Being Sloane Jacobs (30 page)

“Excuse me?” I don’t know if I’m hearing him correctly.

“You had possession twice with clear shots both times, and both times you passed it off,” he says. He glares at me. Is he seriously coaching me right now?

“I’m—I’m doing my best,” I say. What does he want to hear, that I’m not a real hockey player so there’s no way in hell I’m going to waste a shot when someone else can do it better? He knows the truth. He ought to figure it out.

“No you’re not,” he says. “You need to take the damn shot next time.” He jabs me in the chest with a gloved finger. “Have some confidence. Your team needs you.”

“Okay,” I reply. He nods; then we stand there staring at each other in silence for a few beats. I inhale and it all comes out in a rush: “Matt, I’m so, so sorry. I really am. I know I should have told you the truth, but I was too afraid to ruin everything. I was so happy. It felt so good to kiss
you, and to be with you. But now I can see that I ruined it anyway. I’m so sorry.”

His face is unreadable. When he doesn’t say anything, I turn back toward the door.

“I don’t hate you,” he blurts out.

My heart stops. I face him again.

“I’m glad,” I say, letting out a deep breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

“I saw the thing about your dad on TV,” he says. “They showed your picture. I get it.”

I hate that he knows about my dad, because it just reminds me that
everyone
knows. I feel nauseated, and I have to stare down at my skates to keep myself from throwing up.

Matt sticks out his hand. “I’m Matt O’Neill,” he says. “I’m from Philly.”

I look up. His face is still composed, but his eyes are smiling. Just like when he kissed me that first time. I made him swear I could trust him, and he didn’t let me down, not even when
I
let
him
down.

I let myself smile just a little. “I’m Sloane
Emily
Jacobs. I’m from Washington, DC.”

“And you figure skate, right?” The corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

“Right,” I say.

“And you also play hockey, right?”

“Well …”

“And you play hockey,
right
?” He grasps my shoulders and gives me a little shake.

“Right!” I say, laughing.

“Then get out there and kick some ass.” He pulls me in and kisses me, softly. I try to get my arms around him, but there’s too much padding between us. Damn hockey gear.

When Matt pulls away, he’s full-on grinning. And my heart is winging up through my head. I feel like I could sprout wings and fly.

Matt spins me around and points me toward the door. “Go listen to your captain, then ignore whatever she says and take the shot. Got it?”

“You got it, Coach,” I say, then push through the door to join my team.

It’s been more than nineteen minutes of a brutal stalemate. We’ve chased each other up and down the ice in full sprints. The red team has taken six shots on the goal, the blue team five, and yet the score still sits at 1–1. With less than ten seconds on the clock, this is our last shot. We’re not playing overtime today, so if no one scores, no one wins, which might as well mean we both lose.

Across the ice, I see Marino with the puck. She’s looking for Cameron. This is our last chance. Score now, or end in a tie, but Cameron has two red players all over her. There’s no way she has a clear shot, and Avery is on the bench sucking on her inhaler. Melody charges Marino, and in seconds, the puck is whizzing to me. I look for Cameron again, but she’s still covered. I glance at the clock. Six seconds and counting. I look at the goal. I have a clear shot.

I’m scared, there’s no doubt about it. It’s worse than
the first time I attempted the triple-triple, and I could have actually landed on my head and
died
doing that. But it’s not just the shot that scares me. It’s the magazine. It’s my dad on television telling the world that he betrayed us. It’s my family, falling apart. It’s all the things we’ll have to say that I never said because I was terrified to confront my dad. It’s all the lies I told—all the lies I lived—because the Jacobses are calm. They’re polite. They’re rational. They’re—

Whack!

With all those thoughts rushing through my brain like a tsunami, I lift my arms and connect with the puck. I want to watch its path, but I blink, and it’s already gone. All that’s left is a flashing light, a deafening buzzer, the roar of the crowd, and five blue jerseys rushing at me at top speed. The next thing I know I’m flat on the ice and at the bottom of a pile of hockey players. I manage to pop my head out of the fray and catch sight of the scoreboard.

Blue: 2. Red: 1.

I look up and see a red jersey towering over me. It’s Melody.

