Changing Positions (Brooks Haven Bears 3)

Chapter 7 - Euphoria

Emily

My first party is a bust, but Hans and I are friends again. Technically, he’s my brother’s best friend’s cousin, a.k.a. extended family, but the term “friends” simplifies things.

I’m not saying I’ll put up with him all the time. I know he’s not perfect. I’ve seen and laughed at his zits when he was thirteen and cringed at the way his crush for Arabella Fisk turned into ashes when he was fourteen. Everyone’s eager to forget who he is and what he was because he’s now the ice hockey captain. Never mind that he keeps a 4.0 GPA, models with his mom, and helps at his dad’s clinic during the summers. It’s the ice hockey captain that everyone remembers. It’s the Bentley and his new condo unit from his dad’s own building. Everyone’s the same everywhere. Looks over substance. Money over character.

The thing is, he has all of them, and I’ve spent years trying to find the cracks with the microscopic eye of my judgmental mind.

Not that I should judge or complain.

People have been looking for my cracks, too. The difference is that I’m teetering on the edge. One push and I’m down. It’s probably why I hate Hans sometimes. I could have been like him. We are from the same background, after all. Our families are close and have been friends for two generations. But he’s a guy and I’m a girl with a mental problem.

Take away my disorder and people want to be me. I’m not bragging–just stating facts.

I model whenever my mother could pull me out of my rut.

I was sixteen when I modeled for the first time, and it was a family affair, just like hockey games were with Jason playing. Dad was quiet and poker-faced, while Mom could barely sit still. My older brother was naturally there to annoy the hell out of me.

“Emily, you look perfect! Look more to this side. Yes, I love how you scowl at the camera,” praised the photographer.

“She f*****g scowls all the time!” Jason hollered.

“Language, Jason!” Mom corrected him, but it was always clear that he was her favorite. He was the boy who reminded her of better times. Word has it she had an easier time with her first pregnancy. s**t hit the fan when she became pregnant with me. The postpartum depression was a lot worse, and she crashed, barely able to take care of me. They tried to keep the information away, but I heard the whispers and even the screams when she was having one of her episodes.

When did I start hating Hans’ guts? I think it was when he was sixteen and an exchange student, Frida Alben, came to his high school. They started dating, at least that’s what I think they were doing. They went to the movies together, skated at the rink together, and just spent so much time alone together that I barely saw him. Whenever I did, he glared at me the whole time. Then, something shifted, and he was following me all over the place again and it confused me. I don’t like it when I can’t tell what’s up or down. How come I was the only one remembering all this?

At that point, I had concluded that he hated me and was just covering it up with his smiles. Taking care of me is some kind of penance for whatever it is he thought he did wrong. Maybe?

Right now, though, I don’t hate him. In fact, I am enjoying a pizza with him with my legs up on a chair next to mine. We ordered enough for six people, and he tips generously enough and in advance for the servers not to mind how I’m eating my slice. The cheese tastes better, the soda more refreshing, and I’m still humming from tonight’s events.

Hans left his date to run after me, and somehow, it made me feel something–something weird, like a fluttering thing about to burst from my chest. This rush, like I can do anything, feel anything, however, is familiar.

Hypomania.

It’s milder than the usual because my condition is milder than my mom’s, but it’s still that wide-eyed, trembling feeling. It’s sometimes mistaken for drug addiction. So, I tried to temper it with the depressive effects of dope, only for things to go from bad to worse. Facts are facts, though. Hans was there, and something truly terrible could have happened to me if he weren’t.

“So, why did you leave your date, Hans? Stacey’s very -well, she’s gorgeous,” I say, as I pull mozzarella from my pepperoni pizza. I bite off the rest of what I have to say – that she’s also one of the bitches from my former high school.

“I, uh, she’s too–I don’t know. She’s a freshman,” Hans says, following the mozzarella’s journey from my fingers to my mouth. His pizza slice is still in his hand, hanging limply. Limply. Damn, I’m trying not to giggle.

“I’m a freshman. So, is it because you think of younger women as someone you would have babysat for, Blom?” I ask, keeping the serious tone he’s used to from me, but also savoring the cheese on my tongue while pulling more from my pizza slice.

I still feel his eyes on me. Instead of feeling uncomfortable with his gaze, I’m buzzing from it. Feeling a little naughty, I eat my mozzarella extra slowly, letting the tip of my tongue dip to my lower lip, just to see his reaction. Maybe I’m about to see Hans’ cracks just like I did in Stacey’s house when he approached me, smelling of beer and looking like he could murder me–or someone else.

“N-no. It’s just that I’m not that i-interested in S-stacey Green.” Hans Blom doesn’t stutter. People at school believe he’s meant for politics more than medicine. Of course, there’s also the way he moves on the ice, as if he owns it. Growing up with three hockey players means knowing who’s confident and who’s quaking during a game. He never quakes, but I know I somehow make him feel nervous. I make many people a little nervous.

“Right. But you were with her? I don’t take you for someone who would lead anyone on. I mean, you should have learned a lesson from Arabella Fisk.”

