go whining to another coach about how you are treated by me, you can become their student. Then, you can languish away in some miserable rink with the rest of the boys who do not know how good they have got it. Do we understand each other, Kenji Kelly?"

"Sir, yes, I won't… I didn't say anything to any other coach. I swear."

He released me then, turning his back to me. "You will perform the long, short, and exhibition programs that I have designed for you at the Snowflake Classic. There will be no deviations."

"Yes, Coach," I mumbled under my breath while he skated to the sound system to cue up my music. No deviations. That meant I was not allowed to perform the routine I'd choreographed. Shaking with fear and anger, I hit the ice for what I knew would be a grueling hour of jumps repeated so many times my muscles would let me down.

And they did. Over and over. As I sat on the ice, sore and wobbly with Ilya shouting at me to get to my skates, I felt out of control. The tears began to flow. Ilya called me a soft mewling baby, then told me to go home to my mommy, his ire still bubbling like a caldera.

He left then. Just stormed out of the rink, my music still playing, me still seated mid-ice with wet cheeks and trembling hands. Home seemed a million miles away. Everything good and kind, like Shaun and my family and my ability to perform a simple routine I had done a dozen times already, so far out of my grasp that they all might as well be on Mars.

Mars…

I swiped at my face as a memory popped into my head. It was bold and bright, unlike the other thoughts swirling around my skull. Shaun and me when we were perhaps eight, sitting on the bench during a morning practice, the seats behind us filled with groggy parents. Our coach had handed out fun-size candy bars as he always did as a treat for a good practice.

Shaun and I both had Mounds bars. If I closed my eyes, I could taste the sweet coconut covered with chocolate. Mm, it had been forever since I'd had a candy bar. Candy was off-limits.

Shaking, I got to my skates and made my way to the Coyotes bench, my mind set on finding a fucking Mounds bar. I had none in my bag, I knew that, but my sloppy brain made me search. Once that proved futile, I took off my skates, tied up my sneakers, and left the rink with my skates over one shoulder and my overstuffed backpack on the other.

The air was cold, the sky now ominous as I pushed myself into a jog. The campus fell behind me. I felt the bite of sleet on my cheeks as I made my way past the Noodle Shop to a small convenience store/gas station. Winter was not giving up meekly. I hurried into the store, my stomach growling as the smell of the hot dogs on the roller-thingy in the corner reached my nose. I didn't want hot dogs. I wanted a Mounds bar.

I found the candy aisle, grabbed a dozen candy bars, and then, a soda, too. A big one. Huge. Something else that Ilya forbade his skaters to drink. Water. Water was all a body needed. Americans and their fixation on junk food showed weak moral constitution.

"Fuck you, Ilya," I grumbled as I made my way to the register. Once the goodies were mine, I stepped outside, sat on the windowsill with a flashing green lotto light illuminating me in the sleety gray evening, and ingested every single candy bar I had purchased. They were delicious. So, fucking delicious. And the soda that followed to wash them down? Fucking incredible. Sweet, filled with fizz and sugar. I belched a few times, loud, and then giggled at the sound.

I walked back to my car, coat pockets filled with wrappers I would have to get rid of somewhere secret. A dumpster maybe? I was soaked, chilled to the bone, and feeling terrible about the amount of food I had just eaten.

My car was locked, and so, I shrugged my backpack off my shoulder to dig my keys out. Remembering the junk in my pockets, I tossed the garbage into the car to take care of later. Where was a dumpster I could sneak this into? My reflexes were dulled, and the bag hit the wet blacktop of the student parking lot. Everything inside tumbled out. My books, my phone, and the scrapbook.

"No, fucking goddamn it!" I railed at the wintry sky, falling to my knees to gather the scrapbook up before it was ruined. I couldn't handle that. I cradled it to my chest, the sleet pelting down on my head, tiny pebbles of ice melting under my knees and soaking my skate pants through in no time. My phone buzzed. I looked down at it lying beside my front tire. Everything was spiraling around and around like a drain. I'd eaten so much bad food. Thousands of calories. Weigh-in tomorrow would be horrific. My phone continued to vibrate.

I glanced at the incoming call. Shaun. What… why? I sat in the parking lot, scrapbook tight to my chest, the urge to purge so strong I was shivering violently. My fingers were cold, shaking, and wet. I picked up my cell, held it to my ear, and said hello.

"Hey, we're at the noodle shop and everyone on the team is asking where you are. You want to come have some broth with us?"

I was in no place to sit and be stared at by our friends. I just wanted to see Shaun.

"Shaun…" I pushed out, unable to form the denial to his request for some reason. "Can you… I think… will you come to student parking, please? I don't feel… I need you."

"I'll be there in five," he replied, and I could hear a chair scraping across a tile floor as he rushed to stand. Voices asking him if he was okay. Him saying he had to go. The ring of the bells over the Hot Pot Noodle Shop door as he bolted out into the rotten weather. He was coming. I could hold on until he got here. Shaun was coming. The book was safe. It would be okay. I could do this. I could hold on for Shaun.