Then 10 & 11

"Vera Aster Novak. I am leaving in five minutes, with or without you."

The threat was not a new one, not when she'd asked for extra time at least twice already. It's not that she didn't want to go run errands with her mother—although what kid would pick that option over a rousing game with friends?—but there was only one more week before school started and Vera wasn't quite ready to face the music yet. Especially when this year would be Robbie's first year of middle school.

Fifth grade was supposed to be fun, but she wasn't exactly looking forward to long days without her best friend. Not that she and Robbie had ever been in the same grade. He was always one ahead of her, but they'd at least been able to ride the bus together. Now Robbie was going to get picked up a whole hour earlier, and she was still going to be stuck riding the little kid bus.

The twins would be with her, that was something, but they stuck together and she'd have to find a new seatmate. Between the different schools and the increased time the boys were going to spend at the rink this year, she'd see very little of her best friend at all. That's why today was so important. Street hockey was not—and never would be—her favorite pastime, but it was sunny and warm and Robbie sent her passes with a wide smile and Vic and Erik had brought juice pouches for them to share when they overheated.

So yeah, she'd take this over errands any day.

"Be right there, Mom," she called out as she sent a wobbly shot towards the goal. She was better than the first time Robbie had strapped skates to her, but the boys were being as patient as they could be. "I really gotta go."

Vera held her stick out for Robbie to take. He skated toward her, hair blowing in the ruffle of wind as he tipped his head to the side. She'd asked him once what shampoo he used, wanting to get hers that smooth too, but he hadn't known what it was called and when she'd had her mom ask his, it was the same kind she already had at home.

Her mom had had to explain hair texture then. Robbie had naturally soft strands. It wasn't the shampoo. Vera thought that was just unfair. If she had to have "red"—not her words, thank you—then at least it could be soft and pretty too. She'd said so, hands on her narrow hip as she glared into the mirror and her mom had had the audacity to laugh.

"Life is rarely fair, sweetheart. That's why it's up to us to be good people, anyway."

That hadn't made much sense to Vera, but she was doing her best not to be jealous that Robbie's hair was pretty even after two hours of chasing a little rubber ball around on wheels, while Vera's hand had gotten stuck in tangles as she went to push her bangs back.

"You have pretty hair," she said to Robbie, precisely because she was feeling jealous, and she thought it was funny when his cheeks turned pink. That was something else that was unfair. She was sweating, and she knew her face was the color of a tomato, but Robbie and the twins weren't evening breathing hard.

"Thanks," he said, frowning down at her as the tips of his ears flamed red. "Where are you going?"

"We have to go get all my dance stuff before classes start next week."

"Dance?"

Did she talk about ballet all the time with her boy best friend? No, she didn't, but she'd still assumed he knew where she went when he had hockey practice. She'd only been dancing since she was three.

"Didn't know I needed your permission," Vera said, jamming her hands on her hips with so much force she almost unbalanced herself.

Here she was, trying to get over her stupid thoughts about his stupid hair and be nice, and he couldn't even be bothered to know what she did in her free time. Boys. They were stupid. What if she didn't want to play hockey with them? Would any of them play any of the games she wanted? Robbie probably only cared that she was leaving because she was on his team and taking on the twins solo was almost impossible. Even for the great Robbie Oakes.

"You don't." Robbie wrapped his hand around her wrist, holding her up as she got her feet back under her. "Can I come with you?"

"I'd have to ask my mom. You really want to?" She asked, and he nodded. "Why?"

"Why not?"

Her mom hadn't minded at all. In fact, she'd been smiling weirdly into the rear-view mirror whenever Vera caught her eye. Every time they went around a curve, Robbie's knee pressed into hers. He was warm, if bony, a welcome heat in the frigid air conditioning of her mom's old sedan.

"This is going to be boring for you," she said as her mom pulled into the strip mall's parking lot.

"It's okay." Robbie shrugged his shoulders. "I have a book."

"You aren't here to be some weird pervert, are you?"

It was probably too late to ask that question considering that he'd made it all the way to the dance store with them, but her mom could make him wait in the car if he was trying to be gross and catch her changing. Robbie shot her a disgusted look.

