Page 28 of Heart Check
Of course.
My cheeks burn with rage, and I shut my laptop screen before he can see what’s on it. Oh, hell no. Dawson doesnotget to make polite conversation with me.
“Sure,” I snap. “Just mourning the demise of my business!”
His eyebrows draw together, mouth falling slightly open in astonishment, and I clamp down on the way my heart flutters when my attention is drawn to his full lower lip. Hormones. Just hormones.
How dare he play innocent?
From the back corner, Ms. Moore shushes us. “Silence during testing, please.”
I don’t break eye contact until Dawson takes a slow step away.
Only when he’s retreated to his seat in the front row do I open my screen again, mind racing. Shutting the site down would be a blow for my application. Having an online storefront was one of the things that set me apart. Plus it was good for growth, giving people a way to discover me that wasn’t just word of mouth, a way to place orders without finding me on campus. I was starting to get requests from people I’ve never even met. I frantically google how to remove the reviews, but I can’t figure out how on my e-commerce platform, and all the ways to get around that are beyond my limited coding abilities.
I don’t have a choice. I can’t leave this up to accrue more horrible reviews, tanking my reputation when I’m finallygetting something off the ground. Bad reviews mean fewer orders, which mean less money for school, which means getting stuck in Hamilton Lakes forever, which means—
I take a deep breath and click the button to make the site private, blood roaring in my ears.
I’m not going to take this lying down.
11.DAWSON
That third helping of mashedpotatoes yesterday was a mistake. I’m so slow busing my tables that Harper keeps shooting me even meaner looks than usual. If Coach Red knew how imbalanced my plate was at Thanksgiving…
But Coach Red isn’t in any position to tell me how to eat this year. And Dan will be fine with me ruining my career before it’s even started.
I sigh, glancing out the window to freedom. The sky is a bright, clear blue, not a cloud in sight. Sure sign the temperature’s low enough to break thermometers—the lake’s gonna freeze this weekend if it hasn’t already. Inside, it’s quiet. One two-top where the same couple’s been accepting free coffee refills for hours; a family of five in a booth in the corner. But otherwise, now that all the Black Friday deals are online, no one’s going out the day after Thanksgiving. Especially not when it’s this cold outside.
Too quiet. Too much time to think.
I grab a tray of silverware to try to stay busy, but it’s no use. Losing our first game is a shitty way to start the season. Andthanks to the holiday weekend, we don’t even have practice again until next week.
Not that Dan seems worried. I wrap a silverware roll so tightly my knuckles crack with the effort. But my frustration needs to go somewhere. He doesn’t seem to care that this might be my last chance to impress schools, and they barely got to see me play. When I tried to get an answer—anyexplanation, something that showed he had a plan, or something I could do to get back in his good books—he just nodded and said, “I get your frustration, but I have to do what’s best for the team.”
I wince and move on to refilling ketchup bottles. What’s best for the team is me on the ice!Nothingis worse than being benched while your team loses. Ryan’s a great defenseman—faster than anyone I’ve ever played with—but he’s just not serious enough to make up for our failings when we’re falling apart. And Alex… Well, he’s a great guy, but what was Dan thinking, putting him on first line? We might skate well together, but he couldn’t get past Washington’s defense!
I grit my teeth. If Dan had played me more, we might’ve won. But at this rate, I may as well kiss the dream of getting recruited goodbye. On the back wall of the diner, my dad’s old jersey catches my eye—and the blank spot beside it stares me down with judgment. Conspicuously empty, waiting for mine to join it one day. After that last game, nothing seems less likely.
I’m counting down the minutes until my shift ends so I can head to Ryan’s annual party to celebrate hockey season. The whole team will be there, as well as any friends we want to invite, and he’s been stockpiling drinks and working on playlists for weeks. At least that’s one of us who’s just vibing. Lucky asshole still has baseball in the spring.
“Um, Dawson?” I snap my head up to see Harper on the other side of the counter. She’s staring at me expectantly, like she’s said my name a few times already. “Can you check on those onion rings for my table?”
She starts pulling her hair up into a ponytail. Her charm bracelet dangles, catching the light. I can’t help noticing that she looks good with her hair up. It makes those eyes look even bigger and greener. Her fingers slide through strands of caramel and mahogany as she smooths out the knots and bumps. Each strand looks so soft—
“Did you get slammed into the ice one too many times?” Harper asks, raising an eyebrow. “Your reflexes are even slower than usual. Do I need to start concussion protocol?”
I roll my eyes, snapping my focus back to business. “Onion rings. Got it.”
She’s even colder than usual today. If I’d started to hope we were getting on better terms after that conversation in the library, whatever happened in math class reset us back to zero. The restaurant empties even more, but she still manages to ice me out with the silent treatment unless it’s absolutely necessary to speak.
It’s mutual,I remind myself. Every time I get distracted by her eyes or her hair or the curve of her bottom lip, I just have to remember that she literallythreatened to blackmail me.
So I focus on wiping down menus and brainstorming ways to fix our already miserable season.
Around five, Lindsey abandons her post at the hostess stand and grabs her coat. “All right, I’m out of here,” she says. “We don’t need three of us on duty.”
“What?” I frown. “Are you coming back?”
