"If you want to live a life you've never lived, you have to do things you've never done." - Jen Sincero

"So he's gone. Really gone this time." Adam took a tentative sip of black coffee.

"Absolutely, one hundred percent. Haven't talked to him since." Despite Adam's reticence to drink the coffee, Lacey practically guzzled her own which was laden with cream and sugar. "It was actually over after the homecoming dance when he tried to convince me in his car to go…" she paused, trying to be modest, "...to the Wisteria Inn."

Adam set his coffee down. "Oh. Okay," he nodded, and Lacey was sure he knew what she meant.

"When I said no, he of course flashed this big attitude and from there it got worse. Next thing I knew he was on the verge of throwing us both through the windshield while tearing down Excelsior Boulevard. Hence my asking him to stop and let me out." She glanced off for a second, a bit embarrassed. "So you were right. I never should have given him another chance."

Adam regarded her with no judgment on his face. "You were just trying to be fair. I think it was noble. But I'm glad to know that after what he did, you're done."

Lacey and Adam sat facing one another in a booth at the nearby Waffle House following Adam's first game of December against the Jets. It was pretty late, and this was one of the only places open en route back to her house, but she could tell by the way Adam constantly looked around that it wasn't a restaurant he'd normally choose. But he said nothing about it and just ordered two over-medium eggs. And, surprisingly, regular black coffee, which he didn't normally care for. Lacey wondered if his attempt to drink coffee with her was his way of feeling less guilt about turning his nose up at the place.

Just then, a tall, burly man with tattoo sleeves up both arms lumbered past them, issuing a loud, crass greeting to another guy who sat in the booth right behind them. As he plopped down across from the other man, he inadvertently shoved the booth seat back and Adam forward, almost into the table.

"Sorry man!" the guy apologized over his shoulder.

Adam turned slightly and gave a nod in acknowledgment, but looked back at Lacey, rolling his eyes.

She chuckled, adjusting the table to give him more room. "You're a diva. You know that, right?"

"I am not a diva!" Adam hissed, keeping his voice low. "You can't be a diva and play hockey."

"All right, touche. On the ice you're not a diva. But at Waffle House, you totally are."

He broke down and chuckled wryly. "I've been to a Waffle House maybe once."

"Yup. It shows," Lacey spoke as she speared a slice of waffle and popped it into her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she continued. "I'm helping you expand your comfort zone."

"And it's working. I think." Adam took another small sip of his coffee.

The two of them had been spending a lot of time together the past couple weeks. And even though some feelings for him that exceeded friendship did remain buried in her chest, what she and Adam shared in reality seemed far better to her. She'd "been there and done" the romance thing with Max. Lovey-dovey feelings and attraction, she'd discovered, were cheap. What she'd never had before was an actual friend, at least not like this. She'd held herself at too much of a distance from other people her entire life, and gosh knew she'd tried at first to do the same thing with Adam. But her walls had broken down easily when it came to him, despite their many differences.

Maybe it was because he seemed to genuinely like her on a level that surpassed her shallow popularity. So why would she ever risk a friendship like that for romance, if a romance was even budding? Adam didn't necessarily seem interested in one, anyway.

A few days ago on the phone, she'd finally asked him what she'd been wondering about for awhile. "Hey, you know quite a bit about my relationship with Max. So how many girls have you dated?"

She remembered how long he paused before he replied, "Well I really don't date that much. Pretty much 'cause I don't have time. I mean later on, maybe…"

"So what you're saying is, you've never had an actual girlfriend."

"Well… no, not yet I guess," he'd answered a bit defensively. "But it's okay, I mean it's just been my choice."

"Hey," she'd hoped her smile was heard over the phone to let him know she wasn't judging him. "I'm sure Jodi at The Daily Grind would be absolutely ready and willing any time you are."

He'd laughed then, and she'd decided to quickly change the subject. But what she carried away from that conversation was that Adam wasn't interested in romance any time soon.

