11. ARAN

CHAPTER 11

ARAN

T his is what I get for helping. Having to help more.

"You didn't have to do all this," Strawberry says behind me, watching as I unravel a wire tie from around a nail she used to hang lights around her room. "But," she adds, "thank you for being tall."

"I didn't grow tall for you," I deadpan, and she snorts softly.

"Okay, what's next?" Archie walks into the room. I hear him shuffle something and then grunt. "Whew, this box is heavy."

"Please don't get hurt!" Her voice fades as she follows him.

I finish untangling the wire and stuff it into my pocket. Another section of the string lights falls to the floor. I'm done with one wall and have one more to go. The position is annoying because it makes my shoulders sting and I have to basically glue myself to the wall to reach. Strawberry probably had to get on a stepladder to do this, and I hope she had supervision. If she did this on her own, she could've really hurt herself.

"Captain, my car's loaded up, so I'm headed to the base," Mark says from the door.

I flash him a quick thumbs-up before getting back to work.

After Ryan volunteered me and the guys, and after seeing Strawberry's eyes well up like fountains with a glitchy valve, I had no choice but to agree to help her move. This is why tears are my kryptonite. I get this visceral need to make them stop any way I can. Which is very annoying when, say, I'm trying to break up with a girl I haven't clicked with. Can't fix the tears if I'm the one causing them.

But this case was easy. All I had to do was get a few of the guys to haul her stuff in their cars and deliver it at Ryan's. No biggie.

"Maddie, is this really necessary?" a voice calls out from the hallway. It's one of the roommates, but I don't know which one.

From the corner of my eye, I catch as Strawberry fully steps outside the room. But the walls are paper thin, and no matter how much she lowers her voice, I hear everything.

"Yes, it is."

There's an exasperated sigh. "We should've talked about this. What are we going to do now that we're down a roommate? You should have at least given us warning so we could find someone."

"Rebs, I told you last month that I was considering leaving," Strawberry hisses.

"Your literal words were ‘I don't think I belong here anymore' and that's not the same!"

"It is, because I don't!" Strawberry grunts in a way that sounds remarkably like me.

I pause for a second, contemplating whether to close the door and give them privacy. But it'll be quicker if I just finish this and go. If only this damn tie would just unwind, I'd be quicker. I yank it instead, and out comes the whole nail.

"Oops," I mumble, picking it up from the carpeted floor.

"I'm sorry this is an inconvenience to you, but the way you and Lori have treated me for years has inconvenienced me more. So just move her in and be happy together. Bye."

My tutor marches back into the room just as I'm winding the string lights around my fist. A flush has taken over her face, and there's a dangerous sheen in her eyes. A door closes somewhere in the hallway, maybe from the other girl going back into her room.

"Are you going to cry?"

Strawberry presses her lips. "Probably. But not right now."

I feel genuine relief as I busy myself looking around. The only thing left is the bed frame. Books, clothes, shoes, and even the mattress are already gone. "Do you have everything?"

"I think so." She extends her hand, and it takes me a moment to understand she wants her silly lights. I place the bundle in her palm. "Can't take half the couch with me, unfortunately."

"What about bathroom and kitchen? I know the hand soap is yours."

She winces. "I'm not that petty."

Oh, I would be. I'd be the pettiest little ass if I'd been treated the way she has. I got a sample of that the night I was here, with that Lori chick making passive-aggressive comments that made even me uncomfortable. And then, when I took Strawberry to Ryan's and she started crying, she shared some stories that made Ryan and me want to smash something.

Jamal strides in. "Truck's ready downstairs. Let's finish the job."

"I'll bring up the rear," I say.

As Jamal and I pick up the metal bed frame, Strawberry scampers away to give us space. Maybe we should've disassembled the thing, but it's the sturdiest bed I've seen, and Jamal's truck is big enough that we can just tie it up. Even better, it has no headboard, so it makes the job of climbing down the stairs relatively painless. We're still as slow as snails, because nobody wants to get hurt here.