"I would never." His face was red now for a different reason. "That's not how you treat people."

"Vera," her mom said in a low hiss, "You are being rude."

Vera thought maybe manners should be less important than making sure a boy wasn't being inappropriate, but what did she know? She was only ten. She rolled her eyes so hard her eye sockets actually ached.

"It's okay," Robbie said. "I just wasn't ready to stop spending time with you. I can wait in the car or something."

Something warm unfurled in her tummy. Like a tiny kitten stretching in a ray of sun. This is why he was her best friend. No one else made her feel as important as Robbie Oakes did.

"You can stay," Vera said, "but I bet I can get to the front door before you." and they smiled at each other before scrambling out of the car, knocking shoulders and hips as they ran for the entrance.

The store was small, racks of leotards and warm-ups organized by size and color in front of the trio of arched mirrors. Gauzy curtains and fresh flowers made the entire sales floor a princess-perfect wonderland. Robbie shouldn't have fit it at all, not with his athletic shorts and dirt-streaked shirt. Not with his dark hair curling around the brim of his backwards hat and his scuffed sneakers. Vera half expected him to break into hives, or offer again to wait in her mom's car, but he found a seat on a pink upholstered bench and settled in with the book he'd tucked under his arm.

This year was a big one for Vera. She was finally going to wear a light blue leo for class and maybe in a few years she'd be ready for pointe shoes. She couldn't wait for that. She had a pair of dead pointe shoes worn and signed by Darci Kistler after her Sugar Plum performance hanging from the post of her bed. That wasn't strange, either. She knew for a fact that Robbie had a puck signed by Jaromír Jágr. Not that Vera knew who that was, other than that he played for Pittsburgh and the boys thought he was top tier.

"Let's get that hair up, young lady," the shop owner bustled over, a black elastic wrapped around her bony wrist, and then Vera didn't have time to think about Robbie at all.

The trip took an hour. Vera picked out two light blue leotards for her ballet class, one long-sleeve, one with spaghetti straps and a plunging back. That one had been a hard sell for her mom, but she wasn't a little kid anymore.

"It'll help Miss Eve see the lines of my shoulders," she'd wheedled, full of complete poop as she turned side to side in the mirrors. Vera was trying to see herself like one of the older dancers on pointe. She held her hands out at her sides as if she didn't want to squash a shimmering tutu. She arched her neck and imagined she was feeling the heat from the spotlights as she stepped out onto the stage at Lincoln Center. Dance was going to make her a star someday. She could feel it in her bones.

"Sorry you got stuck with all that," she said. She knocked her knee into Robbie'sonce they were back in the car, her newly stocked dance bag sitting at her feet. He'd been exceedingly patient as she tried on tights and leotards and wrap skirts. He'd kept his nose down, barely sparing her a single glance until her mother went to pay. Then he'd asked her to show him the basic positions, clapping and grinning like she was a prima ballerina wowing a sold-out crowd.

"I don't mind." Robbie smiled at her, his eyes warming as they slid over her face, before he turned his head back toward his book. "I like seeing you dance."

"I barely did anything." She laughed. She's only shown him first through fifth position. Those are the moves they teach in beginner classes. "You'll have to come see an actual show."

Vera winced. Robbie Oakes wasn't going to take time out of his practice and game schedule to go to her dance recital or watch the nutcracker. He wasn't going to put on his fancy shoes and sit at the edge of his seat while Doctor Coppelius tried to steal Franz's heart for his life-size doll.

"I'd like that," Robbie said, turning the page in his book, not even glancing up.

"You would?"

"Yeah," he turned another page. "You can come watch me play hockey, too."

"Okay." Vera looked out the window as they drove past another set of fields. She'd probably have to stop playing pickup games with them—too much risk she could break a bone, which would mean no dance—so she could go watch him play as a sort of consolation prize.

"Someday I'll tell everyone I saw the famous Vera Novak dance."

She met her best friend's eyes.

"Someday I'll tell them I scored a goal on NHL superstar Robbie Oakes."

"Someday you'll shoot at the right net. If you keep practicing."

She'd grinned the rest of the way home.