I think that’s the point.”
“Like Dad told you that.”
“No, she did.”
I tapped my highlighter against the edge of the book on my desk. “She said that straight-out?”
“Well, during our conversation she implied that she was a combination of worried about and angry at Dad.”
This surprised me. Grandma Madison never let on that she knew anything about Dad’s up- and downhill trips, but then again, I wasn’t the grandchild she called all the time—Jim was.
“She also said it was important that we fill up the house with as much life as possible during the holidays, you know, without Mom.”
We were both silent a while before I moved the conversation
away from this sad place. “I don’t think of Grandma Madison as someone likely to liven things up,” I said.
Jim snickered. “But at least with her around you won’t have to cook Thanksgiving dinner by yourself.”
“True. Though she isn’t very fun to cook with.”
“I’ll help.”
“Right, Jim. Like I haven’t heard that one before. The last time you tried to make something we actually had a small fire.”
“That was not my fault.”
“On that note, I’ll be going.”
Jim laughed. “You know I’m kidding. But I’ll leave you alone. Love you.”
“Love you, too, and I can’t wait to see you.”
“I know. Until Tuesday, then, Rosey girl, less than a week away.”
I clicked end , just as a sharp sadness about Mom hit me hard and fast. I tried to focus on my schoolwork to distract myself, which didn’t help much at all, but then I remembered what Krupa had said earlier today, about seeing a new spark in me, and I felt a little brighter, only a little, but it was enough to make a difference.
17
TAKE IT HOME
On Friday night MacAfee Arena was even more crowded with hockey fans than the weekend before, if that were even possible. While Krupa waited by the teams’ boxes to sing the anthem, I made my way up through the stands to find Kecia and claim our seats.
“You’re staying, right?” Kecia asked as I squeezed by her onto the bench.
“Yes. Both of us.”
“That’s great.”
I set my bag down to save the spot meant for Krupa. Cheerleaders surrounded us on all sides and people smiled when they saw me and said hello, as if there hadn’t been a period when I’d stopped hanging out with everyone. No one seemed to hold a grudge that I’d quit, and in fact it was the opposite. Amber Johnson, a fellow junior, even gave me a hug and said, “Stop being such a stranger. We’ve missed you.”
“Thanks,” I said. I was beginning to realize that avoiding the cheerleaders might have been a mistake, especially since they
were acting like we were still friends. Maybe they were right, and we were.
Kecia reached under her seat and pulled a cup off the floor. “Hot chocolate,” she explained, cradling it close to her lips so she could blow on it, while steam rose up from the little circle at the top. It smelled good and I considered asking for a sip. Tonight I was prepared for the cold with gloves, a warm coat, and a scarf, but hot chocolate seemed like an even better idea to deal with the freezing arena. “It’s part of the ritual,” she added.
“The ritual?”
“You always get up and dance when they play music.”
“Yes, I remember from last week.”
“And you always get hot chocolate. For some reason it tastes better at a hockey game.”
“Maybe because they set the rink temperature to arctic conditions.”
Kecia laughed. “They kind of do, don’t they?”
I held up my mittened hands. “Just slightly.”
Kecia looked at me. “I just want to second what Amber said—we really do miss you.”
“Yeah?”
“When you just up and quit, we devoted an entire practice to discussing what to do.” She paused. “You know, um, because of the circumstances.”
The circumstances.
Kecia took another sip of her hot chocolate. “But you seemed to want to be left alone so we didn’t pry.”
“At the time I did,
“Like Dad told you that.”
“No, she did.”
I tapped my highlighter against the edge of the book on my desk. “She said that straight-out?”
“Well, during our conversation she implied that she was a combination of worried about and angry at Dad.”
This surprised me. Grandma Madison never let on that she knew anything about Dad’s up- and downhill trips, but then again, I wasn’t the grandchild she called all the time—Jim was.
“She also said it was important that we fill up the house with as much life as possible during the holidays, you know, without Mom.”
We were both silent a while before I moved the conversation
away from this sad place. “I don’t think of Grandma Madison as someone likely to liven things up,” I said.
Jim snickered. “But at least with her around you won’t have to cook Thanksgiving dinner by yourself.”
“True. Though she isn’t very fun to cook with.”
“I’ll help.”
“Right, Jim. Like I haven’t heard that one before. The last time you tried to make something we actually had a small fire.”
“That was not my fault.”
“On that note, I’ll be going.”
Jim laughed. “You know I’m kidding. But I’ll leave you alone. Love you.”
“Love you, too, and I can’t wait to see you.”
“I know. Until Tuesday, then, Rosey girl, less than a week away.”
I clicked end , just as a sharp sadness about Mom hit me hard and fast. I tried to focus on my schoolwork to distract myself, which didn’t help much at all, but then I remembered what Krupa had said earlier today, about seeing a new spark in me, and I felt a little brighter, only a little, but it was enough to make a difference.
17
TAKE IT HOME
On Friday night MacAfee Arena was even more crowded with hockey fans than the weekend before, if that were even possible. While Krupa waited by the teams’ boxes to sing the anthem, I made my way up through the stands to find Kecia and claim our seats.
“You’re staying, right?” Kecia asked as I squeezed by her onto the bench.
“Yes. Both of us.”
“That’s great.”
I set my bag down to save the spot meant for Krupa. Cheerleaders surrounded us on all sides and people smiled when they saw me and said hello, as if there hadn’t been a period when I’d stopped hanging out with everyone. No one seemed to hold a grudge that I’d quit, and in fact it was the opposite. Amber Johnson, a fellow junior, even gave me a hug and said, “Stop being such a stranger. We’ve missed you.”
“Thanks,” I said. I was beginning to realize that avoiding the cheerleaders might have been a mistake, especially since they
were acting like we were still friends. Maybe they were right, and we were.
Kecia reached under her seat and pulled a cup off the floor. “Hot chocolate,” she explained, cradling it close to her lips so she could blow on it, while steam rose up from the little circle at the top. It smelled good and I considered asking for a sip. Tonight I was prepared for the cold with gloves, a warm coat, and a scarf, but hot chocolate seemed like an even better idea to deal with the freezing arena. “It’s part of the ritual,” she added.
“The ritual?”
“You always get up and dance when they play music.”
“Yes, I remember from last week.”
“And you always get hot chocolate. For some reason it tastes better at a hockey game.”
“Maybe because they set the rink temperature to arctic conditions.”
Kecia laughed. “They kind of do, don’t they?”
I held up my mittened hands. “Just slightly.”
Kecia looked at me. “I just want to second what Amber said—we really do miss you.”
“Yeah?”
“When you just up and quit, we devoted an entire practice to discussing what to do.” She paused. “You know, um, because of the circumstances.”
The circumstances.
Kecia took another sip of her hot chocolate. “But you seemed to want to be left alone so we didn’t pry.”
“At the time I did,
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