The Chipmunks began singing "It's Beginning to Look Alot Like Christmas" over the Waffle House speakers, and Lacey cringed. She'd never been a fan. "We can go any time you want," she told Adam.

He shrugged. "Actually, I'm good sitting here while you drink your coffee. And besides, I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure." Lacey drank a little faster.

"Well," he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table as he cupped his mug with both hands. "I was thinking about what to get my mom for Christmas, and believe it or not, I'm considering a cat."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. She talks alot about having a pet, but doesn't really want the work that goes into keeping up a dog, so," he shrugged. "But I don't think a kitten's a good idea, because they're a lot of work, too. A grown cat would probably be best. Maybe a young one, though. Do you guys at Cat's Cradle have any that might fit that bill?"

Immediately Lacey knew which cat would be the best fit at the Banks' home. And she would miss her so very much, but this could be her furry friend's best chance at a good life outside a kennel.

"Stella," she smiled. "Stella's perfect. The yellow kitty I hold a lot?"

"Oh wow," Adam marveled. "You'd actually sell her to us? You guys are best buds."

"Of course," she shrugged. "I mean, at least with your family, I know she'd be taken care of. I'd rather adopt her to you than to someone I don't know."

"Can I come by sometime next week and play with her, just to make sure? And maybe look at the other cats, too?"

"Absolutely," Lacey took a final bite of her waffle and put her fork down. "I'll be there tomorrow, actually. How about then?"

"If I can get out of bed, sure," Adam replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Lacey had noticed he seemed to be in a lot more pain lately, even though he'd mentioned getting a prescription that was a bit stronger from the doctor earlier in the week.

"Adam," she asked seriously. "Have you at least talked to Coach Orion about this?"

He shook his head. "Not a chance."

This was the part that frustrated Lacey to no end. If this was rheumatoid arthritis - and she was becoming increasingly sure that it was, given not only what Adam described but what she'd read about on the internet at school - a flare-up could become almost debilitating at times. There's no way Adam could just push through pain like that without missing a game or two sometimes. But he steadfastly refused to tell both his parents and his coach what was happening to him.

"Does ice help?"

"Not really. Nothing has been lately, and the meds are just taking the edge off. I mean, I wonder, what did I do to develop this? Dr. Bartlett says it doesn't work like that, it can be just a freak thing that affects random people. But that still doesn't make sense to me. Some days I feel like I'm on fire, and I can't believe it's because of some kind of arthritis."

"Well, you're certainly strong, getting up and continuing to play like you do," Lacey gave him a small smile, swishing around the remaining coffee in her mug anxiously. "But I do want you to be careful. Learn your limits."

"Yeah, of course." Adam took one last sip of his own coffee, then set down the mug carefully just in time for the waitress to come around with a full pot.

"Want me to top you off, Hon?"

"N-" Adam began, but it was too late and a huge splash of coffee filled his cup, a few drops sloshing onto his nice white polo shirt. But he didn't miss a beat on being polite. "Thank you," he replied, waiting until she'd passed to turn his attention to the stains on his shirt.

"Use Shout and wash it on the cold cycle," Lacey giggled, standing. "Okay. Let's go. It's freezing in here by the window." Before he could catch her, she snatched up the bill. "You go warm your car up, and I'll pay for this."

Adam started to protest, but apparently recalling their conversation from a couple weeks ago, just laughed a little. "Alright then."

But Adam didn't show up the next day at the Cat's Cradle. He didn't call that night, nor did he call on Sunday, an odd thing since they'd been talking almost daily.

Had their friendship run its course? Had he realized what a dull person she was compared to the kind of people he was used to? What if it was the Waffle House thing? She should have just invited him over to her house that night and made him a sandwich.

It was torture spinning the same thoughts round and round in her head for days.

Tuesday night, her mom leaned across the table where she was checking over Ariel's math problems to try to meet the eyes of a downcast Lacey. "Call him," she spoke loudly and firmly.

Lacey lifted her head from her homework. "Mom, I can't. I don't want to bother him if he doesn't want to be bothered."

