Page 51 of Heart Check
Harper:don’t you dare tell anyone, but i wish i could fast forward to skate night
Dawson:THE Harper? Excited to freeze her ass off on the ice?
Dawson:This is groundbreaking news
Dawson:Don’t you know someone on the paper we can alert???
Harper:i regret this whole conversation
Harper:junior year must be getting to me more than i expected
Dawson:Truly desperate times
Dawson:How can I help???
Harper:want to tackle that math homework together?
THURSDAY, 10:57 P.M.
Dawson:You are such a distraction
Dawson:That was the worst study session of my life
Harper:YOU’RE the one who brought up capybaras
Dawson:Yeah, but YOU’RE the one who started the YouTube rabbit hole dive
Dawson:A terrible influence, I’m telling you
Harper:at this rate we’re both going to fail the next unit test
Dawson:But we’ll have fun doing it
Harper:see you tomorrow, mr. DISTRACTION
Dawson:Counting the hours
Dawson:Sweet dreams
HARPER LOVED A MESSAGE
18.HARPER
Friday night is velvety andicy, stars pricking the dark. The air practically sparkles with crystals waiting to form as soon as the temperature drops a few more degrees. The town is frozen on a precipice, autumn ready to tip over into winter. I head to the toasty library with Marissa after the final bell so I can stay late to work on my application for the Young Entrepreneurs Grant. And so I can walk right over to the hockey facility to meet Dawson after.
I feel equally poised to tip over some sharp edge. I just have to hope it’s as beautiful as the first snow.
Marissa slides over, making space at her table, and offers me the banana chips she’s surreptitiously crunching on (a sure sign her blood sugar’s a little low). I can’t claim the same excuse if we get caught with food in the library, so I wave them away. Besides, I need to focus.
I open my laptop and crack my knuckles, taking a deep breath. I really do need to get this application done before winter break, but it’s nowhere near convincing enough to win the grant. Not with my sales down this year and my website shuttered for some of the most important shopping weeks ofthe fall. I opened it back up at Dawson’s urging, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to check in on it. The website I was so proud of feels tainted now, and if hockey players are leaving more bad reviews, I simply don’t want to know.
Can anyone blame me for getting distracted by rereading Dawson’s texts?
“What’re you smiling about?” Marissa asks, looking up from the article she’s working on.
My head jolts up, my heart racing. I should come clean, right? She’s my best friend, she wants me to be happy, I should just be honest. But I’ve had the whole week to address that conversation—avoiding Dawson for days while trying to get my life sorted out, until I cracked at the diner and grabbed his face, the distance suddenly unbearable—and I still can’t bring myself to do it. She hates the hockey team, and Dawson most of all. She liked him once, and he hurt her! I can’t tell her the truth.
I have to keep this secret from her. Just until I know I’m not getting ahead of myself, getting too excited about something temporary.
