Page 32 of Her Goal
“But Heidi is the one who—” Leah shakes her head as if it’s no use.
Word travels fast in a small town which likely means everyone also knows who her student is. I’m surprised we don’t have an audience.
Leah takes off her skates and I edge toward the locker room, not sure whether I’m dismissed.
Mrs. Smith says, “Remember when I would make your program costumes? Such a long time ago. I still have all of them. We can put them in the hockey museum.”
“Sounds great. Let’s talk about this later. We’ve cut into Hudson’s class time. Coach Badaszek wants him in top form.”
I wanted to think I already was, but I’m not about to argue. This also means she’s not canceling all future practices.
In a low voice, Mr. Smith says to me, “Apologies for the mother-daughter matchmaking experience.”
Mrs. Smith’s expression glazes over for a moment and then a certain smile that I can’t quite identify widens on her face. Sheclaps her hands together. “Well, this is perfect. Abuela will be so pleased.”
“Mami ...” Leah says, half warning and half stone-cold fear.
Turning to me, the matriarch says, “Hudson, we cordially invite you to our anniversary party.”
At least the Smiths still try to keep the town lively with parties—this will be my first, even though we were longtime neighbors. “Thank you. I’d be delighted.”
“And he has manners,” Valentina quips.
I ask, “Can I bring anything?”
“Just that handsome smile. You’ll fit right in.” Mrs. Smith practically hops as she tries to kiss me on each cheek and then does the same to her daughter.
I had to lean over considerably and realize this is not the side of the family Leah got her height from.
She says, “Leah will share the details.”
The detail I get is that she wants to slap someone, namely me. But this is just a case of me being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Smiths were looking for the other brother, not that Hunter is at all good enough for their beloved daughter.
11
LEAH
In the warmroom adjacent to the rink, I unlace my skates and slide them into a bag Mami embroidered with my name years ago.
As if his hips are aching, Hudson drops heavily onto a nearby bench. “So that was interesting.”
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic and referring to the lesson together or my big family butting in. Both? And now I feel like I have something to apologize for—my mixed nut assortment of a family—so I should play nice.
“Your sister Valentina is a cookie-cutter version of your mother, only a few inches taller.”
That answers my question. “I swear, Chuck is turning into my father. They even have the same mannerisms.”
“Where does that leave you?”
“Lone wolf.”
“You’re more of a cat. Independent, finicky, furry.”
“What?”
“I’m joking. I meant that you’re also graceful, mysterious, mischievous.”
Thinking about my failed attempt at breaking and entering, and then having to return with the gnome, I say, “Hardly.”