"Do you want to be friends with this boy or not?" her mom asked pointedly.

"Of course I do, Mom! It's… it's all been really great." It still felt odd for Lacey to discuss Adam with her Mom, who had never previously given her any indication that she was happy about the relationship. But right now, she was the only person Lacey had to confide in.

"Then you have to go after things that are worth it to you. If you hide out the way you do all the time, the stuff you want isn't going to just fall in your lap. So given how you feel about this kid, it's pretty clear you just need to pick up that phone," her mom pointed to the phone on the wall, "and call him."

Lacey bit her lip, turning back to her Calculus. "I'll think about it."

Her mom gave an exasperated sigh and threw her hands up in the air. "You're so stubborn!" she scooted her chair back from the table. "I cannot, for the life of me, think of who you got that from."

"Hmm, I don't know either," a small smile spread across Lacey's lips as she turned a page in her textbook.

An hour later she sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the digits on the cordless phone. What if something was actually wrong with Adam, and she never called to find out? Might he be waiting on her to call this time?

So Lacey pushed herself to punch in Adam's number and hold the phone up, counting the rings. After the third, a woman's pleasant voice answered. "Banks residence."

Oh my. She'd never heard of anyone not just saying 'hello'.

"Yes, um…" she froze for a moment. This must be Adam's mom, whom she'd never before seen or spoken to. "I was wondering i-if Adam was home?" she finally asked.

"He is. Might I tell him who's calling?" the woman inquired cheerfully. Something about her voice sounded familiar, but Lacey didn't have time to think about that now.

"It's Lacey."

"Lacey?" the woman repeated as though considering the name. "Okay, I'll tell him. Just a moment."

An eternity went by before Adam picked up the phone.

"Hello?" he greeted, sounding tired..

"Adam, hey. It's me, I just… well, we haven't talked, and I know it's only been a few days, but I was worried about you. If you need time to focus more on hockey, I understand, I just thought I should check-" Lacey abruptly shut her mouth, realizing how much she was nervously rambling.

"Lacey, no. None of that, I just…" he lowered his voice "... I'm hurting. Badly this time, and all over, like I have the flu or something."

"Should you go see Dr. Bartlett? Do you think it is the flu?"

"No. I went yesterday and had a test done just to rule it out. Mostly because Coach has a serious beef about people spreading sickness to the whole team," Adam kept his voice low. "Dr. B just said all my symptoms could be a part of this... thing."

"The RA," Lacey mused. "Adam, I'm really sorry. What can I do to help right now?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe go ahead and shoot me?" she could hear him wince. "I've got a game Friday, and we've got really intense practices this week. I gotta be able to get out on that ice. I already missed practice today and yesterday both. This has to stop."

Lacey sat thinking for a moment. It was obvious to her that something about Adam's lifestyle was going to have to change to accommodate this illness - but that was his call to make, and currently, he wasn't having any talk of backing down.

What was it going to take?

"So, are you in bed? What are you doing so far to cope with it?"

"IcyHot. Percocets, which are prescribed this time, I swear. Ice… but it seems like nothing's working, like what I was telling you Friday. This is just rough. And yeah, I've been in bed."

"Do you think it would help you to get out?"

"How?" Adam snorted. "I can barely move. And where would I go?"

"You could come over here just as a change of scenery and to have some company," Lacey suggested. "We can watch movies, drink some of Stuart's horrible tea, let Halen stare at you all googly-eyed…"

"Wait, what?"

"Halen. Don't you know she's in mad love with you?" Lacey chuckled. "If you're waiting ten more years to have a girlfriend, Halen's the one you ought to wait for. She'll be the ultimate girlfriend, I promise."

But Adam didn't laugh. He was obviously miserable.

Lacey became serious once again. "Do your parents know?"

"I told them I hurt my shoulder at practice last week. And I've pretty much stayed in my room. Mom keeps coming in to try to pull me out for a little while, and she brought dinner up last night, then sat in here and asked me a whole bunch of questions," he sighed. "I guess I'm going to have to tell her and Dad at some point. But they'd better not even try to keep me from playing hockey, because that's not happening."

