The frozen pond in my backyard entices me when I get home.

Despite the long day.

Despite the bickering, the snide remarks, the drama.

Despite the fact that I need to start packing to leave for the Games on Monday.

Despite the fact that it is a cold, dark winter’s evening.

Despite all of the above, I turn on the floodlight. The trees closest to the house are bright and the ones farthest away are silver and ghostly. Everything is silent. I head down to the pond, drop my bag on a stump, put on my skates, take the ponytail holder from my hair and shake it loose, and then get out on the ice to enjoy the peace and quiet. First I simply skate in circles, enjoying the sound of my blades scratching the ice and the wind rustling the trees above. Then I move into the center for some spins and a few jumps, before resuming my trips around the edge of the pond, as though I’m a little girl again, just out here for the fun of it, and not on my way to the Olympics in a few short days.

It’s moments like these when I can remember my figure skating roots, which I really need to do right now. Not to mention have some alone time.

The alone time gets cut short, though.

“Esperanza?”

I know that voice. I didn’t before, but oh boy, now I do.

“Hunter?” I call out, turning around.

He is standing at the edge of the pond, watching me, a golden halo shining around him from the light at his back. I am all the way at the other end, in the shadowy part, which is good since he can’t see the shock on my face and my inability to wipe a sudden, giant smile away. Every time I saw him today, it was either from a distance or when he was surrounded by other people. To say I’m surprised he’s here is not enough to describe my state right now.

“Do you want some company?” he asks, like his presence in my backyard a whole hour away from Boston is a totally normal event.

“What are you doing here?”

He shifts from one foot to the other. “I thought I’d say hello?”

“Hello.”

“Hi. So, can I join you? Or do I need to wait for the formal invitation?”

“Oh,” I say, feeling like an idiot. “Do you want to join me?”

He grins ear to ear. “Definitely.”

I head toward him and watch as he trades his boots for his skates, then steps onto the ice. A part of me wonders whether this is really happening, whether Hunter Wills is actually on the homemade rink at my house, which, I have to say, is a pretty romantic place during the daytime, never mind at night.

“I’m not actually stalking you, I promise,” he says when he reaches me on the ice. “It’s just that Jason has a friend nearby he wanted to see, and when I realized how close he’d be to your house, I hitched a ride.”

“But how —”

“I found a listing for Flores in the phone book. You’re the only one in this town.”

My eyes get big. “Did you ring our doorbell?”

He nods. “I thought it would be better than breaking in.”

“Yeah, I think that’s probably true.” I laugh.

Hunter skates in a circle around me, but his eyes never leave mine. “When nobody answered, I took the liberty of coming around to the back. I read about your skating pond in one of the profiles of you online, so I had this sneaking suspicion I’d find you here. Even though I thought it was a little weird, since it’s like thirty-five degrees out.” He looks around. “This place is beautiful.”

I look around us too, up at the trees glowing in the dim light and the stars high up in the center of it all. “I know. My mother does this for me every winter — with a little help from her friends, of course. She’s done it ever since I was a little kid and fell in love with figure skating.”

Hunter’s blue eyes are sincere. “That’s kind of amazing.”

“My mother is a pretty amazing person,” I say, trying to ignore the twinge that hurts my heart at the thought of having to say good-bye to her on Monday. We start a big loop around the edges of the pond. “This used to be one of the only places where I could get on the ice, but ever since I started training for real with Coach Chen, it’s where I come to skate just for fun, or to remember why I love what I do, or sometimes a little bit of both.” I sigh, long and loud, without meaning to. “Not to be melodramatic or anything.”

“It’s not easy being the youngest person around,” Hunter says, taking a pair of gloves from his pocket and putting them on.

“Right. And don’t forget I’m also the new person.”

“Being new can be fun. You’re like the shiny new toy for the press.”

“I am not a shiny new toy. And I definitely don’t need the press on my back. They like to make stuff up. Cinderella stories and fairy tales and all of that.”

Hunter looks over at me as we head into the curve at the back of the pond. “So it’s just a rumor about you and that hockey guy?”

My eyes widen. “There’s a rumor about me and Danny Morrison?”

“Uh, yeah.” Hunter laughs. “More than one. You didn’t know?”

“My coach won’t allow me online until after the Olympics.”

“Seriously?”

I nod. The two of us slow until we come to a stop and face each other on the ice. Teeny, tiny snowflakes are actually starting to fall, and I almost want to laugh. “She doesn’t want me to get pulled into any drama,” I explain, trying to ignore the fact that this setting is only getting more goofily romantic by the minute, like we’re two people in a movie and not in real life. “She also doesn’t want me to get upset if and when people say mean, awful things.”

“Wow. Your coach is strict.”

“Or maybe smart?”

“Well, no one is saying anything bad about you. At least not that I’ve seen. But there is a lot of talk about the ‘Rhode Island Romance on Ice.’”

“Oh no! Really? That’s so cheesy!”

“The press loves the cheese.”

