Free The Survival Kit by Donna Freitas Page B

surface and I slid my finger gently around the click wheel. I was about to put in the earbuds when there was a knock at my door. I shoved the iPod under the covers and placed the Survival Kit on the floor on the far side of the bed. I grabbed a book off the table and opened it across my lap. “Come in,” I said.
    “Hi, Rose.” My father opened the door and poked his head inside. “I’m home.”
    “I see that,” I replied, and got up to give him a kiss on the cheek. There was alcohol on his breath and it was potent, but I did my best not to make a face. I guessed I was wrong and Dad wasn’t doing better at all. “Dinner’s in the oven. It’s chicken.”
    “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, his voice flat and sad and slurred. “But I’m not feeling well. I’m going straight to bed.”
    Another dinner Dad wouldn’t eat. Jim was right—I am alone. I looked hard at my father but he turned away, pulling the door shut, his footsteps shuffling slowly down the hall as the rain pounded the roof even harder. I pulled the iPod back out from under the blanket, cradling it with both hands, allowing myself
the memory of Mom singing along to a song she liked. I knew she was right, that music was too important to shut out for good. I would take my time and little by little I would add it back into my life, and maybe with each song I would feel a bit more like myself again. Maybe music would give me something to feel good about again. I hoped it would, since I really needed to find that new something soon.

14
    HOCKEY WEEK
    “Ten minutes, that’s all it takes. Come on.” Krupa turned to me from the driver’s side of her car, one hand still on the wheel. We were parked outside MacAfee Arena and the first hockey game of the school year was about to start. The rainy weather had continued throughout this week and it streamed across the windows. My fingers curled around the edge of the old cracked leather seat like she’d need to pry them away. “It will be good for you. Besides, there’s absolutely no chance you’ll run into Chris. Football players don’t go to hockey games.”
    “How do you know?” I asked.
    “I just do. The play-offs start tomorrow so there is no way they will be out on a Friday night. I am going to make a lot of money this weekend,” she sang happily, and took a sip from her Coke Slurpee.
    Maybe waiting alone in Krupa’s car would be more depressing than going inside and having to see other people. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”
    “Fantastic,” Krupa said, and began to drumroll her hands
against the steering wheel. “And then we’ll go have pancakes for dinner!”
    “Okay,” I said, and laughed. Krupa had been amazing since the breakup.
    She opened the door and got ready to run inside. “Let’s go,” she beckoned, and I got out, putting my arms over my head to protect myself from the rain, following her through a door with big blue letters that spelled “MacAfee Arena” across the glass. Soon the noise of a cheering crowd was audible. Krupa glanced back at me, her eyebrows raised, and I shrugged. Neither one of us had been to a Lewis hockey game so we didn’t know what to expect. We hurried through the ticket lobby and into the rink. The air was cold enough that I could see my breath and the arena was packed with people buzzing everywhere. We stood by the wall, taking in the sheer number of fans.
    “Wow,” she said.
    “No kidding. Who knew hockey was this popular?”
    “No wonder they’re paying me a hundred bucks a game.” Krupa rubbed her bare hands together to create warmth. “Where do you want to wait for me?”
    I scanned the bleachers, searching for a space high enough in the stands that I could see over the boards onto the ice. I cupped my palms and blew into them, wishing I’d brought gloves. It felt like winter in here. “I don’t know if I’ll find a spot to sit so how about we meet by the snack bar?”
    “Okay. I’d better go. I’ll see you in