"Should I come over there instead?" Lacey tried again to figure out what might make this bearable for him. "I can go by the video store and grab Jerry Maguire if they have it…"

"Thanks for the offer, but that's okay. And besides, I already have it on DVD," Adam replied.

Of course he did. Totally figured.

"I really don't want you going through this alone, Adam. Isolating yourself isn't going to help you mentally," Lacey admonished.

"Lacey, I know," he replied testily before immediately adding in a repentant voice, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to snap."

"I know. But I mean, well…do you want me to leave you alone and let you deal with it your way?"

She could hear the hesitation in Adam's voice and already predicted what he was going to say: "Yeah, I think just give me a little while. Dr. Bartlett said it's just a really bad flare, so I'll be okay, but I think I want to ride it out here in my room for now."

"Okay," Lacey finally surrendered, though not without trepidation.

"Thanks…"

Well, what else was she supposed to do? Should she have pushed back a little harder before granting his request for solitude? She took a few extra seconds to ponder it.

"Lacey?"

"Oh, um, sorry," she answered. "I was just thinking about something. Okay, well, when you feel like it, just give me a call. And of course if you need anything."

"Sure thing," he replied, and she could hear the pain in his voice as it sounded, from a rustling noise, like he was trying to change positions. "Thanks for checking in. Sorry about not calling."

"Hey, it's all good. Talk later."

Lacey pressed the button to disconnect the call, falling back on her bed and letting out a deep sigh.

How did people navigate this stuff? This was the part about human relationships she wasn't sure about. She really shouldn't have held herself back from having close friends all her life. Because now, this.

Growling to herself, she rolled over and plopped the phone on her nightstand and picked up The Perks of Being A Wallflower to eclipse her own friendship issues with those of the fictional world.

The answer regarding what to do hit Lacey between the eyes the next morning.

There was a certain class she was taking because she needed another free elective to graduate, and as she'd taken all the art appreciation classes being offered, she'd decided to go with…

Introduction to Sewing.

And she was so bad at it.

She had inadvertently sewn together the sunglasses case she had been instructed to make the first week of class and couldn't get it open. Week three was scrunchies, and hers turned out to be barely big enough to squeeze around a banana. The mistakes she made were usually simple and dumb, but Lacey could easily concede that she didn't really have any interest in sewing and therefore only half-paid attention to what she was doing.

But today, during Pick Your Own Project Day, she knew exactly what she wanted to make, and even how to go about constructing it.

So Lacey quickly gathered all she'd need before racing out the door to the Subaru with the twins, whom she rarely got to school on time, and came into class carrying a gallon-sized Ziploc bag full of uncooked rice, cinnamon, and pumpkin pie spice. She hated that she didn't have any lavender.

"And what's this you've picked, Lacey?" Mr. Getchel came by her work station to grant project approval.

"Well, something I think maybe I can do right this time," she chuckled, not minding that those around her laughed as well. Her mistakes in Sewing Class were already legendary. "I want to make a microwaveable heating pad. Scented with this stuff." She set the kitchen spices in front of him.

His eyebrows shot up as he smirked. "Well what do we know? Someone came up with a pretty original idea, Ladies!" he broadcast, cutting his eyes over the classroom. "If I see one more apron pattern I'm going to break down and cry. Miss Primmer here is doing a heating pad for the microwave."

"In theory," she piped up.

"Oh we can do this. Easy peasy. Alright!" he stood in front of the class and clapped his hands together in his animated fashion. "You guys know what to do. Fabric is over there," he waved his arm toward the corner, "scissors and measuring tape over there" he pointed left, "and I'm right here. See how far you can get without having to pester me, I've got a crossword puzzle to do!" he waved over his head, going to his desk.

Sewing class was totally worth it if just for Mr. Getchel's antics.

Lacey went over to the fabric corner, finding herself standing next to mousy Ashley Mason. "I know he said that about aprons," she whispered, looking hurt. "But I like them. I mean, it's something I'm finally good at sewing, you know?"

