Read Online Girl Before a Mirror by Liza Palmer - Free Book Online Page A

What are you up to tonight?” I ask.
    â€œI’ve got a date,” Sasha says, standing.
    â€œNice. Don’t stay out too late. We have a plane to catch first thing,” I say, swinging my workbag over my shoulder.
    â€œYep,” Sasha says.
    â€œSee you tomorrow morning?” I begin walking down the hallway.
    â€œAnna?” I turn around. Sasha continues, “Thanks for today. You were . . . thanks for being nice . . . nice to me.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” I say. A smile. An exhausted, starving, why-did-I-agree-to-go-to-an-ice-rink-tonight-of-all-nights smile.
    The cold of the rink feels good. I buy a hot dog at the concession stand along with a soda and some peanut M&M’s. I eat the hot dog while I’m waiting for some kid to put relish on his dog and then I go back to buy another one. I’m beyond starving.
    I walk toward the bleachers and my entire life with Ferdie comes rushing back. How many hours, days, and lifetimes have I spent in the bleachers of some hockey rink? I settle in and bite into my (second) hot dog, putting my soda and M&M’s just next to me on the bleachers. I’m glad to be here and not spinning at home in a haze of to-do lists and travel arrangements.
    A gaggle of tiny boys in giant hockey pads moves across the ice in a chaotic, swirling eddy of cracking hockey sticks and shouts for them to slow down and listen. It’s a game of epic proportionsbetween the teeny-tiny red team and the teeny-tiny blue team. Despite their attempts at being rough and scary, they are beyond adorable. I scan the bleachers for Ferdie, thinking he’s up next in some kind of ornery adult league they’ve got going on here. My eyes are drawn back to the ice as a ref has to pull one teeny-tiny red player off a teeny-tiny blue player like they’re overexcited puppies in a box.
    Ferdie.
    I lean forward, almost choking on my hot dog. Ferdie’s faux-hawked curls creep out from under his helmet as he holds the teeny-tiny red player under one arm with ease, trying not to laugh at the windmilling arms of the teeny-tiny blue player who is after them both. The black-and-white-striped long-sleeved shirt hides most of Ferdie’s tattoos from the boys who would definitely think they were way too cool.
    â€œYou don’t think it’s stupid?” Ferdie asks after the game is over.
    â€œStupid? No way. I think it’s amazing.” We walk to the Metro, his giant hockey bag swung over his shoulder.
    â€œThe pay is nothing, but these other refs are telling me you can really make a lot of money doing this.”
    â€œI think it’s great,” I say, looking up at him. “You look happy.”
    â€œHappy.” He lights up a cigarette.
    â€œNow if you could just stop smoking,” I say.
    â€œBut smoking makes me happy,” he says with a wink, flicking his lighter off and sliding it into his pocket. We are quiet as we walk. “I haven’t been happy for a long time.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œFeels scary,” he says, not looking at me.
    â€œAbsolutely terrifying,” I say, unable to look at him, either.

4
    So when people say Phoenix is a dry heat, they clearly mean that this is what it feels like to be cremated. For the first few feet outside the airport, I’m in denial. It’s not that bad, I keep saying to myself. My sunglasses fog up during the Rental Car Shuttle ride. I can’t take a full breath. The sweat is immediate. And then it’s just basic survival skills as Sasha and I try to find our rental car. We are like two dying rodents stranded in the heat of the desert and all we want is shelter and water.
    We find our rental, load our luggage into the nonexistent trunk, and proceed to silently suffocate as the air-conditioning takes its sweet time. Sasha and I just stare dumbly at the vents. Waiting. Unable to think or do anything else.
    Then we’re cast out onto various freeways that loop