Page 52 of Icing Hearts

“Why the hell can’t you have a serious relationship with Tory?”

“That, Jack, is far too deep for me to divulge. But you need to believe me when I tell you there are reasons why I keep Tory Amato—and everyone else for that matter—at bay. The status quo is currently all I can manage . That’s where I’m comfortable.”

Jack nods, absorbing my words, digesting them like a Thanksgiving dinner. “Okay. I can accept all that. I think you’re making a mistake, and it’s clear as day that Victor likes you. But it’s your life.”

The next day at lunch, Vince pulls me onto his lap like he used to do with his ex-girlfriend. It makes me uncomfortable, both literally and figuratively. Not that there isn’t enough space, Vince’s thighs look like tree trunks. But I basically get left sitting side-saddle and twisting to eat my lunch. Plus, I don’t like the way everyone looks at us. Too many eyes and not enough control over the way I’m being perceived. I’m secretly relieved when a teacher walks by and says everyone needs to be in their own seat. I swear, sometimes teachers secretly know a student doesn’t want to be in a situation and makes themselves the bad guy so the student doesn’t have to be.

At least I’m in pants. I’m wearing a tan pair of old corduroys that used to belong to my mom. The knees wore thin, so I sewed on a couple of heart-shaped patches and wore a matching sweater and pink, pearl barrettes.

Most of lunch is spent with Vince and Clover trying to convince me to work out with the team.

“Come on, Clare Bear. It’s perfect. You tutor Amato and then come workout with us.”

I look to Clover for support and find none. “Don’t look at me. Thomas and I work out with the team. It’s actually weirder that you don’t.”

Tory is quiet. Has been during the whole lunch wave, though in history he was in a bit of a playful mood. We sit next to each other now. Every single class with our desks pushed up against one another. Everyone else sits in neat rows but every day one of us, whoever gets there first, pushes our two desks together. Mr. M gave us a weird look the first time, but Tory just smiled and said he needed to be close to his tutor. Today he passed me a note with a cartoon hockey puck on it. It had eyes and a smile, and he drew an arrow with a label that said hockey puck because he’s not a very good artist.

“Help me out, Tory,” I plead, stabbing at my side salad. My sandwich is long gone by now. I thought my lunch account was running low, but the lunch lady didn’t say anything when I went through the cashier today. A miracle of Maccabee proportions, perhaps.

“No ma’am. By the time we’re through with you, you’ll be lining up at goalie and Berty will be out of a job.”

I shake my head. It’s hard to look at Tory straight on. He’s wearing his glasses again. If I look at him, my eyes linger too long on the way his lashes dust the lenses and how beautiful that would feel against my cheek. Vince hasn’t worn his like he said he would, but I don’t really expect him to. He was just being supportive in the moment.

But Tory has worn them almost every day. I haven’t worn mine yet.

“Fine,” I tell the table. “You guys are lucky I have gym today or else I wouldn’t even have workout clothes to wear.”

Chapter 31

Clara

Tory was extra,extraplayful during tutoring today. Borderline inappropriate, now that I think about it. Talking about exercises he recommends and breathing and positions. Maybe I read into the innuendos, and it was completely innocent, and it was actually my thoughts that were inappropriate. Either way, the whole exchange was totally obscene, and we didn’t get much work done. Although, we checked Tory’s most recent grades and nearly all of them improved. I guess a win is a win.

Clover finds me in the study room as Tory and I are leaving, and we all head toward the locker rooms. Clover and I walk through the guys’ locker room with our heads down and Tory veers off toward his supply locker.

Once we’re in the hallway that has the coaches and trainer offices I say, “Hey, let’s stop at our mailboxes, I wanna see if my check is there.”

“Check? Like, money? What check are you expecting?”

“Our paycheck for managing. I forgot to look for it this weekend before the game.”

Clover gives me a strange look. “Girl. What are you on?”

I laugh and pull out the white envelope sitting in my mailbox. “Nothing, obviously. What are you on? Did you not get yours?”

“Let me put it this way: I have never received any monetary compensation for managing the hockey team. Neither has Thomas. I know some high school managers get paid, but we certainly don’t.”

“That’s weird. Tory told me it was a paid position when he asked me to manage.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Tory asked you to manage?”

“Yes.”

“And told you there’d be compensation as an incentive to get you to do it?”

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