Page 28 of Wonderstruck

Perhaps this whole twenty-four-hour dream I’d had about skating again should have stayed a dream. There was no way I was going to be able to afford to liveandpay for Aspen's classes. Even with the discount, I didn’t have the spare cash for it, and I didn’t have access to everything dad left me until I turned twenty-one.

I could try picking up more shifts at Flo’s, but that wasn’t likely. She always seemed to have just the right number of people working—probably because no one ever wanted to leave.And besides, my class schedule wouldn't allow it anyway.

“C’mon, it’s starting!” Daisy called, her hand reaching back to find mineand tugging me through the slow-moving crowd of latecomers funnelling into the Liberty Lions rink.

Truthfully, leaving the house had been the last thing I wanted to do today. Aftermeeting with Aspen yesterday morning, I’d been perfectly content becoming one with my bed, brainstorming every semi-legal way I could scrape together the money for skating classes. But Daisy and Cora had shown up at breakfast armed with croissants, coffee, and some relentless optimism, promising that a little fresh air and a reunion with the guys would do me good.

I wasn’t sure I believed them, but I’d folded anyway.

It had been a week since I’d seen any of them, though Jesse andTristan hadn’t let longer that a day or two go by without checking in on me, even over the summer.

Finn had texted too—just once—but those few words had stayed with me farlonger than I wanted to admit.

I don’t care that we don’t talk. If you need me—anything—I’m here. I’malways here, Aurora.

Even now, thinking about it made something tighten in my chest. It wasn’t thechill from the rink—I’d dressed in the holy trinity of winter accessories: matching mittens, scarf, and earmuffs, all in a soft pearly white. No, this shiver was down to Finn. He was here, somewhere, and some deranged part of me wanted to search for him, knowing I’d hide if he spotted me.

I hadn't seen him since he stormed out of the attic, and the inevitable reunion was lingering, waiting to jump me when I was sure I was in the clear.

My heart picked up, pattering against my chest until it felt like a jackhammerwas trying to burst out of me.Daisy and I joined Cora, Goldie and Tristan in our usual seats. I opened mymouth to ask her what time the game was starting, purely to see how much time I had to mentally prepare myself, but the words froze on my tongue as the lights dimmed, plunging the rink into darkness.

A second later, the Lions’ iconic entrance song boomed through the speakers,and green strobe lights danced across the room. My question was forgotten as the roar of the crowd swelled, the energy more than electric. A lion mascot skated out of the tunnel, lapping the rink and coaxing cheers out of both Lions fans and the fans who sat opposite us, dressed in the blue and gold jersey of the UCLA Bruins.

The arena lights dimmed again, and a blast of music shook the boards as the tunnel erupted with movement—broad green and white jerseys streaking onto the ice. Skates carved sharp lines across the surface, sending up sprays of ice as the Lions burst forward, their sticks tapping in rhythm like a war drum.

As the teams circled their respective ends of the rink, warming up before thenational anthem, I felt my breath hitch. My heart tightened in my chest, anticipation building as I waited for the moment I’d finally see Finn.

I didn’t know why I always felt this way, why it didn’t feel real that he was here until I laid eyes on him. It was like a game my brain loved to play—teasing me with uncertainty, daring me to imagine the moment before it arrived.

You have a big, fat crush on him, Rory, that might have something to do with it.

That grating little voice, as much as I wanted to block it out, was right. And Ihated myself for it. Hated that after everything, I still felt like this—stupidly tangled up in a boy who had embarrassed me in front of all our friends last year.

But crushes don’t care about logic, do they?

I still liked him. I liked the way hishand had held mine just as tightly as I’d clung to his after his accident during a random practice last November. I liked the way he’d cradled me when I got the call about my dad—how he’d scooped me into his arms and rocked me until I’d stopped crying.

God, I even liked the way he seemed interested in seeing me smile in the attic.

And yet, I couldn’t figure out why he’d gone cold when I’d asked him out lastyear. Why he’d completely blanked me. The only explanation that made sense was that he didn’t like me the way I liked him. Remembering that now made me cringe inwardly. How naïve I must’ve looked, gushing over him even in my head.

Ugh. Je déteste cet endroit.1

I shook the thoughts away and turned to Goldie, desperate for a distraction.“Can I have some of that popcorn?”

She didn’t even look up from the ice, just wordlessly passed the bucket over,and I proceeded to inhale what felt like half of it in one go.

Nervous snacking was a constant companion of mine, you see.Probably why I’d packed on a few pounds over the summer while I was planning the funeral. Not that I cared much. The weight had gone exactly where I’d always wanted it. For once, my jeans fit in a way that meant that awkward gaping around my waist filled out, and I wasn’t mad aboutit.

I was mid-chew, trying not to get popcorn crumbs on my scarf, when I finallysaw him, and that gnawing feeling to lift my scarf and hide from him was biting at my fingertips.

My stomach did a ridiculous little flip as my eyes followed him, and I swallowed hard, the butterysweetness sticking to the back of my throat.

Why did he have to look that good in a hockey jersey? Like, was it really necessary? The sharp green and white lines of his uniform just made him seem taller, sharper, like some kind of ice-bound hero.

It would be so much easier if hispersonality matched Ryan Hatterson’s, theLions enforcer around two feet behind him—whose god-like looks had once masked the fact that he was, quite frankly, the worst person I’d had the displeasure of knowing.

Ryan was a different kind of asshole. Youwouldn’t look at that handsome smile and think,Yeah, that guy’s a dick. He’d fooled me so well back in high school until I found out I’d just been the punchline to a bet between him and his friends. Thinking about it still made my chest ache, a small, lingering bruise on my self-esteem.

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