Page 65 of Thrown for a Loop
It’s a week after the showcase, and Massachusetts has transformed itself into a sticky circle of hell. The dorms aren’t air-conditioned, and everyone is cranky from lack of sleep. The ice rink is everyone’s favorite refuge, but there’s only so much ice time in a day.
Wear something skimpy,Chase texts to Zoe after dinner, while he’s waiting on the roof.
Is it bad up there?she asks.Or is this a gratuitous request?
Can’t it be both?
Maybe? My mother always says boys only want one thing.
This boy wants ice cream and it’s going to melt if you don’t get your cute ass up here.
Ice cream???? Why didn’t you lead with that? On my way!
True to her word, the door pops open not two minutes later. She’s wearing short-shorts and a tiny tank top, which he appreciates.
When Zoe sees what Chase has done, she gasps. And by the timeshe’s crossed the roof to where he’s sitting—with his feet in a generous kiddie pool filled with cool water—she practically has hearts in her eyes. “Oh my God! You genius.” She plops down in the opposite chair and unties her shoes.
“How come you don’t have flip-flops like everyone else in the world?” he asks.
“Because my mother thinks they’re dangerous. Skaters get injured enough without breaking a leg running for the bus.”
Chase often has to bite his tongue after hearing little stories like this. Zoe’s mom dictates her diet, her shoes, her life.
“How did you fill this pool?” she asks, dropping her feet into the cold water. “It’s… ahhh.” She collapses against the back of the chair in a wanton way that makes his pulse quicken.
“There’s a spigot. I filled it up most of the way and dragged it over here. Then I topped it up using the cooler as a bucket.” He opens the cooler and hands her a spoon.
She squeals in delight. “I love ice cream. Nobody ever buys me ice cream.”
“Well, someone should,” he says, pulling a single-serving Ben & Jerry’s carton for each of them out of the cooler. “Cherry Garcia or Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough? I like both.”
She makes him choose, and he gives her the cherry, because he thinks it’s the one she really wants. They eat it slowly, and the way Zoe licks the spoon makes him a little crazy.
When the ice cream is long gone, they sit facing each other, feet in the pool between them. They’re playing Battleship on pen and paper. Chase is losing badly, and he couldn’t care less. “C7,” he says.
“Miss!” Zoe says gleefully, noting the play on her notepad. “F5.”
“Damn it!”
She cracks up, and the sound of her laughter is so engrossing thathe almost misses the sound of one of the rooftop doors banging open.
But suddenly Sister Walsh is standing over them, a frosty look on her face. And his heart is beating out a new rhythm, which sounds likeoh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Because the lady lookspissed.
“Mom?” Zoe yelps. “What are you doing up here?”
“That’s my line,” the coach sniffs. “Are you always this disdainful of the rules?”
His heart plummets. But that’s ridiculous, right? It was ice cream, not cocaine. And only their feet were touching.
But that must be enough, because Sister Walsh looks like a pressure cooker that’s blown its gasket, and Zoe is clearly panicking. She’s pulled her feet out of the pool, and her face is turning bright red.
It’s been an unspoken rule between them—her mother can’t know about the two of them. But now here she is, murder in her eyes. “Zoe, come with me.”
“We’re in the middle of a game.”
“You’re breaking curfew.”
“I’m not! I’m here on the premises, and the curfew is for campers, anyway. Doyouturn your lights out at ten?”
