Top Ten(60)

“Thanks for nothing, I guess.” He almost spat it. “You can go.”

Gabby stared at him for a moment, hands still hovering in midair like she was trying to touch the nighttime. Then she turned around, and she went.





RYAN


Ryan stood frozen on the concrete for a long time after Gabby was gone. His anger was like a layer of foam insulation wrapped around him: something with physical density, like he might be able to reach out and grab a fistful of it. Like it was so thick and suffocating he could barely breathe.

His phone dinged inside his pocket, snapping him out of it enough to realize he was still standing in the middle of the parking lot like a clown. Can’t wait to hear all about your game, Chelsea had texted. Call when you’re done if you get a chance.

He was done, all right. Ryan looked out across the parking lot; he could see his teammates piling into various people’s SUVs, headed for TGI Fridays and then somebody’s basement or backyard or over-the-garage family room, for a night of cheerful drunken celebrating. They’d won, after all. Everything was great.

“McCullough!” Remy shouted, hanging out the passenger-side window of a shiny red Jeep. “You coming or what?”

Ryan shook his raging head, waved them off, and turned toward the front of the building. Jammed his hands into his pockets and started to walk.

It was snowing now, fat flakes slipping down the back of his collar and a sharp wind that bit at the tips of his ears. Ryan kind of liked the sting. His head throbbed, but not nearly as bad as it had the other times he’d hit it. He probably didn’t even have a concussion. She’d probably fucked him into next year for nothing. For a knot on the head.

He kept walking. Colson was peak suburbs, not particularly pedestrian-friendly; Ryan walked mostly on the grassy shoulder, left footprints in the snow in people’s front yards. He wasn’t even sure where he was going until he rounded the corner into Chelsea’s neighborhood, a cluster of small, well-maintained Tudors not far from the middle school. All the streets were named after poets back here, he knew, although none of the names were particularly familiar to him. Dumb jock that he was.

Chelsea’s dad answered the door, a tall, skinny dude with a goatee who had spent the last couple of weeks looking at Ryan with an expression of grim resignation. “Chelsea,” he called, eyes on Ryan like, I know what you’re about, kid, “you have a visitor.”

Chelsea appeared in the front hall a moment later in a pair of soft-looking gray sweatpants and a swim team T-shirt with the collar ripped out, mouth rubbed clean of the red lipstick she usually wore. “Hey,” she said, smiling in a way that looked surprised but—Ryan hoped—pleased. “What are you doing here?”

“Um,” he said, feeling weirdly shy all of a sudden. He didn’t usually get shy around girls, especially girls he was already hooking up with, and it was a new sensation. She was wearing her glasses, which she didn’t always. Ryan liked her glasses a lot. “Hi.”

Chelsea considered him with barely veiled amusement. “Hi,” she said.

“Um, how’re you feeling?” he asked, realizing abruptly what a dope he probably looked like. “I didn’t bring you flowers or anything. I probably should have brought you flowers or soup or something like that.”

“My mom made soup,” Chelsea told him, still hiding a smile and not even very well. “Anyway, I feel a lot better.” She gestured down at herself. “I look like crap, clearly, but.”

“You look beautiful,” Ryan blurted, and this time Chelsea smiled for real.

“Well,” she said. “Thanks.” She leaned against the wall in the foyer then, looking at him a little more closely. “Are you okay?” she asked, dark eyebrows knitting a bit. “How was your game?”

“It was fine.” Ryan shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about hockey, or his head, or Gabby. He especially did not want to talk about Gabby. “Do you want to go for a walk with me?”

That surprised her. “I mean, I don’t think I feel that good,” she pointed out. “It’s actively snowing.”

“Oh, sure.” Ryan nodded, feeling like an idiot. “Right.”

Chelsea smiled again. “What if we drove?” she asked. “Did you drive here?”

Ryan shook his head. “Walked.”

“From school?” Now she looked sort of concerned. “Ryan, are you sure you’re okay?”

Ugh, he was playing this wrong; he didn’t want to worry her. He didn’t want to worry anyone. He mustered his most charming grin. “I’m good. I just missed you once the game was over. And as you might recall, I have no car.”