“And you don’t want to flail around. Like a fish.”
“No, of course not!” I blurt out, horrified at the mental picture he’s painting for me. Of me. Is that what I was doing? Why didn’t I go with Caitlin and Mellie? Now he’s studying me, his hazel eyes focusing intently on mine.
“Why didn’t you go with your mates?” he asks, and his adorable British accent makes my knees weak. “Let me guess. You’re the rare creature who doesn’t like hot chocolate.”
Mates. “Oh, no. I wanted to stay on the ice. Get my money’s worth,” I say, cringing inside at how much I sound like my dad at this moment.
“Fiscally responsible. Quite admirable, really.” He leans back, resting his elbows against the white ice-rink wall. “So I didn’t catch your name?”
“Bailey.”
“I’m Charlie,” he says, flashing a dimple at me.
And I just kind of stand there, people whizzing by us.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Charlie,” I say, feeling awkward. “Thanks for saving me.”
“Anytime,” he tells me. “Everybody falls. Sometimes you just need someone to pick you up.” And then he’s gone, pushing off from the wall and melting into the crowd.
“Bye! Thanks again,” I call after him.
My blood is pumping and I feel a little breathless. The whole encounter felt like something I’d swoon over in one of the romance novels I love—except the chapter ended way too soon. I’m still dreamily gazing in Charlie’s direction when I hear a familiar squeal.
“Move! Move! Move!” Mellie cries as she stagger-skates toward me. People do their best to get out of her way as she careens up to the wall, hitting it with a loud thud. Caitlin glides to a stop behind her.
“I thought you said you took lessons,” I tell Mellie, giggling as she puts her hands on her hips and bends over, breathing hard.
“That bathroom line was so crazy,” Caitlin tells me. “Mellie wanted to sneak into the men’s room, but we saw Mr. Richards there, so we couldn’t.” Mr. Richards is a math teacher at our school.
“Did you guys get hot chocolate?” I ask.
They both nod. “And I burned my tongue because I couldn’t wait.” Caitlin winces. “They weren’t kidding about the steaming part. Now I need ice cream to feel better. Who’s in?”
“Me,” I say, but as I answer, I’m trying to see if I can spot Charlie in the sea of faces skating past us.
Mellie’s looking at me with an intensity she usually reserves for antifeminists. “No offense, Bailey, but…you look weird.”
“Uh, gee, thanks,” I tell her. “I love it when you boost my ego.” There’s still no sight of him.
Now Caitlin is studying me like a specimen in bio lab. She skates up close so we’re almost nose to nose. “No, I get what she means. You look—I don’t know—preoccupied and swoony. Like you did after we watched The Notebook at your slumber party last year.”
My cheeks are already ruddy with the cold, but now I can feel them slowly start to blotch. “You guys are so dumb,” I tell them, trying to brush it off. I don’t want to tell them about the freaking skate-god angel. Charlie. Because really, there isn’t that much to tell.
“What is it? What happened while we were away?” Mellie asks, pouncing. She looks around the rink. “You were talking to someone, weren’t you. Who? Tell us!”
Caitlin skates in a circle around us. “Spill the tea.”
I let out a sigh. “I almost fell down, this guy skated by and saved me from humiliation, and then he skated away.”
“Saved you?” Mellie echoes. “In what way?”
“From embarrassing myself in front of the entire rink,” I say, miming an exaggerated fall.
“Where’d he go?” Caitlin asks. She points to what appears to be a fourth grader. “Is that him?” She and Mellie crack up.
I roll my eyes at them. “No idea. I guess back to his friends,” I say, shrugging. Despite my covert efforts, I haven’t seen him circle past since he skated away. Maybe he went to get some hot chocolate himself. Or maybe he’s had enough skating for the day and left.
“I wish we’d seen him,” Caitlin says breathlessly.
“Me too,” I say. “He was so good-looking. And he even had a British accent.”
“No!” Mellie shrieks, shoving me and almost knocking me down. An older couple skating by gives us dirty looks. “You didn’t tell us he had an accent!” One thing my friends and I always have agreed on is that if a guy has a British accent, he’s instantly a zillion times more attractive.
Not that Charlie needs any help in that area.
“I know,” I moan, replaying his voice in my mind.
“Tall, handsome, saved you from disaster, and British?” Mellie lets out a low whistle before poking me with a gloved finger. “He sounds too good to be true.”
I think back to Charlie’s smooth blond hair, his easy smile, the way he dressed, the attentive way he led me over to the wall, concerned for my well-being, his British accent…
“You know,” I tell her, blowing out my breath and pushing off on my skate blade, “I think maybe he is.”
Me: Heyyyy
Mellie: ????
Me: So Sam Gorley told me about a party tonight at Joe Shiffley’s house. Any chance you party animals wanna go?
Caitlin: I have to study. Sorry
Mellie: Going to the Winter Cabaret at the Gideon tonite with the fam. Woooooooooo
Phoebe: A party? Not really into it. We could hang out and watch a movie but I’m kinda tired
Me: How did I know you guys would all turn me down?
I hit backspace and delete the last message before sending it. Then, I text them the expressionless face emoji and flop back on my bed, staring at the Fun Bunch group chat. The Fun Bunch isn’t all that fun tonight. I usually don’t go to parties because my friends aren’t really into them and who wants to go to a high school party alone? But somehow knowing that there is a party tonight, and that I could be there if I wanted to, makes it weirdly compelling—especially if I consider the alternative. If I stay home tonight, I can pretty much predict what will happen:
I’ll study. But I don’t have a lot of homework this weekend and what I do have I can always do tomorrow.