Snow Queen (7 page)

“Ow!” Aubrey cried, lifting her foot.

Layla, the owner of the offending foot, threw her hands up. “I cannot work like this!” She
turned toward the wings, where Fabrizia was watching the rehearsal, her trusty clipboard in hand. “Can we rethink the whole ‘everyone has to be in the opening dance number’ thing? Aubrey’s serious lack of rhythm is messing everyone up.”

Aubrey’s jaw dropped. She was about to respond, but Grayson beat her to the punch. Apparently, he had just arrived when Aubrey’s attention had been elsewhere.

“Layla, is that really necessary?” he asked, walking down the aisle toward the stage.

For a moment Aubrey felt as if she’d won some small battle as Grayson defended her to his sister. But then she realized he hadn’t actually said that Layla was
wrong
about her lack of rhythm. And besides, she was supposed to be angry at him. She was supposed to be angry at the entire Chamberlain family and everything they represented.

“Sorry, Grayson,” Layla said, her eyes wide and innocent. “It’s just…I want this pageant to be the best it can be.”

“I know. You’re a perfectionist,” Grayson said fondly, smiling up at Layla from the front row.
Layla grinned back, all sweetness and light.

Aubrey’s jaw dropped. How could he be so totally blind to her bitchiness? Layla was so fake around her brother it was ridiculous. And he bought her act like it was five-cent candy.

But then, he was a two-faced jerk too. Maybe it was just a trait that ran in the family.

“All right, everyone, let’s take a ten-minute break!” Fabrizia called out, raising her arms in the air.

Layla turned on her heel, her ponytail whipping around, and strode off the stage to the left. Aubrey pivoted in the other direction and, along with Christie, strode off stage right, which put her in the unfortunate position of having to walk past Grayson. He turned toward her as she approached, making it obvious he wanted to talk to her. Aubrey’s pulse pounded in her temples and sweat slicked her palms. But she was not going to stop. Not for a Chamberlain. No matter how annoyingly gorgeous he was.

As she slipped by him, Grayson’s smile turned into a crease of confusion.

“Aubrey, is something—”

She stopped in her tracks and Christie
barreled right into her, slamming into her arm. Aubrey stared him down.

“Sorry. I don’t have time for lying hypocrites right now,” she said.

Grayson’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Aubrey grabbed Christie’s hand in solidarity and kept walking up the aisle. She should have known that someone that hot couldn’t possibly be a good guy.

T
he dressing room backstage was a long, wide, low-ceilinged space with two entrances, centered by a row of well-lit mirrors, each with a plush stool situated before it. Each of the snow princesses had claimed one mirror as her own, and the counter space in front of the mirrors was starting to become cluttered with all kinds of colorful, fragrant paraphernalia. Makeup kits, tubs of lip gloss and moisturizer, perfume atomizers, eyelash curlers, straightening irons, tubes and palettes and bottles and brushes. Tons of stuff Aubrey had never even heard of before, let alone used. Every time she walked inside the room, she felt a little bit more claustrophobic, a tad more intimidated, and a pinch more irritated that she had let herself get sucked into this world.

It wasn’t that she detested all girlie things,
but this was girlie overkill.

“My feet are killing me,” Aubrey said, dropping down on her stool and carefully removing her toes from her black, high-heeled sling backs. Christie had coaxed her into packing them back in Florida, saying they might go out for a nice dinner one night. Now, in retrospect, Aubrey realized she had been played. Christie had known she would need these shoes for the pageant. Who knew her best friend could be so sneaky? “How do people walk around in these things all day?”

“Come on. It’s not that bad,” Christie replied, perching on her own stool.

“Please. I’ve only spent two hours in these little torture devices and I’m ready to toss them in the Spotted Owl’s fireplace when we get home,” Aubrey grumbled.

Christie smiled and shook her head fondly. The day’s rehearsal had just ended, and she and Aubrey were the first to return to the dressing room, but the place was gradually filling up with chatter and laughter and spritzes of deodorant and perfume. Aubrey dropped her shoes on the counter in front of her mirror along
with the half-empty bottle of Gatorade, her Mariners baseball cap, and her small pink-and-white-striped makeup case, which she’d gotten free with a purchase at Victoria’s Secret last fall. Green velour pajama bottoms. So comfy. Aubrey groaned in longing just thinking about them. She rubbed her aching arches and put her cheek down on the white lacquered countertop, feeling sorry for herself. The problem was, she couldn’t quite figure out why she was feeling sorry for herself. It wasn’t as if she had never had sore feet before.

“What’s wrong?” Christie asked.

“I don’t know. I feel all…blah,” Aubrey replied, turning so that her chin was down and she could see just her eyes and forehead in the mirror. “What’s my problem?”

“Um…maybe it’s this sudden cold front between you and Grayson?” Christie suggested, touching some Vaseline to her lips. “What’s going on there?”

“Nothing. And that’s definitely not what I’m upset about,” Aubrey said, sitting up straight. “Grayson Chamberlain can kiss my butt.”