“Good game, Jacobs. If you’d asked me four weeks ago, I would not have predicted that,” she says. I wonder if I should be insulted, but the truth is she’s right. I notice that she’s smiling through her helmet. Then she skates back to her team, where she starts handing out high fives. I feel as if Wayne Gretzky himself crowned me queen of the rink.

I look up into the stands and see James. And standing next to him is my mother, clad in a cream-colored pantsuit.

Wait, what?

I blink a few times, but she doesn’t go away. She looks woefully out of place surrounded by parents dressed in jeans and T-shirts, crumpled boxes of popcorn all around her. She sees me looking and offers a little beauty-queen-style wave. She’s smiling. And then she gives me a thumbs-up.

I look from the scoreboard to my mother giving me a thumbs-up, and back to the scoreboard again.
Am I dead? Have I died, and this is heaven? Did someone bean me in the head, knock me unconscious, and this is all a dream?

“Damn, Jacobs! I knew you had it in you!” Matt towers over me in full gear. He offers me a hand and drags me up to my skates, then throws his arms around me in an enormous hug. “Now it’s your turn to cheer me on. Get showered and get back in those stands.”

CHAPTER 32

SLOANE DEVON

The medal around my neck is heavy. I reach down and grasp it, turning it over in my hands. It’s shiny and silver.

We came in second.

When they called my name, I couldn’t even believe it. I even looked around for the other Sloane Jacobs, wondering if maybe she showed up and competed too. When I realized that nope, we earned second place, I nearly passed out.

Roman and Elizabeth finished first. They deserved it. They managed to land side-by-side triple axels, which is pretty much unbeatable, but I couldn’t care less. Four weeks ago I didn’t even know what an axel
was
. And now I’m standing here on a podium next to Andy with a silver medal around my neck.

Un-freaking-believable.

I spot my parents in the crowd. They’ve retaken their
seats. Mom’s been bouncing up and down and clapping and grinning since my name was first announced, and it doesn’t look like she’s stopping anytime soon. I grin and wave at her. She and my dad both wave back.

When I finally leave the ice, I head straight for my parents in the stands. My mom envelops me in yet another hug.

“How did you get here?” I ask. I know it’s the first of about a million questions, but it seems like the easiest one right now.

“We could ask you the same question,” Dad says.

“We met your friend at the hockey arena, and she sent us here,” my mom says, and laughs. Her eyes are clear and sparkling. Sober. I have to ask.

“No, I mean how did you get
here
?” I say.

Mom looks down at her shoes, takes a deep breath, then looks back at me, right in the eye. It’s startling, because I realize for the last year her expression has been so glazed she’s barely been looking at me.

“I’ve been making really good progress. Two months in, if things are going well, we’re able to check out for family events and things, so I decided to use my pass to come see you skate,” she says. Then she gives a little wink. “I just didn’t think it would be this kind of skating.”

“So you’re done?” I ask.

“Not quite,” she says. “I have another month, so I have to go back after this. And there’s really no ‘done,’ overall, but my progress is good.”

I don’t know what else to ask about rehab, or even if I should, so instead, I move on to the next line of questioning. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, honey,” Dad says. He throws an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in to his side. “But we obviously have a
lot
to talk about.”

I look up at Mom. I don’t know what to say, or how much to say, to her right now.

“I’m sorry, Sloane,” she says, cupping my face and looking me right in the eye. “I am so sorry for all that I’ve missed. I’m going to be spending a lot of time making up for the time I lost.”

“But you’re here now,” I say.

“And I’m not going anywhere,” she replies. It’s all the reassurance I need.

CHAPTER 33

SLOANE EMILY

They had to push five tables together to fit all of us. None of the tables match. One is covered in finger-painted flowers. Another has what looks like a giant firework on the front. Yet another bears an illustration of the solar system. They look sort of insane all together, but then again, so do we.

I look around the table at the motley crew we’ve assembled. There’s James and Mom, looking grossly out of place in her cream-colored pantsuit, and Sloane Devon and her parents. I insisted on bringing Matt, and I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Cameron. Sloane Devon brought her friends Bee and Andy. Dad is noticeably absent, and I feel a tug of sadness in my chest. I spent my whole summer avoiding the thought of him, and now that he’s missing, it just feels wrong.