My arms shake a little by the time we're hauling the frame into the bed of the truck. We tie it up real tight and put the little flag at the end of the bed frame as required for long loads. Nobody wants to get a fine either.

Jamal brushes his hands off and stuffs them into leather gloves. "All right, I'll see you both at Ryan's."

Strawberry holds her hands to her chest as she says, "Thank you so much, Jamal."

"Thank me with food. I'm starving," he says as a farewell. I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans and watch as he starts the truck. The ropes are secure, and the frame doesn't move an inch. Good.

I turn to Strawberry. "Where's my thanks?"

"How does pizza sound?" She smiles and sniffles against the cold. The tip of her nose is as red as…

I wonder if strawberries are in season. She's making me crave them.

Then again, maybe I'm just hungry too.

"If they're from Romano's, I accept."

She nods, all solemn. "I'm willing to fork over the cash today, so Romano's it is."

"Great. I want a meat lover's," I say, because I know it will gross her out. And sure enough, she sticks her tongue out in disgust.

"Fine, but first, let's go. I'm freezing my butt off." She whirls around and heads over to her yellow Beetle. Her butt is well covered by a long coat, though, which is a shame. I don't know why she's complaining.

Shaking my head, I head over to my 4Runner. Inside, I crank up the heat and take a few of my tutor's boxes full of books for a joy ride back to her new place.

I drive right behind her. At a red light, I catch her wiping at her face a few times. I wince a little, because there's nothing I can do about her crying when she's in her car and I'm in mine and we're in traffic. Not that I should do anything about it, either.

It takes us until well past noon to bring her bed frame into her new room and empty all the junk from five cars into her new apartment. But considering we started the move midmorning, right after practice, I'd say this was a record.

True to her word, Strawberry orders pizzas from Romano's for all five Bolts, two Strikes, and for herself. She's the only one with a small veggie pizza, while the rest of us ravenous beasts fight over pepperoni and meat lover's.

"This is very generous of you," Archie says with his mouth so full it's hard to guess what he's saying.

"This is nothing compared to all your help." She offers a cute little smile that melts him like an ice cube in the desert.

I attack my pizza as if it owes me money.

"Maddie." Jamal gulps down his food to speak again. "You should come watch us play tonight."

"I'm sure she has better plans," Ryan says with a shrug. "Like watching our game tonight."

"You should definitely come watch us," says Christine Freeman, one of the forwards on Ryan's team. "Athletic girls are so much hotter than these knuckleheads, am I right?"

"Too right." Ryan offers her forearm, and the other girl bumps it with hers.

I reach out for another slice of meat lover's. The rivalry between the Bolts and the Strikes will probably go on until the end of time, but at least no one's maiming each other anymore.

"Um, actually." Strawberry clears her throat, sets her slice down on the almost empty cardboard box, and lifts wide eyes to us. "I don't really know anything about hockey other than the names of your teams."

One by one, jaws drop, eyes pop, and gasps come out.

I blink real hard. I get it. Not everyone in the world is obsessed with hockey. It's not even the most popular sport in this country. And yet…

This town is in the middle of hockey nation. We're halfway between two Original Six teams. Shit, my parents are Venezuelan and grew up in a baseball culture, yet two of their kids live and breathe hockey like it's our family's legacy. I couldn't possibly conceive of a life without it. In fact, when I get too old to play it professionally and I have no other choice but to earn my living through accounting, I'll still play for some minor league or coach kids or something .

I take a deep, bracing breath so I don't spill any of this like lava from an erupting volcano. I guess it'd be the same if I admitted to her that I don't really read books.

Ryan takes a big swig of her water and sighs as if she's just guzzled a beer. "Girl, you shouldn't have said that aloud in a room full of hockey nerds."

"That's it." Archie smacks his own leg. "Let's watch a game together. We'll teach you all about it."

"Will you?" Why does she look so hopeful asking this?