“What? I thought you liked him,” Christie
said, dropping the tube of Vaseline on her counter. “Or are we back to ‘sometimes’?” she joked.

“No. We’re on ‘never.’ It’s not like I’m going to be canoodling with the enemy,” Aubrey whispered, glancing around. Luckily all the other girls seemed to be too involved trading makeup tips and gossiping about one another to care what she and Christie were whispering about. “What kind of friend do you think I am?”

Christie’s pretty brow creased. “I’m confused. Why is Grayson the enemy?”

“Hello? His family is trying to shut down your family’s business!” Aubrey whispered harshly.

Christie laughed and started to toss her makeup back into her big silver bag, one tube at a time. “So? That’s not Grayson. That’s his parents.”

“Yeah, but he knew all about it and he didn’t even warn your grandparents, who he supposedly likes and respects,” Aubrey replied.

“How do you know he knew?” Christie asked.

“Just something he said. Or didn’t say,” Aubrey told her, sitting up and toying with the Gatorade bottle. “I don’t know.”

“Um, yeah. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Christie suggested.

Aubrey scoffed. “Please.”

“I’m serious! Grayson is…different from the rest of his family,” Christie said under her breath, eyeing Layla in the mirror. The girl was standing near the wall a few feet away, checking out her eyebrows in a compact mirror. “Why don’t you just ask him about it?”

“Just walk up to him and ask him if he knew his parents were trying to ruin your grandparents’ lives,” Aubrey said skeptically.

“Well, maybe not in
those
words. But ignoring him is just…immature.” She glanced at Aubrey and bit her lip. “Sorry.”

Aubrey blew out a sigh, but said nothing. She had an awful twisting feeling in her gut that was telling her Christie was right and she was wrong. And she hated that feeling.

“I’m gonna go down to the lobby. I’ll meet you there,” she told Christie. She shoved all her stuff into her duffel bag and turned around to go, slamming right into Layla, who had just stepped away from the wall. Layla’s compact went flying and the mirror shattered into about
a zillion pieces on the floor. A couple of girls screeched and jumped out of the way as if someone had just tossed a stink bomb into the room.

“Look what you did!” Layla blurted. “Why are you even here? Why can’t you just go back to Florida where you belong?”

The room, which had been noisier than an NHL playoff game two seconds earlier, was now dead silent. Aubrey knew they were dying for a catfight, but she was not a catfight kind of girl. She rolled her eyes and walked past Layla into the hallway.

“I asked you a question.”

Aubrey stopped in her tracks. She couldn’t believe that Layla had actually followed her. She ever so slowly turned around.

“What?” she asked.

“Why are you even here?” Layla asked, her voice much lower. She was dead serious. She really wanted to know. “You may be fooling Grayson, but don’t try telling me a tomboy like you really wants to be Snow Queen. You’d be much happier cross-checking some guy into the boards.”

Aubrey hesitated, surprised and impressed that Layla even knew about cross-checking and boards. For a moment, she let her guard down. “I’m here for Christie, all right? I promised her I’d help her win.”

And beat
you, she added silently.

“Aw. That’s so sweet,” Layla said. She narrowed her eyes. “But I’m not buying it.”

“But I—”

“Look, if you’re here for Grayson, I’m just going to ask you once…politely…to back off,” Layla said.

Aubrey snorted a laugh. Christie stepped out into the hallway behind Layla but held back in silence, recognizing that there was a standoff going on.

“How was that polite?” Aubrey asked Layla.

“Believe me, it was,” Layla said. Aubrey stared at Layla for a moment, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Then, out of nowhere, Layla’s eyes softened and she quickly glanced away. “I’m serious, Aubrey. The last thing Grayson needs right now is to get played by some tourist.”

Aubrey’s jaw clenched. Her fingers tightened
around the handles on her duffel bag. “I’m not here for your brother,” she said through her teeth.

“Good,” Layla said, tossing her hair back. “I hope you mean that. Because I’m going to be watching you.”

With a fling of her ponytail, Layla turned and brushed by Christie, who was strolling back into the dressing room.

“What was
that
all about?” Christie asked.

“That was about Layla bossing everybody around. As usual,” Aubrey griped. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” They started down the hall together, leaving the chatter of the dressing room behind. “So, what did Layla mean by ‘the last thing he needs right now’?” Aubrey asked.

“Oh, she was probably talking about Sophia,” Christie said, waving a hand as if it meant nothing.

“Sophia?” Aubrey asked.

“Grayson’s ex. They were together for, like,
ever
, but I heard from one of the girls that she broke up with him before she left for school in August,” Christie explained. “I guess Layla thinks he’s not over it yet.”

“Oh,” Aubrey said.

“I know you think Layla’s a total jerk, but she and Grayson have always been close. She really cares about her brother,” Christie said. “I guess she doesn’t want to see him get hurt.”

“Well, I’m not going to be hurting anyone,” Aubrey replied, running her finger along the wall as they walked. “But just out of curiosity…what was this Sophia girl like?”

“Oh, she and Layla were complete BFFs. Sophia actually won Snow Queen last year,” Christie said. “She was
so
pretty. And smart. She goes to Brown now.”

