When the last cork pops, he nudges me again.
“Hey,” he says, lowering his voice. “I brought you something.”
He disappears and returns with a box.
I freeze when I open it.
A pair of hockey skates—sleek, black, sharp.
“I guessed your size,” he says. “C’mon. Pond’s frozen. Let’s go.”
And before I can react, Irene’s cheering, my mom’s clapping, and Tom’s pulling on his boots.
Next thing I know, I’m bundled up and whisked outside.
String lights glow over a frozen pond like something out of a snow globe. A bonfire crackles nearby, college guys clustered around it holding mugs of hot cider.
When they see us walking up, they elbow Mason.
“Bro, seriously? You didn’t tell us you were bringing someone?”
Mason rolls his eyes. “Relax. She’s cool.”
Great. Attention.
Exactly what I didn’t want tonight.
But once my skates hit the ice?
Everything else disappears.
The cold air, the scrape of blades, the glitter of falling snow—it hits something deep inside me, something I forgot I had.
Fun.
Pure, stupid fun.
I spin too fast.
Laugh too loud.
Almost crash into Mason twice.
He pretends it was intentional.
And for a moment?
I’m not Jade Bryan, Survivor of the Royal Oaks Slime Saga.
Or Jade Bryan, Viral Girl.
Or Jade Bryan, Future Lawsuit.
I’m just… me.
But even without my phone, other people still have theirs.
College guys start taking selfies.
