He looked at my sneakers for too long, then said, And if I’m being really honest, it’s probably the only way I could afford this place.
I sat up very straight then, feeling so exposed—what about me made him think I couldn’t afford Rawlings?—that I crossed my arms over my chest and rubbed my shoulders through my sweater. Not one conversation about money existed for me outside the financial aid office; I sometimes thought I was the only person getting aid even though I’d seen other people walking in and out of there. I worried I was hallucinating those people—that’s how little anyone at Rawlings seemed to think about how much anything cost.
—That’s amazing, I said. But yeah, no. I’m not sure that’s for me either.
He looked down at the floor, and I caught him staring at the label on Jillian’s mittens, which in my hurry to take off the skates I’d tossed on top of my backpack without even realizing it.
—Oh. Got it, he said. No worries, just thought I’d mention it in case you were curious, but I get it’s not something you, like, need. Don’t take it that way, OK?
He was already standing, already halfway to the rink’s entrance by the time I looked up.
He stepped onto the ice. OK, OK? You get me?
I said, No, hey, thanks for thinking I could do it.
He shot me a corny thumbs-up. Time yields for no one, he said.
He cringed at his words and I laughed too loud so he wouldn’t regret saying them.
As he glided a couple feet backward, he said, Can I say something completely unrelated to all that?
—Please, I said, and he said, Don’t get mad.
Skating to the spot right in front of where I sat, he leaned over the edge as if about to tell me a secret. With a deep bend he picked up the mittens from his side and ran his thumb over the supple green leather, then handed them to me as he looked from side to side, making sure no one but me would hear what he was about to say. He even looked up at the lights as if they cared.
—And it really is an honest-to-god observation, I’m not hitting on you, but, OK. I’ve never seen anyone, like, ever? Just bounce like that. When they fall.
He pushed off from the edge and put his hands up like the night before, skating backwards for a second as he said, Sorry, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, it’s just – it’s true.
He skated away fast, ice flying off the backs of his skates.
My hands, still clutching the mittens, went straight to my back pockets, a reflex to protect the ass I’d bounced on out there. If I should’ve been offended, I failed that test: I flung my head forward and bent over, letting my hair fall over my shoulders, then covered my mouth and eyes with my hands, crushing Jillian’s mittens against my face. I only indulged the urge to hide my laughter for a moment; I made myself look up because I didn’t want Ethan to make another wrong assumption, to mistake my shaking shoulders and the noise muffled by my hands as crying.
He turned and put his hands on his head and sort of shrugged, and I waved him away with those stupid gloves, thinking hard about how and when I would make it clear to him that they weren’t mine.
*