Page 121 of Hockey Halloween
So much for a clear head. It’s polluted by Tristan’s whisper, saying over and over again,You’re so fucking beautiful.
“We went to high school together.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
“No!” I scoff and nearly stumble. “We were friends, sort of. We had different circles, but my mom was the housekeeper for the Thorne family. Before the laundromat was a stable source of income, my mom cleaned a few houses.”
“So, what happened?”
My chest tightens at the memory. I try to keep it simple, although the past never is.
“When Tristan’s sister got diagnosed with cancer, my mom spent a lot of time with her. Olivia passed away at the age of eleven. Tristan was fourteen or fifteen, I guess? We were both freshmen.”
Toby winces. “That’s horrible.”
“It was. I tried to be there for him, but he didn’t want anything to do with me. Everything changed. His dad being an asshole and his mom being clueless did not help. My mother stopped working for them, although she’s always had a soft spot for Tristan.”
“Because she watched them grow up?”
“And she wasthere, Toby. At the worst of Olivia’s sickness, my mom was there.”
I choke up at the memory of my mother stressing about the Thorne kids. When Olivia died, she spoke up to Mr. and Mrs. Thorne about addressing Tristan’s grief.
That got her fired.
“So how did that connection turn you against Tristan?”
“We stayed out of each other’s way for years. Then, at a party the summer before senior year, I told him that I’ve had a crush on this guy, Liam.” I pause, grimacing at how ridiculous it sounds now. “The first week of school, I received a note from Liam—or I thought it was from Liam—telling me to meet him by the softball field. When I got there, I did find him... shoving his tongue down another girl’s throat.”
Toby gasps in exaggerated shock. “No!”
“That was the first of Tristan’s many pranks. Senior year was hell.” I tick the pranks off on my fingers. “He Saran-Wrapped my car. Messed with my theater makeup. Submitted a poem to the newspaper like it was from me. An absurdly mortifying poem about Liam who, at that point, I couldn’t bear to look at.”
“That’s genius-level trolling,” Toby gapes in amazement. “Did you report him?”
“Hell, no. There’s no justice in reporting him,” I exclaim. “I pranked him back.”
Toby rubs his hands together. “Oh my god! What did you do?”
“The usual stuff. Taping the nozzle of his water bottle. Glitter bombs. One time I glued the arm of his jersey to the body. He almost dislocated his shoulder trying to get into it.”
“Pure evil.”
I keep walking, my adrenaline spiking at the memory of ourridiculous vendetta. “When I turned his phone setting to a different language, he was too stubborn to ask for help. He had to learn French.”
“How the hell did you get into his phone?”
“The guy’s password was one two three four.”
Toby shrugs dismissively. “He was basically asking to get hacked.”
“Exactly. Anyway, it was all stupid, harmless stuff. Until it wasn’t.”
“What did he do?” Toby asks, eyes wide. “What didyoudo?”
“I ruined his chance at a hockey tournament, and he ruined the play I was in. We both lost something important enough to call a truce. I haven’t seen him since we graduated.”
“And then he shows up last week, out of nowhere, looking at you like you hung the moon.”