I pull my scarf a little tighter. When we’re not moving, I start feeling the cold. “I worried that might happen. People keep shoving Danny and me together.” I groan in frustration. “Why do they have to invent stories like that?” I shout into the darkness. “Don’t they know it’s not real?”

Movement off in the distance catches my attention suddenly. There are people streaming into my backyard.

Swarming, really.

People with cameras.

Real live paparazzi.

“Uh-oh,” Hunter says, watching them now too.

They are getting closer. Approaching the pond. It’s like I called them to us.

“How do they know we’re here?” I ask, perplexed, my heart hammering as they stream around the edge of the pond, like they all got together and came up with an attack plan. It’s a little bit like the beginning of a battle scene in those Lord of the Rings movies Mr. Chen is always trying to make me watch.

“ESPI! HUNTER!” they call out as they run toward us.

“Uh, it might be my fault,” Hunter says sheepishly. “I’ve been trying to shake the press all day. They like to follow me around, especially pre-Olympics.”

“ARE YOU A COUPLE NOW?” One yell emerges above all the others.

“What are we going to do?” I ask, deciding to ignore that question for the moment. “This has never happened to me before.”

“Well, I’ve got plenty of experience. Just follow me,” he says, skating off toward the very back edge of the pond.

I skate after him, my head turning side to side as the press follows us around the edges of the ice, right toward the place we’ll end up. With every passing second, they only get closer. “I’m not sure how this is going to help.”

“Trust me,” he says. “Now wait for it,” he adds as they come closer still, cameras poised and at the ready. Then, “Come on!”

Hunter grabs my hand and we fly toward the other side of the pond as fast as our skates can carry us, straight toward the protective safety of my house. I glance back when we are halfway there. The paparazzi are already on their way toward us again, but on foot and with all that gear, they’re no match for Hunter and me. We run straight off the ice and put on our guards as quickly as we can manage before grabbing our stuff off of the tree stumps and running up the path toward the door to the kitchen. We might have a good lead, but not enough to change into our street shoes. The press is still coming around the pond, stumbling along in the snow, when we are already up the back steps and tumbling inside.

I slam the door behind us and lock it.

Then I collapse to the floor with Hunter, our backs against one of the cabinets. The two of us catch our breath. In between heaves, I start to laugh and so does he.

“I can honestly say that has never happened to me before.”

Hunter looks over and rolls his eyes. “Welcome to my life.”

We undo the laces of our skates and set them by the door. Hunter pokes around a bit in the living room and down the hall. “Is anybody home?”

I shake my head. “My mother’s at work.”

“The bathroom … ?”

“Oh! Down the hall, second door on the right,” I tell him, hoping the bathroom isn’t too much of a mess with girly things like nail polish and curling irons everywhere.

My heart is still pounding from our run.

Or maybe also because of Hunter Wills’s presence in my house.

I can hear the press people clamoring just outside the door. I totally forgot he was a gossip magnet. And a paparazzi magnet. That he’s basically one giant boy-shaped magnet.

And I am now apparently tangled in his magnetic pull, whether I want to be or not. Which means I may end up being gossiped about too. Even if I already was before, now it will certainly get worse.

Dios mío.

I must have a panicked look on my face right now, because when Hunter returns to the kitchen, he takes one look at me and says, “Esperanza, it will all be okay.”

“Will it?”

“Sure,” he says, like this happens to him every day. Because it probably does. “This is just a normal part of an elite skater’s life. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t know if I can. It’s definitely not normal for me.”

Hunter peeks out from behind one of the curtains, then he checks the time. “I should go soon, and it might as well be now. I don’t want to be late to meet Jason, and the press is going to camp here until I come out, regardless of how long I take. We both need our rest before tomorrow anyway.”

I scramble to my feet. “Don’t they ever get tired?”

He shrugs. “Not really.”

“Well, good luck with that,” I tell him, glad it isn’t me who has to fight my way through all those people with cameras.

Hunter has a strange look on his face. “At least the rumors about you and Danny Morrison will go away after tonight.”

When he leans toward me for a second, I think he might be going to kiss me.

And he does kiss me, but on the cheek, which, honestly, is just as surprising since I am not expecting any kissing action this evening. I am not in the business of expecting kissing action from boys in general ever, since yes, it’s true, I am sixteen and I’ve never been kissed.

So sue me! This kind of thing happens when you’re a really serious athlete. Or so I hear. It’s not a big deal. Not at all!

“See you tomorrow, Espi,” he says as he pulls away. Then he grabs his bag and his skates, like it’s no big deal that he just kissed me on the cheek. Like he’s been planning it all night or something.

And maybe he has.

“See you,” I croak, all flustered and blushing.

He opens the door and heads out into the cold and mayhem, like this is just another evening in the life of Hunter Wills.

Well, let me tell you: This is not just another night in the life of Esperanza Flores, which is why I immediately have to conference Joya and Libby in on a call so I can analyze every single detail of every moment of the evening with their assistance, and also why I absolutely cannot get any sleep, even though I really need it.

What with the Olympics coming up and everything.