Page 52 of Heart Check
I can’t risk Marissa abandoning me.
“Nothing, just, um… business philosophy.” I cast about desperately for a distraction. “What’s your article about?”
“An exposé of the gross misuse of sports funding at this school.” She turns back to her screen, frowning at her document. Already so immersed in her takedown that she’s forgotten all about my moony behavior. Still looking at her screen, she says, “Speaking of, I’ve been thinking about Coach Red’s firing—”
“Can we not talk about him tonight?” I blurt, my stomachtwisting. I don’t want to listen to Marissa’s diatribes about Red. Not when I’m suddenly a lot more sympathetic to the people who’re upset he’s gone. Not when I might have to explain where that sympathy came from.
She shoots me a sideways look, then shrugs. “Sure. I get it. Don’t want hockey to ruin your night.”
I fake a laugh. “Right.” Now Ireallycan’t tell her I’m going to the rink tonight. She’d never get it. I know the news that Dawson and I are hanging out will reach her sooner or later—probably sooner, given how gossipy this school is—but I’m just not ready to let her break something so fragile. I’ll tell her myself after tonight. If this turns into something real.
The guilt makes it nearly impossible to concentrate, but it dissolves as soon as I leave and head toward the new hockey facility. Giddiness swells in my chest, leaving absolutely no room for conflicted feelings.
I have a date with Dawson.
I try to walk extra slowly to keep myself calm, but it’s no use. Despite the deepening December chill, nervous sweat prickles in my armpits. I’m wearing my cutest wool coat and the same chunky scarf I wore at the small business fair.
My slow walking doesn’t save me from being early, so I have to wait around in front of the rink, doing my best to look cool and unbothered. Like I go to Skate Night with star hockey players all the time.
But I’ve been anticipating this all week in so many stupid, silly, delusional ways. Deciding what to wear; wanting to ask Marissa for advice, but not sure how to slip in that I’m changing my mind about our sworn enemy; choreographing elaborate romantic moments between Dawson and me in myhead before I fall asleep; rereading our texts so many times I have them memorized.
I even found myself doodling Dawson’snamein my precalc notebook. Slammed it shut when he turned around to smile at me in class the other day, as if he could even see it.
I shake my head. God, thatkiss. After spending weeks telling myself kissing Dawson wouldn’t be everything it’s cracked up to be, I have to admit… it was even better than I imagined.
The warmth and solidity of his body pressed against mine. On purpose this time, not just from falling asleep together. That intoxicating smell of him. The way he’d leaned forward to kiss me again, just when I was panicking about making a mistake—
Kissing him was nothing like kissing Ethan. I am inwayover my head.
I’m so muddled and hazy that, for a minute, I think the muscular shoulders and wide smile walking toward me are another hallucination. But when Luke Dawson reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together, I can’t help smiling back.
Somehow, Luke Dawson is incredibly, inconceivably real.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” he says, that dimple in his cheek peeking out again.
“Well, I thought about avoiding enemy territory for a minute,” I say, though my blush surely undercuts my words. “But ultimately decided not to bail on you.”
He rolls his eyes and lowers his voice. “Behave yourself, Harper.” It sends a shiver through me, especially with the echo of my own words the other night at the Lakeside. “Like you said, you’re on my turf tonight.”
Dozens of watchful eyes skitter over me like spider legs. Probably wondering when Dawson and I got friendly enough to come to something like this together. I want to scream,Trust me, I’m shocked too. I catch a glimpse of Liv’s raised eyebrows and open mouth in the crowd filing inside, and it sends a weird pang of guilt through me. Does she think I’m betraying my principles, abandoning the underdogs? She doesn’t know everything I’ve learned in the last few weeks. That Dawson has his own dreams, and they aren’t so different from ours.
Right? My stomach twists with nerves. I can’t shake the irrational fear that this is some sort of joke. That Dawson and his friends have been trying to get me to admit that, despite my years of derision, a tiny part of me wants to be here. Just so they can take it away again.
But somehow when Dawson tugs me behind him, the fears all fall away. There’s nothing joking in the comforting squeeze he gives my hand.
The rink is fully decked out for Skate Night. Spotlights shine pools of color on the ice, and dance-y pop music plays over the speakers. Dawson helps me borrow a pair of skates, and we head to the bench to get ready.
To distract myself from the fact that I’m basically strapping knives to my feet, I keep sneaking sideways glances at Dawson’s rumpled hair, the strong cut of his jaw in profile. Nerves flutter in my stomach.
Chill out, Harper.This is no different from the hours and hours you spent talking about your life stories on the couch at Ryan’s party.
Yeah. Except for the fact that since then, I’ve grabbed him by the face andkissed him.
“Do you skate much?” Dawson asks as we lace up.
I quickly look away, willing the fire in my cheeks to die down.No more thinking about kissing. You have to use your brain for conversation.“Not since I was little. I wish I had someone who was good at skating to show me the ropes.” I sigh helplessly.
Dawson grins. “Yeah, too bad we don’t have one of those around.”