“Pass the napkins, please,” Mom says. Matt pushes the
silver canister toward her, and she spreads two napkins out over her pants. “And a fork, please.”

“Poutine is meant to be eaten with nature’s utensils,” Matt says, holding up a gravy-soaked fry between two fingers.

“Something tells me your mom eats pizza with a fork and knife,” Sloane Devon whispers to me, and I giggle. She’d be right, except for the fact that I’ve never seen my mother eat pizza. My mother ignores Matt and accepts a roll of silverware from Andy.

We all dig into the plates spread out on the table. We managed to order an array of poutine, some with peas and onions, another with bacon. We even ordered a pizza poutine, with pepperoni, mushrooms, and mozzarella. Everyone is laughing and talking and shoving fries into their mouths—well, except for Mom, who is feasting on a caesar salad. James and Cameron seem to be deep in conversation about today’s game. Across the table, Andy, Bee, and Sloane Devon are reliving Sloane and Andy’s silver-medal-winning performance. And at the end, the adults are crowded together. They talk in hushed tones, possibly plotting some kind of punishment. I can’t tell.

“So when can I see you again?” Matt leans in and swipes a fry from my hand and pops it into his mouth.

“Hey, that one was perfect!” I cry, because I don’t want to think about his question. It was awful when I thought he hated me, but it’s worse now that I know he likes me, because I may never see him again.

“Then you’ll just have to figure out how to see that fry again,” he says, and winks.

I pause. “I hope you’re talking about us and not fries. Otherwise this conversation could get really disgusting.”

He laughs. “Well, you can always email the french fry. And there’s the phone. And there’s definitely a train that runs between DC and Philadelphia, and I think tickets are pretty cheap for french fries with a valid student ID.”

He leans in to kiss me, and even though my mind goes to my mother, who is watching me at the end of the table, I can’t help myself. I kiss him back with my eyes closed and my hand on his cheek.

When we break away, I see that my mom is, in fact, watching us. When she catches my eye, she nods me over. I excuse myself from Matt, go to her, and bend over her shoulder.

“Will you go take care of the check?” she whispers, passing me her credit card down low by her hip. Classic Susan Jacobs move, and I’m thankful for it.

“Sure thing,” I say, and skip toward the counter. I find our waitress and ask for our check. I’m leaning over, thinking about Matt and kissing him again. James ambles up beside me.

“I’m really proud of you, Seej,” he says. He’s smiling, and I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or being sincere.

“I knew you’d like me pulling one over on Mom and Dad,” I say.

“That
is
pretty awesome,” he concedes, shaking his
head, “but it’s more than that. I saw you out there on that ice. You were fearless. You weren’t afraid to get in there and really make plays. And when you took that last shot? It was incredible to watch. You didn’t waver, you didn’t second-guess yourself. You put it all out there.”

“Thanks, James,” I reply. “That really means a lot.”

“So does this mean you’re hanging up your figure skates?”

“I don’t know,” I say. I take a deep breath. “I definitely think I’m done competing. I never wanted this comeback anyway. I just wanted to skate and have fun.”

James nods. “You know, St. Augusta’s has a great girls’ hockey team.”

“I know. You brought half of them home at some point during your senior year, you heartbreaker.” I poke him in the ribs and he jumps away.

I turn and start back to the table, and James grabs my arm. His face has gone serious.

“What?” I ask him.

“Look, Sloane. Things are going to suck for a while.” He gestures to Mom. “She’s going to need us. And he might too. I know you’re not really one for the emotions and the family drama, but—”

I put my hand on his arm and squeeze. “James, I’m there. I can handle it. We’ll handle it,” I say. I pull him into a hug.

CHAPTER 34

SLOANE DEVON

“You still have some serious explaining to do,” Dad says. Everyone has gone back to their dorms and hotel rooms, and now it’s just the three of us—Mom, Dad, and me—standing on the sidewalk. Our family car, a battered blue Corolla that my parents drove all the way from Philly, is parked in front of the restaurant.