You go near my sister, I'll rip your arms off and beat you with them. She’s been through enough, and your life is fucked. Plus, hockey players are her kryptonite—you know that.
So, my vow is best for everyone—we drive each other up the fucking wall, anyway. Through my racing thoughts, I manage to say, “I’m gonna call Meema’s doctor and get all the info.”
“It’s the last Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday of the month, something you’d know if you’d visited her… even once. Especially during that awful week she spent in the hospital on machines while you were off in Boise, living the high life, doing… what’s the phrase the gossip rags used?”
She taps her chin and looks at the sky. “Oh, right, ‘leaving an icy trail of shatteredhearts.’”
Each word hits like a puck to the chest, and I don’t even know what she’s talking about. Meema was in the hospital? Why didn’t she tell me? “She never said a word to me about any of that.”
Sydney’s walking again, but now it’s more of a tromp. “Maybe if you’d checked on her, you would’ve seen for yourself.”
Despite my skates, I easily catch up with her, and I can’t help but defend myself. “I’m here now.”
“Yeah, but for how long?”
“That’s not fair.” I clip on my skate guards and follow her toward Meema’s house, the ice giving way to snow-covered ground that makes my skates wobble.
She stops, folds her arms and sighs. “You know what? You’re right—it’s not fair. I’m sorry Maisie didn’t tell you how bad things were,” she says, her voice quiet. “She probably didn’t want to distract you from hockey.”
Dammit, and we only made it through the first round of finals. Sydney’s words twist the knife inside me as I think about my conversations with my grandmother.
It’s just a spot of cancer, Brooksie. Very treatable. Nothing your Meema can’t handle.
It wasn’t until I saw her in person last night, saw how the chemo had hollowed her out, that I realized how serious it was.
“I didn’t know,” I admit quietly.
Sydney’s face softens. “Well, now you do. And she just had a treatment last week, so she’s not due for another three weeks.” She’s walking again.
“Can we sit down so you can tell me everything I need to know? Please?”
She doesn’t turn when she says, “No problem. I can type it upfor you.”
“Great, thanks.” I speed up. “So, you trying for the sports anchor position?”
She stops so abruptly I nearly crash into her back. When she turns, her cheeks are flushed with more than just the cold. “How did you—”
“Meema mentioned it. You know she knows everything about everyone in this town. It’s her superpower.”
“Yeah, well.” Syd shrugs, trying to look casual, though her eyes say this means everything to her. Then her tromp practically turns into a jog. “Marcus hasn’t decided between Donny Dexter and me yet.”
Donny Dexter: a friend from high school and former athlete with a massive social media following, and he’s been talking to me about the sportscaster position at KBVR.
Confidently, I might add. Syd’s got some tough competition, and judging by her twitchiness, she knows it.
She stops and turns on her heel. “We’re about to go inside, and we don’t need to stress Maisie. So dial the asshole down, put a smile on, and let’s pretend we like each other.”
When I rush to catch up, I say, “No problem,” which is a lie. If she’s hanging around Meema, it means she’ll be hanging around me, and that can’t happen. Spending time with her is a temptation, and that’s definitely a problem.
A big one.
3
Fight Is On
BROOKS
“So you and Meema are... friends?”