"Yes, let's go." He grabs a slice and relocates to the couch, pawing at the remote with his greasy hand. "Hey, Ryan! Do you have film from one of our games?"

"Why the heck would I have a Bolts game?"

"Try ESPN first," Jamal suggests. "There may be some reruns from the pro season."

Mark shakes his head. "Man, are you implying we're not as cool as the pros? Because unfortunately, you'd be right. Did you see Max Cassiano's game yesterday?"

"Off the charts, I admit," Christine says.

I grunt. My future brother-in-law is teaching the league exactly what this town is made of. And I'll be next. I don't give a shit that no one drafted me. I'll be the hottest free agent the league has ever seen. Teams will be fighting for me.

"Um, give me a moment. I need my journal."

Strawberry rushes over to my side of the counter and ignores me completely while she washes her hands. But I'm standing in the way of the towel draped over the oven's handle. She blinks up at me, and I stuff the last chunk of crust into my mouth, still firmly in the way.

Her hands drip, and she narrows her eyes, as if she knows what I'm up to. "Excuse me."

I shrug. "You're excused."

"Don't make me bodily push you away."

"You couldn't if you tried."

"You're probably right." Strawberry sighs in an exaggerated way.

But then she reaches over and wipes her hands with the front of my hoodie. And gives me a brilliant smile. Then she turns away and leaves the kitchen.

I stop chewing and glance down at the wet splotches that turn the blue fabric darker. I clamp my mouth tight so I don't laugh or shout. I'm not sure which one.

When I glance up, everyone is still wrestling over what video to watch. Except for Ryan. She's watching me, her brows raised and eyes turned into slits.

Fortunately, she gets distracted by her new roommate, who reappears with journal and strawberry pen in hand. "Okay, let's start with the basics, please."

"Why do you need to write all this down?" As Archie asks, he scoots to the end of the couch and motions at the free space. When Strawberry joins him, Ryan turns back to me, as if checking for my reaction. All I give her is a good view of me chugging down a sports drink.

"I'm going to write a hockey romance."

I choke.

"A what?" someone asks, but I can't tell who, because I'm coughing.

"A hockey romance," my tutor explains in an airy tone. "It's a romance book with a hockey theme. The hero will be a hockey player, but I don't know enough about the sport yet to get started."

I pluck a memory from the back of my mind. The first time I met her at the library, she was staring at me and writing things down. The something-else was what, studying me for her book?

And fine, that's not a big deal. Certainly not the wildest thing I've experienced. It shouldn't annoy me and yet…

I'm a solid four on the bad mood scale.

"Don't worry. If you base your hero on me, you'll have a bestseller in your hands," Archie says with a laugh. It tips me to a five.

"Look, I've been voted the sweetest guy on the team," Jamal counters. "You should base him on me."

"How about me?" Mark points at himself. "I have a baby face but abs of steel."

I'm at a six now. I need a freaking nap, or the scale is going to keep going up.

"Anyway, I'm going home," I announce, then head over to the pile of coats by the door to find mine.

"Already?" Strawberry murmurs something, and the next thing I know, she's wading through the sea of legs to join me.

I don't put on my coat. There's no point. But this catches her attention and a crease appears between her eyebrows.

"Yeah, have fun learning hockey. I'm going to take a nap." Over her head, I say, "Keep it down, you goons."

Ryan volleys back, "Wear earplugs."

Now Strawberry is full on frowning. I open the front door and motion her over. She only makes it to the threshold because she's wearing socks. At the contact with the freezing air, she shudders.

She pops her head out. "What?—"

Her question fizzles as I insert the key into my apartment door. Which is right next to hers.

"My bedroom butts up to your living room, so make sure they keep it down," I say, pushing the door open.

"Wait, what?" She opens and closes her mouth. Then her voice comes out in a squeak. "We're neighbors?"

"Yup. See you around, Strawberry." And with that, I walk into my apartment.