On Thin Ice

23

"Are you sure your head's okay?" Josh asked me as we got into his car after the bus dropped us off at school.

"Yeah, it's fine," I assured him with a sigh.

Losing was never fun and I really didn't want to talk to Josh since I was in a mood after how badly I played tonight. Not to mention, I was frustrated by the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about Fox Ridley.

Fox was consuming my every thought. I was practically drowning in handsome images of him in my head. My own brain hated me and wanted me to suffer.

"By the way don't make any plans next Friday and Saturday," Josh told me as he drove out of the school parking lot and toward our home.

"You mean don't make plans on my birthday?" I asked in an annoyed tone.

"Right," Josh confirmed.

"Not like I have anyone to make plans with," I muttered, resting my head against the window.

"You have plans with me, I just told you that," Josh responded in a light tone.

I didn't reply as Josh continued driving us home. By the time we got there, I saw that the lights were still on, meaning Dad had waited for us to get home like he always did. I sighed as I grabbed my stuff out of the car and made my way toward the house.

"How was the game?" Dad asked as soon as I stepped foot in the house, Josh right behind me. Dad sat in the living room on the couch with his glasses perched on his nose and a book in his hands.

"We lost," Josh told him with a shrug.

I waited for Josh to rat me out about hitting my head, but he never did. Usually Josh couldn't wait for the chance to tell Dad something about me, but surprisingly, he kept his mouth shut.

"You can't win them all," Dad reassured us with a smile.

After nodding in agreement, tried making my way to the stairs before my father called out my name. I sighed and shut my eyes for a moment in frustration before turning around to face him.

"Can I talk to you for a minute alone?" Dad asked with a hopeful look, motioning for me to sit beside him on the couch. Josh took that as his cue to leave and quickly jogged up the stairs.

"Yeah?" I muttered as I took a seat beside my father on the couch.

"I wanted to talk to you about what happened on Thanksgiving," he told me. I had already figured that was where this conversation was going.

"Dad, it's fine," I sighed, running a frustrated hand through my hair. "I'm over it."

Dad shook his head and gave me a serious look. "It's not fine. I'm sorry we talked about you behind your back. We shouldn't have done that."

I hummed in agreement, hoping to be done with this conversation.

"But I am concerned about you," Dad continued, eliciting a groan from me.

This was what I didn't want to talk about. His concern only made me feel fragile, like I was nothing but an emotional wreck and it was obvious to everyone who knew me.

"I promise you, I'm fine," I urged him, leaning back on the couch.

"You don't seem happy," he pointed out, his voice wavering a bit.

An uncomfortable feeling crept up in my stomach and I averted my gaze from my father, keeping my eyes situated on my hands that were in my lap.

"I think you could benefit from talking to somebody," Dad continued when I didn't say anything.