Page 82 of Wicked Dreams

That shouldn’t be hot… but it is.

The score is 1-1, and my anticipation climbs as Emery-Rose seems to put on an aggressive offense. At least, I’m assuming that’s what happens. They spend a good amount of time in front of the Lion’s Head goalie.

When the horn blows at the end of the period, the game is still tied.

I swivel in my seat. We’re surrounded by Emery-Rose students and parents. One section over, Amelie holds court. Savannah is one row lower than her, with two cheerleaders on either side.

“Usually the football games happen on the same night,” Riley says. “Which means they won’t normally be here.”

Amelie’s head turns sharply, and she stares right at me.

“She probably didn’t like her boyfriend winking at someone else.” I force a smile at her, then get up. “I’m going to get something to eat.”

Riley joins me.

We climb the steps and exit into the hall, where there’s a few vendors still open. One sells Emery-Rose Elite clothing—jerseys, t-shirts, hoodies—and another has food. The line is kind of long, but we stand at the end without complaint.

“Margo!”

I wince inwardly, then turn to face Amelie.

And Savannah.

And sixteen other girls.

Exaggeration? Only slightly.

“Hi,” I greet them.

“Are you enjoying the game?” Amelie touches the corner of her pink-painted lip. “You haven’t seen them play before, right?”

“First hockey game,” I admit.

“So nice,” Amelie coos. “I’m surprised, though.”

I eye her.

When I don’t reply, Savannah jumps in. “Why is that, Ames?”

“Well,” Amelie says slowly. “If I knew the captain of the hockey team hated me so much… I wouldn’t want to be a distraction.”

My throat closes.

“A distraction,” Savannah echoes.

“It’s bad business for hockey players. They’re superstitious, you know? If you go to a game and he sees you, what’s he going to think when they lose?” Amelie sighs. “Listen, Margo, I’m just trying to protect you.”

“No, you’re not.” Riley snorts. “Come on, Margo.”

She hooks her arm through mine and drags me away.

But… jeez. Amelie leaves me off-kilter. The feeling doesn’t abate through the rest of the second intermission, or when the third period begins. My heart slams against my rib cage, and I sit as still as possible.

Because if sheisright, I don’t want to draw his attention.

I have it, though.

He skates past our section after a whistle is blown, and his blue eyes find me easily. He points in my direction.

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