Page 38 of All That Glitters

“Have you ordered?” I ask her as I slide in the cracked-leather booth seat across from her. I drop my backpack next to me.

She bobs her head. “Yeah, I did right before you got here.”

I don’t ask her what she ordered. She knows me well enough to get something I’ll like. Marigold takes a sip of her drink. It looks like some kind of soda, and my heart fissures at the sight. No ice cream float. I didn’t expect it, but a part of me hoped that maybe after she saw the pen and had time to process things, she’d return the gesture with one of her own.

“Thanks,” I say quietly, then open my backpack and pull out my laptop. “So, did you have any specific ideas for the article? I know Charlie liked the format so we’re keeping that, but did you have an area you wanted to focus on?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Marigold says as she flips through her little journal. “I’ve got a few ideas, but none of them have stood out.”

“Do you want to list them out and then we can see if any of my notes would fit with them the best?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Sure, that works.”

I shift in my seat, then draw in a sharp breath as pain shoots through my knee. Marigold’s gaze flicks up to my face.

“What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Just overworked myself. A little sore.” I wince as I try to find a comfortable position. Being tall and sitting in a booth isn’t a big deal on a normal day, but my leg needs to be stretched out, and that’s not really an option in this cramped space.

Marigold frowns. “Your knee?”

My chest warms at her remembering my struggles. I dealt with the injury during my senior year of high school. It should have healed by now, but I keep pushing myself too far. I know I shouldn’t. Sometimes it feels like I have to choose between a healthy body and a clear head, since hockey is the only thing that helps me work through my problems.

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have skated extra after practice,” I say, making her frown deepen.

“Definitely not. You should probably take time off in general. Is there something you need? Do you want me to ask if they can make you an ice pack?”

A smile tugs at my lips. She cares. Even if she doesn’t want to, she does.

“I’ll be all right, Goldie,” I assure her. “Once I get home and can stretch out, I’ll feel better.”

She scoots over a little. “Put your foot up next to me and see if that helps.”

“Someone is bossy today,” I joke, but do as she says. I’m feeling bad enough to not be able to refuse. The relief is instantaneous, and I let out a sigh.

“I’m not bossy,” she says, then turns her attention back to her notebook. “Now, let’s focus on the article.”

I chuckle at her not bossy tone. She shoots me a look like she knows why I’m laughing.

“What if we do a piece on playing through injuries?” she asks, and my smile drops. “It’s common in sports, right? And it would be good to get the story from all angles, especially your point of view.”

I scratch the back of my neck. I don’t want to reject her idea, but …

“Advertising my injury isn’t something I’m fond of. Coach wouldn’t like it, either. None of the guys would. It puts a target on our backs for other teams and might get us benched if Coach thinks we’d be better off the ice.”

Marigold taps her pen against her bottom lip. Not the pen I gave her on Valentine’s Day. I ordered that one as a gift for our first day of school but never gave it to her. I try to trick myself into thinking she’s displayed it on her desk or something. Because the alternative is that she threw it away. I didn’t plan on giving it to her that night. I’ve been carrying it around in my pocket for months now, using it for my journal. But when she asked, it felt like the perfect moment. Until she ran away.

“Maybe we could talk about it in the past sense?” Marigold suggests. “Talk about overcoming adversity and what it’s like.”

I tip my head from side to side, thinking. While I’m considering, our waitress arrives with our food. She sets a platter of chicken tenders and sweet potato fries in front of Marigold, then presents me with a burger the size of my head, with a side of regular fries. After that, she places a plate of chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream in the middle of the table. We used to get pancakes to split when we couldn’t decide if we wanted dinner or breakfast.

“I’m sorry again for not having ice cream, darlin’,” the waitress says to Marigold. “Hopefully the pancakes satisfy your sweet tooth.”

Marigold blushes and mumbles her thanks. I forget about the pain in my knee. Forget about the article and every negative thought I’ve had today. Because if she was going to order ice cream that means she was going to get an ice cream float. A grin stretches my lips. Marigold glares at me, her cheeks still pink.

“What?” she snaps, but there’s no real bite to it.

I reply with a quote. “Hope is the thing with feathers.”