“I think we passed it,” I point out when she leads us to the visiting section, where everyone is in red and white for BU.
“I like my popcorn layered with butter, which Frank refuses to do, but Carl has my back. He’ll also make a fresh batch for you, or let you mix slushie flavors,” she shares.
“Carl being…” I’ve met Frank. He’s maybe my dad’s age, and seems to hate college students, but is always super nice to Izzie.
“Joey’s little brother.”
“Can’t say no to extra butter.” I smile, still not entirely comfortable with Lacey yet, or with walking around the arena in Noah’s jersey, but she’s been incredibly nice, giving me all the arena tidbits as if being a player’s girlfriend is our job and she’s been tasked with welcoming me into the fold and training me.
“So, am I a decent consolation prize to Izzie? Better than Tish?” Lacey asks while we wait in line.
“You’re great. I’m having so much more fun than I thought I could at a hockey game.”
“They’re definitely more exciting here than they were in high school.”
“You guys have really been together a long time.” I smile.
“Beginning of Freshman Year, but he’s been one of my best friends since Junior High. They both have.”
I want to ask about that, maybe find out what Noah was like in high school, but we’re interrupted.
“Savannah James.”
I freeze at the sound of my former best friend’s voice, like someone dropped a bucket of ice water down my shoulders. She shouldn’t be here.
I want to sink into the floor – and take Kinsey, before she can tell Lacey stories about me, but instead I put on my best polite smile and turn to face her.
“Kinsey?!? What are you doing here?”
She’s wearing a number 9 jersey for the opposing team, but she’s made it into a dress, cinched at the waist. The number’s on both of her cheeks as well, so elaborate it looks like a sticker, and I remember when she used to paint Dallas’ number on our faces before his games. I guess Clay’s as well, but she didn’t make it to as many of his.
“I was about to ask you the same thing. Got run off the football field?” She laughs like it’s an inside joke, but it isn’t funny.
“Just supporting a friend,” I assure her before remembering I’m not alone. “This is Lacey. She’s dating Darren Steele, our goalie. This is Kinsey. We grew up next to each other.” It hurts to diminish her to that, but it would hurt more to call her anything different.
“That’s a little misleading, isn’t it?” she says with venom in her voice as she glares at me, before turning to Lacey, all sweetness. “We were practically sisters.” It’s not a reminder of how close we were; it’s dig at how I cost her my brother.
Kinsey extends her hand – with fingernails painted red and white, the perfect WAG – to shake Lacey’s. “I’m with Patrick Hannigan. Team Captain, left winger, scored about ten minutes ago, already drafted…Next year he’ll be playing in L.A., which is beautiful year-round. So much better than New England, don’t you think?”
Lacey shrugs, clearly confused, and I can see the moment Kinsey realizes my friend has no idea who my brother is. That her digs are going way over Lacey’s head. I would savor the victory if I didn’t know Kinsey’s just going to change tactics. She’s always been determined.
“Your usual?” The guy at the counter – Carl – asks once it’s our turn.
“Twice, please,” Lacey asks before turning to Kinsey. “Would you like a popcorn?” she asks sweetly, but it sounds fake, even with how little I know her.
“God, no. I’m on cheer squad, so we don’t put crap like that in our bodies.”
“Kinsey,” I reproach. She can be a bitch to me, but Lacey doesn’t deserve it. The look Kinsey gives me is somewhat impressed, mostly daring me to actually say something. But Lacey can hold her own.
“I admire your self-control. I’ve tried, but life is more fun when you can eat the things you enjoy. I’m just so grateful we found guys who love us regardless of our dress sizes.” She says the last part to me, like we’re in the same boat.
“Patrick wants me at any size. I just have standards.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply anything. So nice meeting you, Kelsey.”
“Kinsey,” she corrects.
“My bad. Ready to go, Sav?”
