Disclaimer: All rights to the Mother-Daughter Book Club series belong to Heather Vogel Frederick.

Author's Note: This is written for all the lovely people who wanted another Tristan/Cassidy fic. It is set after Wish You Were Eyre. Enjoy!

I've played with all the girls in the locker room. I've felt their get-out-of-my-way-or-I-will-literally-hurt-you aura. Most of them are taller, bigger, and stronger than the average adult. And yet, right now, they all look like scared little girls.

"Coach Larson has gone crazy," Allegra says mournfully to glum nods.

Something the girls on the team say a lot is "There's nothing I won't do for hockey." And it's completely, 100% true. Hockey is our lives, our lives are hockey. It's, like, a self-evident truth.

So when Coach Larson says that all of the girls on the hockey team have to attend a figure skating camp for a week, I have to forcibly repeat my motto to myself. Nothing…I won't do…for hockey.

But skating camp?!

"If you think about it, hockey and figure skating have a lot in common," Coach Larson said.

Nonononono. Hockey girls do not prance around in tutus.

"But why can't we go to a hockey camp?" I blurted. "There's this new one in New Hampshire headed by the US National Hockey Federation and it's supposed to be really good."

"Bull," Coach Larson said before I even finished my sentence. "All of you have been to the best hockey camps in the nation. There's nothing that New Hampshire hockey has to offer that you don't already have. What you girls need now is to hone your skills on the ice and your ability to complement the skills of the other girls on the team."

"So," she finished, "skating camp."

Eighteen girls gulped at the ominous two words.

When I tell the news to the Mother-Daughter Book Club, they have mixed reactions, mostly gearing toward negative. Emma and Jess are disappointed because we had originally talked about spending this year's winter break together, for a change, and now we won't be able to. Megan completely sympathizes—for the camp directors,because she knows how hard it is to get me to do something I don't want to, especially when it's something girly.

Becca feels sorry for me because I'll be staying in "bumpkin" Minnesota, where I won't have no wifi or cell phone service for a week. Oh, the horror.

(It was pretty funny to see her reaction when I first told her the camp doesn't allow electronics. Note for future prank: try to persuade Mrs. Chadwick to send Becca to a camp in Minnesota—a hockey camp, ha. Becca would probably literally faint.)

The moms aren't very happy about the news either. Mrs. Hawthorne and Mrs. Delaney are concerned because I recently twisted my ankle and I'm not really supposed to do intensive exercise (not that I ever obey doctor's orders). Mrs. Wong is concerned about "the environmental impact of situating a commercial business at the heart of Minnesotan wilderness"—so typically Wong.

Even my stepfather, who is usually Mr. Optimistic, is grumbling, since the camp is pretty expensive (as in three zeroes expensive). I had a moment of beautiful, pure hope where I thought he would refuse to let me go.

But that hope soon died away, because well, want to know who isn't unhappy about the whole camp thing? My mom.

My mom is absolutely thrilled about the camp, it's ridiculous. She shouldn't be, considering that she's always complaining about how much money driving me to hockey practices and tournaments cost.

Reason number four thousand twenty-three why my mother confuses me: she complains about stuff like the cost of driving me a few miles, but she jumps at the chance to waste thousands of dollars on a stupid camp in the middle of freaking Minnesota.

Also, aren't mothers supposed to get sad when their children leave them for an extended period of time? Something relating to a motherly instinct.

Whatever it is, my mom sure doesn't have it. She's perfectly happy to send her youngest daughter thousands of miles away for an opportunity to develop the non-existent "inner womanliness" that she is determined to find.

Cue my sigh of exasperation.

If it was just camp without the figure skating bit, I wouldn't mind so much. The area is pretty nice. Tall trees surrounding a glinting lake, a baby blue sky untouched by air pollution, and fresh air that I breathe deep into my lungs. 'Bumpskin' Minnesota brings back the times my dad and I used to go camping.

We drag our stuff to the log cabin standing off to the side. The fierce winter wind dies away as we enter the cabin, which is warmed by a huge fireplace.

A red-haired woman smiles at us. She looks like a therapist—nice-looking and overly cheerful on the outside, but pushy on the inside.

"Hi! Are you the Lady Shawmuts? From Concord, Massachusetts?"

We nod.

"Great, you're the last to arrive!" She makes it sound as if being late was a good thing. I wonder if she ends all her non-question sentences in exclamation points. "I'm Ellie Gresshl, the camp director! Welcome to Adams Camp for Talented Adolescents on Ice!"

There is a pause, as if she expects us to cheer. Allegra mimes barfing and I have to choke back a laugh. Oh my god. Talented adolescents on ice? What goofball named this camp?

"Well. You can put your luggage right over there—" Ellie points to a corner already filled with suitcases and bags—"and then come with me! You're just in time for the bonding session!"

This time, when Allegra and I look at each other, we both mime spewing out the world's most disgusting fake vomit.

Ellie takes us to a large room where kids are lounging around.

"Boys," Denise says slowly, as if they were the world's most fascinating and exotic specimen. Which I guess they kind of are. "Boys do figure skating?"

"Hey, no discrimination allowed here, ladies."

I know that voice. I know that posh British accent, that arrogant tone.

My eyes find familiar dark blue. An even more familiar smirk.

"Hey, Cass."

My eyes narrow even as my stomach flutters. "Should've known I'd find you here, ice princess."

Instead of getting angry, Tristan's smirk simply widens. He glances at the guys sitting next to him as if to say see what I mean?

I'm completely ready to grab him by the neck and ask him what lies he has been spreading about me, when Ellie's annoyingly chirpy voice appears next to my shoulder.

"Oh, this is wonderful! You two are already bonding!"

"Actually, I had the pleasure of meeting Cassidy once before," Tristan says pleasantly. I glare, mostly from confusion. What is he playing at? Is this the same boy who told me I had body odor issues during our first meeting?

"Oh, then you simply must be partners for the competition!"

"Of course," Tristan agrees.

Partners? "Wait, wait," I interrupt. "Sorry to rain on this parade, but I don't remember agreeing to this partnership."

Ellie and Tristan exchange a look, like isn't-she-cute.

"Oh, you didn't think you'd be skating alone, sweetheart, did you? After all, this is pair skating camp."

My mouth falls open. Time freezes. An elephant falls through the ceiling and crushes both Ellie and Tristan.

(Well, maybe the last one didn't happen.)

I see a pale Allegra mouthing "pair skating camp."

"Can I go back to the car? I don't think I feel so well," Denise says weakly.

I am going to kill Coach.