“Really?” Aubrey said, feeling a pang of jealousy in her chest. So Grayson really did like the pageant-girl type. Beautiful and poised and perfect. Good thing she didn’t like him anymore. It sounded like there was no way she would ever be able to measure up to Grayson’s ex.

Christie’s face fell when she saw Aubrey’s grim expression. “But don’t worry. I never really thought they went together anyway,” she added quickly. “Besides, I thought you didn’t care about him anymore,” Christie teased, nudging Aubrey with her elbow.

“I don’t!” Aubrey said quickly, annoyed that she’d let her feelings show through. “I don’t. I told you, he’s the enemy. I am officially done thinking about Grayson Chamberlain.”

“This place has the best selection of snow gear in town,” Rose said, holding the door of Tucker’s Ski Shop open for Aubrey and Christie. “You girls should definitely be able to find something for the pageant here.”

Aubrey looked around the airy shop, and her tightly wound shoulder muscles instantly relaxed. She felt more at home here than she had during any of the other pageant prep stops. The dress boutique had made her feel itchy, hot, and unattractive, and the woman behind the makeup counter at the local department store—with all her talk of sun damage and freckles and dry skin—had made her want to sprint for the airport. But this…this felt like heaven. Hanging from the ceiling were hundreds of colorful snowboards, each with a bright price tag dangling from it. All along one wall were cubbyhole shelves filled with athletic gear—everything from Under Armour pants and shirts to Adidas
jogging shorts to thick, reinforced-toe socks. They had ski boots and hiking boots and ice skates and even hockey sticks. Aubrey walked over to a display rack and took down a red and silver aluminum Easton stick.

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” she said, running her hand along its smooth handle.

“Yeah, yeah. You can look at that later,” Christie said, removing the stick from her hands and returning it to the rack. “We’re here for snowsuits, remember?”

Aubrey let out a sigh of longing.

“Hi, Rose…Christie.”

A stocky man in a turtleneck sweater walked over from behind the cashier’s counter, rubbing his hands together. He was balding on top, with some scruffy hair around his ears, and wore thick glasses.

“Hi, Jason,” Rose said, giving him a quick hug. “How’s business?”

“Good, good. Well…actually…not great,” he said with a good-natured laugh. “No snow, you know? Not good for the ski shop.”

“Sorry about that. Aubrey here’s praying for
it every night, if that helps,” Christie said.

Jason smiled at Aubrey. “Every little bit helps. So…you girls here shopping for the pageant?”

“Yep,” Christie said, glancing around. “Looks like you have some great stuff this year.”

“Well, I wanted to let you know that whatever you need…you can have it on loan from the shop for free,” he said, blushing a bit as he made the offer.

“What? No. That’s too generous,” Rose said.

“Oh, please. I’ve known you and Jim my whole life. Christie, too,” Jason said, the blush deepening. “Everyone in town is pulling for you to win, Christie. I hope you know that.” Then he glanced at Aubrey. “No offense. It’s just these folks have always been there for me and my family. We’re kind of like one
big
family in this town.”

“None taken,” Aubrey said. “But if you’re loaning stuff out for free, let’s talk about this hockey stick.” She ran her fingers over the Easton stick again.

Jason laughed. “Snowsuits only. Sorry. But happy shopping.”

“Thank you so much, Jason. Really. This is
very sweet of you,” Rose said.

“Anytime,” Jason replied, nodding as he returned to the desk.

“That was cool,” Aubrey said. “And the whole town is cheering for you!”

Christie grinned from ear to ear. “I guess it’s good to have grandparents like Rose and Jim.”

Rose clucked her tongue, embarrassed. “Come on. Let’s hit the racks.”

Christie dragged Aubrey away from the hockey area and into an aisle filled with vinyl and fur and neon accents. It was the only section of the store she would never have thought to peruse.

“The key is to get something colorful, but not too ostentatious,” Christie instructed, carefully examining a hot-pink suit. She wrinkled her nose at it and moved on. “You want it to be formfitting but not too sexy.”

“I can’t imagine how any of these could be considered sexy,” Aubrey said, pulling out a lime-green snowsuit with purple piping.

“Well, the judges will be able to spot you from a helicopter in case of an avalanche,” Rose said, fingering the grainy fabric. “But I don’t think
mountain safety is one of the requirements.”

Aubrey laughed and moved on to another rack. She spotted a light-blue snow jacket with white fur around the hood, which came with a pair of matching pants. The lining on the inside was silky and white, and when she slipped her arms into the sleeves, it felt all cuddly and warm. Not only would it look good onstage, but she could actually imagine wearing it again—if she ever came back to Vermont. Maybe she should buy instead of borrow.

“This isn’t too bad,” she said, automatically reaching for the price tag, which was dangling near her wrist. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw the handwritten numbers. “Five hundred dollars?” she whispered, thoughts of making a purchase flying out the window. “Wow. It’s good Jason’s letting us borrow this stuff.”

“Seriously,” Christie said. “But your mom said she’d totally fund your pageant run, right?”