Page 92 of Her Goal
As we wait in line for the Gravitron, I glimpse Leah’s silhouette, backlit by the colorful lights of the carnival. She’ssmiling. Me too. I can’t escape these newfound feelings. Nor do I want to.
“We should just get married right here. Right now,” she says.
I do a double-take as the ticket taker tears ours in two and shuffles us onto the Gravitron before I can ask Leah what she means.
27
LEAH
The last thingI see before I get on the Gravitron is Hudson’s surprised expression. Then the world turns upside down.
Obviously, I was joking about us getting married here at the fair, but is it the craziest idea? Yes, yes, it is. But not too much worse than eating that s’mores on a stick and now going on a spinning ride. I summon my figure skating skills and, by sheer force of will, beg myself not to be sick because anyone downwind of me will not be happy.
In my defense, the generally festive atmosphere, featuring lots of pumpkins and gourds, cider-flavored everything, the doughnut on a string contest, creepy clowns to go with the carnival theme, and black cats, reminds me of Margo’s idea for our wedding theme.
She officially dubbed it: Black Cats, Top Hats, and Golden Hour.
I gather that I’m the black cat. Plus, it fits with the proximity to Halloween since it’ll be the day before on October thirtieth. The top hats indicate that it’s a formal event and guests shouldn’t come in costume. There’s no telling since half the hockey team is invited. The golden hour part makes me think ofHudson as a golden retriever and that the ceremony is scheduled to commence at sunset.
Which is preposterous. What is everyone thinking?
That big lump of everyone includes me.
I’ll admit, though, that I like that Hudson came to my rescue. I saw another side of him—fierce and protective. The side I’ve only ever seen on the ice.
Along with our conversations about hockey, this season, and the silliest things, not limited to Crew’s excessive use of the wordbro, a debate over what animal would be the rudest if it could talk—he claims cats, I say seagulls—we also discussed music, high school Halloween parties, and whether we believe in ghosts. Adamantly no, so we agree on something.
As we spin round and round, my thoughts follow suit. Do I want to be with Hudson? Like for real? Does he like me? Before I thought he was giving me the side eye, but maybe he was checking me out. This is kind of what I’ve always wanted … But from him? My alleged adversary?
Although he is handsome. As well as thoughtful, sweet and a force to be reckoned with on the ice, complete with pads and all.
What if I gave in and said yes? First, he’d have to ask me an important question …
It goes like this: Leah, I would like to be your husband. Will you please marry me?
But we’ve leap-frogged over several crucial steps that would ordinarily lead to such an inquiry.
I’m not sure it’s truly something he wants. My grandmother and parents do. My girlfriends, it would seem so. But Hudson is so agreeable, I don’t imagine him saying no to anything. Also, he set me up on all of those bad dates, so I’m not sure where he stands. The obvious thing would be to ask him, but my pride and the Gravitron’s bars are in the way. We spin around enoughtimes that I start to question whether I’ll survive the ride so I shout, “Hudson, do you really want to marry me?”
Whatever he says is lost in the loud clanking and grinding of gears as we come to a stop and then start spinning in the opposite direction.
This is the moment for me to say,I want off this ride, but if I open my mouth again, I’m afraid of what will come out.
Finally, when we’re on solid ground, we both stumble as we shuffle away from the Gravitron. Hudson is a bit green. I feel queasy. Not nervous queasy. Yep, I just realized the distinction.
Gulping the fresh air, he says, “That is a much different experience than when I was twelve.”
We travel down memory lane, reminded of the time we came here with his brother, learned how hard bobbing for apples is, and I won a goldfish by guessing the correct number of candy corn pieces in a jar.
Hudson’s eyes light up. “I may be known for being a goalie, but I’m also a pretty good shot. The prize at the ping pong fish bowl booth is one of those betta fish.”
“I’m not in the market for a pet.” But I keep the part about a guy never winning me a teddy bear to myself because I don’t want to seem pathetic.
“Not even a bunny?” he asks.
“Those aren’t game prizes. But they were so cute and soft. Maybe someday.” I could cuddle with that Angora all day.
He waggles his eyebrows. “Like someday when we get married?”
