Overnight Sensation(91)

Georgia grabs it back. “I like pink. If you want to experiment on somebody, torture Heidi.”

“Nobody torture Heidi,” I complain. “Like this day isn’t long enough. I have to skate with the Ice Girls tonight, too.”

“No you don’t,” Rebecca says. “You’ve done enough time. I thought you said you were done?”

“I am. And I have one last recording for you. But I still have to show up tonight and skate with the girls. If I don’t show, there won’t be enough people. And Randy will be extra horrible and yell more often.”

“You’re a good person, Heidi Jo,” Becca says.

I’m not feeling like one right now. “I could also use the paycheck.” I need a place of my own, even if it’s terrible. Which reminds me that I have a burning question. “Rebecca?”

“Yes?” She adjusts her massage chair and leans back into its robotic embrace.

“Why does the temp have a Katt phone and photos on her desk? She looks awfully cozy in my chair.”

Rebecca’s eyes fly open. “I hired her permanently.”

“Oh,” I say softly as all my hope drains away.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s not the only job in the organization, Heidi Jo. There are other possibilities…”

“I understand,” I say. Because I really do. Becca is running a business, and that’s hard. I know because I’m running one myself. But it’s occurring to me that I might soon leave the Bruisers with nothing—no job. No boyfriend. I put my whole heart into everything I do.

Sometimes the universe just doesn’t care, though. You can make a wish list as long as you like. And come away with nothing.

I want to bawl, I really do. But not in front of Rebecca.

She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I know you’re hurting. Have a little patience. Just a little, okay?”

“I am not a naturally patient person,” I admit.

“None of us are!” Rebecca admits cheerfully. “But sometimes patience is all we’ve got.”

Now there’s a lesson I never wanted to learn. Thanks, Dad.





36





Jason


“Did she return your text?” Leo Trevi asks me. He has to shout, because the stadium is echoing with music.

“No!” I yell back. We’re suited up and standing on the blue line, facing the other team. The lights are down, and spotlights crisscross the surface of the ice.

“Did you leave her a voice message?” Silas asks from my other side.

“Did you do a really good grovel?” someone else wants to know.

The game is supposed to start in less than a minute, so at least I know when my friends’ scolding will end. “Why are we still standing here, anyway?” The starting lineups have just been announced. Now is the moment when the lights should come up for the national anthem.

But they don’t. It’s the weirdest thing.

“Hey—look,” Leo says. “Somebody had a warmup cocktail.” He lifts his chin toward the red carpet that’s been rolled out onto the ice. I follow its path to the end, where there’s an aging pop star in a leopard-patterned jacket holding a microphone.

The hockey franchise asks someone new to sing the anthem at each game. Various has-been singers show up for this honor. It’s never Rihanna or Bono. That’s not in the budget.

And this guy isn’t doing so well. He’s supported on one arm by that prick who runs the Ice Girls crew, and on the other arm by Jimbo. But it’s not enough. As I watch, he doubles over and collapses onto a heap on the red carpet.

“Now what?” Silas asks. “We could be standing here all night, right? It’s in the league rules that the national anthem must be sung.”

Maybe he’s right, because there’s a frantic commotion on the sidelines. The pop star is scooped up and carried off by Jimbo and another guy from logistics. And now the officials are involved, their black-and-white uniforms converging in a huddle to discuss what to do.

“We could do this singalong style,” Trevi suggests. “Who has a karaoke app on his phone?”

“My muscles are gonna tighten up from standing too long,” Silas complains.

But now the referee is holding up the microphone, and they’re escorting someone down the chute toward the red carpet.

“Please rise for the national anthem,” the announcer says again as the lights finally come up.

I blink. And then I blink again. Because it’s Heidi who is stepping out onto the red carpet. She’s wearing a Brooklyn jacket over her tiny Ice Girls’ skirt, and she’s frowning as she whispers with the official. He says something I can’t hear and then points at the microphone.

Heidi’s reply—if I’m not mistaken—is: “Do I have to do everything around here?” She takes the microphone and walks further onto the carpet.

In spite of everything that happened today, I smile. With Heidi, it’s impossible not to. Singing the anthem to twenty thousand people would terrify most people. But not Heidi. She lifts the microphone, as well as her perfect chin.

“Oh say can you seeeeee…” rings out a clear voice. Chills run through my body immediately, and a glance around the stadium fills me with uncharacteristic awe. “By the dawn’s early light…” sings the incredible girl on the carpet. Twenty thousand people lean forward, hands on their hearts. Heidi sings the anthem in tune. It’s not Rihanna, but it’s competent.