Then 9 & 10

"I don't know about this," she said, her voice weighed down with skepticism, even as he gripped her hand tighter so she couldn't pull back.

"It won't be that bad. Promise. I'll play whatever you want after. Please?" He was awful at asking for things. He never had to, but this was important. Vera was the only one who could help once Tommy moved two towns over. They needed even teams if they wanted to play. There was no way around it.

"I'm pretty sure I told you no hockey when I agreed to be friends with you." She sniffed, her green eyes narrowing at him, and he couldn't help but grin back. She made it sound like he begged her to be his friend. He didn't. If anything, she wouldn't leave him alone. Not that he minded. She was cute, and fun to be around, even if she was a girl, and her hands were always dry and the perfect temperature, so he didn't mind holding them when they walked together.

He didn't see her much at school, but they waited for the bus together, along with Vic and Erik. They'd been sitting together on the bus too, since Tommy was gone. Jockeying seating for four was always easier than figuring out three. Especially when the twins always sat together, and it was him by himself. Before Vera.

"It's just one game," he said, aware that he was going to do his best to make this a regular occurrence. He just had to show her how awesome hockey was first.

"I don't know how to skate."

The protesting was all for show. She was walking with him willingly, smiling up at him from under the fringe of hair she called bangs. Her grownup teeth were a little overlapped in the front, and a little too big for her face, but he didn't mind. He'd heard his mom telling her mom that she'd grow into them and his mom would know. She worked with Dr. Bill, the dentist. And that's exactly what he'd told Suzanne Wallace when she tried to make fun of his friend.

Well, he might have told her Vera would grow into her teeth and also that Suzanne was jealous because she'd never be as pretty as Vera, but his dad had told him off for the last part. That made little sense to Robbie. His dad had clapped him on the shoulder, bought him an ice cream—two different flavors and sprinkles!—which didn't feel like he was in trouble, even if his dad told him he shouldn't have said what he did.

"You doknow how to skate." He squeezed Vera's hand twice, and she squeezed back, just like always. "I taught you myself."

For someone who danced three times a week, he'd thought she'd have better balance, but he didn't mind holding her hand and walking down their dead-end street, making sure she didn't fall off the wheels strapped to her sneakers.

Vera pulled on her hand. Robbie refused to let go. They both jerked to a stop on the sidewalk.

"You said hockey." She stuck her free hand on her hip. "Hockey means ice."

"Not always." He shrugged.

"Street hockey?" She tugged on her hand again and he stepped closer.

He never got this close to her, or any girls, but he couldn't help noticing she smelled nicer than the twins. Like the sunscreen his mom slathered on him when they took their yearly trip to Myrtle Beach, and a little like birthday cake. Her mom liked to bake a lot, but this smell was sharper, sweeter.

"You smell like sugar," he said, the words tumbling out without conscious thought.

Her cheeks were pink from the sun and she didn't have a hat. She was going to end up with more freckles. Or a sunburn. He should have brought her one.

"Paloma let me borrow some of her brown sugar body spray. She got it at the Limited Too." Vera lifted her arm, twisting it in front of his face until he could see the glitter in the light. "She's so cool."

"It's sparkly." He curled his lip in disgust at the idea of glitter transfer, but it never occurred to him to drop her hand.

"Isn't it amazing?" She laughed and drew her wrist to her own nose, taking a deep inhale. "It smells so good."

"The sparkles get lost in your freckles."

Vera dropped her arm and turned her chin away. The movement hit Robbie like a puck to the solar plexus. He let go of her hand and watched as she rubbed at the glittering skin on her arm.

"That was mean." The words were a self-admonishment, but Vera's shoulders hitched up to her ears in an elaborately unconcerned shrug.

"No, you're right," she said, but she still wouldn't look at him. Why did it make him feel like someone told him he'd been cut from the hockey team? "I have too many stupid freckles. I just got excited ‘cause Paloma is so smart and fun and my mom won't let me wear makeup or anything yet, but she was nice and shared with me. Now I know not to get my own glitter."

"I like your freckles," he said, wondering if he could reach for her hand again. He liked holding it, and he still had to get her to the street hockey game before the twins gave up waiting for them and ditched.

"No, you don't," Vera said. "There's too many of them."

She spread her fingers wide, and they both looked down at the dark spots that dotted her pale skin. She looked like someone dipped a brush in freckle-colored paint and then flicked it all over her. Robbie had seen Vera in a halter top last summer, and the freckles covered the triangles of her shoulder blades. He didn't have to look at her bare legs—she was wearing bright green shorts—to know that the spots covered her knees and shins, too. She even had freckles in her eyes. Tiny spots of brown in the circle of green. Five in the left eye, three in the right.

"I do like your freckles," he said, taking her hand back and squeezing twice. "You're like a giant connect the dots picture."

"That doesn't sound great."

"Well, it is. And I only said that about the stuff because I was mad you hung out with Paloma instead of me."

And there it was. The third squeeze.

Robbie smiled.

"You're an idiot." Vera shook her head as she laughed. "Paloma was babysitting me, but if you're that jealous I can get some spray for you, too."

He looked at her then, grinning in the sunlight, and found his opening.

"New deal. You come play hockey without complaining, and I'll let you put glitter on my arms."

The way her smile widened set off a few alarm bells in Robbie's mind, but not enough to take back the offer.

"Deal," Vera said, bumping her hip into his. He stumbled sideways before catching his balance, hauling her along with him as she shrieked with laughter.

"Hey," he said, once they both had their feet under them, "Save the hip checks for the game."

She didn't need to check anyone during the hour they smacked a rubber ball around the cul-de-sac. The twins couldn't stay much longer than that, anyway. Robbie carefully clipped her borrowed roller blades on her feet, velcroed her knee and elbow pads around her joints, and then hauled her upright. She wobbled like a baby deer, but she didn't fall—something Robbie only paid attention to because he offered the crook of his arm just in case and she never took it. Her stick handling was worse than the rec league kindergarteners, but she stuck it out, even sending a sideways pass into the Corning's driveway instead of the small plastic goal.

The hat was a non-issue once they got a hockey helmet on her, something Robbie insisted on after she got hit with the first pass.

"I don't just like your freckles," he said, watching her pull a purple scrunchie out of her dark red hair so the helmet would buckle. "I like your hair too."

"Why?" She frowned. "It's just brown like yours."

It wasn't brown, at least not at all like his. Her hair reminded him of cherry coke, the kind made with the bright red syrup at the diner downtown. In the right light it gleamed red. Dark like the ruby ring his grandma wore on her thumb.

The twins won, because of course they did, easy to do when both of them not only knew how to move on the in-line skates. Robbie was also pretty sure twin telepathy was a real thing. Vera had a knack for being in the right place at the right time, so it wasn't a total wash, and Robbie didn't mind the score because he still got to play.

"Sorry we lost," Vera said as she handed back her gear, sweat sticking her hair up at odd angles. "Next time, maybe you can team up with Vic or Erik. If they're willing to split up."

It would have been a harder sell to get either of the twins to partner with Vera, especially knowing the final score would be in the other team's favor, but Robbie didn't care about any of that.

"Nah," he said. Robbie slung an arm around Vera's bony shoulder—he'd never done that before, either, just laced their fingers together, but this was nice—and pulled her in for a lopsided hug. "They can keep each other. I'll pick you every time."

"Really?"

He counted the little brown freckles in the center of her green eyes. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three.

"Yes." He nodded, never more sure of anything in his ten years of life. "You and me against anyone."