I’m now gobbling my pizza, more like a hungry schoolboy rather than the seductive vixen I was teasing Hans with. He groans.

“Don’t tell me you remember Arabella.”

“You know I do.”

“She was seventeen, and I was fourteen. I thought that since I was taller than her, she would have me, and she acted as if she liked me.”

I cackle a little. He watches me as if I’ve gone insane. Maybe I have. He’s the only one beyond my family who has seen beyond my placid mask.

“You didn’t miss out much, Hans. I heard from Celeste and the girls that Arabella got knocked up two years ago and that she doesn’t even know the dad.”

“Emily Park,” he scolds. “You’re a gossip. Who would have thought that?”

I laugh. The tension is gone, but then again, I was enjoying it a lot. I shrug and get back to business, which is eating another slice.

“Are you sure you should eat another one? That’s your third slice.” Worry tinges his voice, and there’s no way I’ll miss it. I’m also a little concerned now, my tummy hurting a little, but the urge to gobble another slice is there. My cold hand obeys him, as I place the half-eaten pizza on my plate.

“Hypomania gives me strong appetites,” I say simply. As I meet his eyes, his nose flares and his cheeks turn a little red. I’m embarrassed to realize that he’s thinking of other appetites, the strange feelings I have when I’m in this state. He had caught me red-handed before, flirting with some random guy just because it made me feel good and kissing him afterward just because I felt like it.

Hans leans back and rests his back on the red and white padding of his seat, and it’s when I realize our heads have been too close–as if we had a secret that we were whispering about.

“You need to see your doctor,” he grits out. His jaw is now clenched, and his eyes averted. Something vibrates, and he surreptitiously checks his phone under the table as if I’ll never guess what he’s doing. I wonder if it’s Stacey asking her to come back to the party. “I shouldn’t have bought all the pizza. It’s my fault.”

“You did nothing wrong. Whether or not you’re here, I would have done the same thing.”

I hate how I sound, as if I’m issuing a threat. Why does he always have to be there when I’m feeling like I’m floating out of control?

**

Two weeks later

December, Freshman Year

I obeyed Hans and saw Dr. Chen the night after I devoured pizza slices the night of the failed party attendance attempt. She lowered my dosage, and I had been feeling a lot better in my humble opinion. I haven’t seen Hans since. He’s avoiding me again, at least physically. He texts daily, though, checking if I’m okay. His graduation approaches and maybe he doesn’t need much of my drama. He’s played games left and right, as well, and I’m guilty of not having watched a single one of them.

My brother and Lance will be coming home soon, and I am excited. As much as they can be annoying, I’ve missed both of those idiots. I’m planning to get into their party, whether or not they like it. I’ll find a way.

Today, though, I’m paying back a friend by watching his game. I’m thankful that it’s a home game. It’s weird not to be able to claim a family seat like when I used to watch Jason with our parents. Nostalgia hits me hard, and I feel like crying.

“Emily!”

I turn around to see Enzo, already in his hockey gear.

“Hey.”

“Where are you sitting?”

“Well, just remembered about the game. So, I’m sitting up there,” I say, shrugging. It’s no big deal, really, but I was disappointed when I found out what the remaining seats were like.

“Go down to the reserved area. My sister couldn’t make it. You can take her seat.”

Something tells me I should say no, but Enzo’s face looks so hopeful.

“Um, I can’t possibly do that. I have a ticket, anyway.”

He knows I don’t really care whether or not I waste a ticket. It’s just money.

“Come on. I know you’re used to watching near the glass. Come down.”

“Torres!” A teammate calls him, and he reluctantly gives me a wave as he leaves to get ready for the game. I know he shouldn’t have been talking to the audience at this point.

That’s how I end up getting a premium seat. My eyes immediately zero in on the captain, number 13. Only he would say that number is lucky, and he has proven his point with his performance. Hans Blom is cocky on the ice, and people love him even more for that.

“Skill over luck,” is his mantra, and boy, I agree with him.

“Go Hans!” a voice yells from the crowd, somewhere to my right.

Stacey.

Bitch.

I shake my head and chuckle a little, looking a lot like the loon that I am. I’m laughing alone in my seat. If I had been thinking straight, I would have called Celeste or Hayley if they were available. Damn i***t. That’s me.

A hand taps my shoulder. I turn my head to see Mrs. Blom watching me with surprise.

“Emily? Why are you sitting here? You should have called Hans, and he should have told you to sit with us.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were going to be here, Mrs. Blom,” I say honestly.

“Well, you can still come over to us.”

“Um, I would love that, but, uh, a friend gave me this seat.”

“Ohhh,” she says, nodding knowingly, and I believe I may just have given her the wrong idea. “Enjoy the game. Tell Mom I said hi, although I’ll call her, anyway.”

She bounces off, and I’m filled with the feeling of euphoria as the game starts. The puck flies, and Hans immediately takes control by hitting it with his stick. The crowd goes wild. My heart does, too. It makes that weird tripping rhythm again as my eyes follow number 13 on the ice.