Page 72 of Wonderstruck

She smiled softly, skating toward meuntil she was back in front of me, closeenough that I could count the freckles hidden on her nose.

I got to seventeen before her mouth stole myattention.

“Now,” she said, her mouth twitching, as though she were weighing which answer to go with. There was no time to guess before she shook her head. “Now Ithink it’s time to actually do some jumps before my oh-so-precious ice time is up.”

Before I could say a word, she was gone, gliding ahead with the kind of effortless grace that made it seem like she belonged to the ice more than anywhere else. Her skates carved silent declarations into the rink, carrying her away from me—too fast, too easy. Like she thought she could outrun whatever had just passed between us.

But then, at the last second, she glanced back.

It was fleeting, barely more than a heartbeat, but I caught it—the small, almost teasing curve of her lips, the way her eyes lingered just a little too long before flicking forward again. A look that said nothing and everything all at once.

And that was the thing about noticing the little things in people. After a while, you start to recognise what they’re trying to hide. The truths buried beneath their silences. The words they swallow down because they’re too afraid to let them slip free. But insted of holding on to the thought, I let it go.

Because if I could see the truths she was hiding, it was only a matter of time before she could find the ones I kept locked away.

chapter eighteen

i've got my girls

The townhouse felt even more like home tonight.

The living room was bathed in the warm glow of string lights we’d strung upmonths ago and were still, unbelievably, hanging, their soft twinkle reflecting off the glass jars, picture frames, and panes spread across the coffee table.

The glass painting night was Cora’s idea.

We came home and were greeted by toomany colour paints to name, stacks of glass frames, glasses, and candle holders scattered amongst cups of brushes and water.

Daisy had turned on a playlist of mellowacoustic songs, sneaking in one of hers now and then, and Goldie, sitting cross-legged on the couch, was humming softly as she worked on her piece. Cora had paint on her fingers already—no surprise there—and I was trying not to laugh at her as she pretended to dab a little on my cheek while I wasn’t looking.

“This feels illegal,” Daisy said, breakingthe peaceful silence. “Like we’re playing hooky or something. How dare we take one night to breathe.”

“I know,” Goldie agreed. “It’s like collegereally said,‘Oh, you thought freshman year was busy? That’s cute.’” She dipped her brush into a swirl of orange paint. “I didn’t realise it was possible to live with three people and still miss them.”

I smiled up at her, knowing exactly howshe felt.

But if anything, I felt like I saw them lessthan they did each other. They caught each other in between classes. I was barely attending mine anyway. The only time I really saw them was when we ate dinner, and there was only so much catching up that could be done while our mouths were full of food.

“It’s bad,” Daisy added, her voice steadyas she worked on the delicate outline of a flower. “I can’t even remember the last time we all sat down like this. Does anyone else feel like we’re just ships passing in the night?”

“All the time,” I murmured, running afingertip along the edge of the glass frameI’d picked out to paint on.

It had been two weeks since the recital. Two weeks since they all sat in theaudience and cheered me on. And two weeks since I’d properly seen them like this. But that wasn’t entirely down to their busy schedules, but more my avoiding them to avoid talking about what happened.

I still hadn’t made up my mind aboutskating. And to be honest, I was hoping Iwould never have to. Part of me hoped that if I just stopped showing up to my classes I’d be kicked out, saving me from doing it myself. Part of me was waiting for everything to click with reality, and I’d realise that skating was a very silly, unrealistic dream.

Butall of me knew that if the girls hadpulled me aside to talk about it, I’d break down, and I didn’t want to burden them with that. Not when they had their own lives, their own worries, to focus on.

Cora sighed, sitting back to examine herpiece—a delicate, abstract flower in deep reds and purples. “I wish I had more time for stuff like this.”

Goldie tilted her head. “Forgive me forstating the obvious but, do you not do this every day in your classes?”

“Of course I do,” Cora smiled before hereyes drifted back to her brush. For a moment she went quiet, the rest of us assessing her before her head bolted up. “It’s everything else. I barely have time to breathe, let alone paint for fun. Half the time, it feels like I’m just going through the motions, letting everyone pull me from one thing to the next, letting people talk to me like…” She pressed her fingers into her temples, then smiled faintly. “It doesn’t matter, the point is I’m happy I just get to sit down, with a cuppa, with my girls, and do something just for me.”

I reached over and squeezed her hand.“Thank you for setting this up. I think we all needed it.”

“I’ll say,” Goldie said, that kind tone of hers floating through the room.

“Speaking of needing this,” Daisy said,leaning back in her chair, “I can’t tellyou how nice it is to get a break from the band.”

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