"Mr. Getchel's just quirky, Ashley. I think you should sew what you want. And hey, trust me. Once he sees how often I'm gonna have to break into his crossword puzzle to have him help me with this thing, he'll be begging me to make an apron next time."

Ashley giggled, settling on a safe pale pink and white gingham and carrying it off to the cutting table.

Lacey then spotted something she hadn't noticed in the fabric selection before - a sky blue knit with little green palm trees printed in rows all over it. She grinned. Perfect.

She set to work immediately, reminding herself to go slowly this time so as not to forget any steps. They typically had two days to work on one project, but Lacey was pretty sure she could get this one done today.

She was waylaid only once when Mr. Getchel announced from across the room, as she was about to pour in her mixed up rice, cinnamon and spice into the sack she'd cut out and sewed together, "Uh, Hon, you're going to need a liner for that."

Lacey dropped her hands and rolled her eyes. Nothing could ever be simple.

"Hey hey, no sweat there! Look, there's plenty of mesh and thin cotton over here you could pick from. Here's one," he went over and swiftly cut out a swatch of cotton muslin, bringing it to her.

"Pour it in this first, then sew it together. It protects the stuff inside and keeps it intact. Then you can slide it in the knit casing, sew it all together, and voila. No struggle, Honey!"

After that intervention, which Lacey immediately saw the sense in once Mr. Getchel explained it, she filled the palm tree printed casing, sewed it up at the top, and…

Wow, that really was easy. No wonder her aunt Rachel could whip up ten in a day and make a fortune off of them at the farmer's market.

Lacey finished ten minutes before the period was over and kept staring down at her creation, squeezing it, and sniffing it to be sure she'd used enough, but not too much, spice.

Meanwhile, Mr. Getchel began walking around, calling out grades for assignments. Lacey had always thought this was a terrible thing to do because of how humiliated one might be if they pulled a C or a D, but Sewing class was small and intimate, and no one really hassled anybody else or made them feel stupid for their mistakes. It had turned into another safe place for Lacey, despite her lack of talent.

"An A for you today, Lacey Primmer! Get it, Girl!" Mr. Getchel declared after examining the heating pad carefully and holding his hand up for a high five. Lacey obliged him, grinning as claps and giggles filled the air.

After dropping her sisters off at home after school, Lacey took longer than intended picking out wrapping paper at Sears. She found a size-appropriate gift box and finally settled on navy blue with a white stick-on bow, one of the few combinations she could find that didn't scream "birthday" or "baby shower." Not trusting her own wrapping skills, she carried it to the wrapping counter in customer service, then remembered there was one more thing she needed to add.

Lacey picked a complimentary gift tag off the spinning display on the counter, and tried to write small, in mock-official handwriting:

Here's your 'Island in the Sun'!

She used a payphone at the mall to call Stuart, who was off today, and ask him the Banks's address. Stuart, sweetly unquestioning as always, gave it to her as she wrote it on her wrist. "Tis a fantoosh neighborhood o'er there, Lass," he warned her before they hung up. "Be careful o' gargoyles!."

"Alright, sure thing," she laughed. "I'm just dropping something off. I'll be home in time for dinner."

Stuart was not at all exaggerating when he'd deemed the Banks' neighborhood fancy. Lacey was sure she had never seen so many front-yard fountains and cages around the bases of trees in her entire life.

And patterned landscapes.

And topiaries.

By the time Lacey had reached the correct address, which she checked three times - 450 North Hennepin Avenue - her heart was pounding in her throat.

The place was out of this world. The Banks' lived in a Tudor-style mansion, by her definition, brick with black trim, and it looked frankly foreboding to her, even though she was sure it would be considered a perfectly gorgeous house in other circumstances.

Trembling slightly, Lacey took a couple of "box breaths" as she took hold of her package and got out of the car which she'd parked on the street in front of the elegant walkway. Bushes, slumbering for the winter, lined the front of the house, and several brightly-colored and finely-chiseled clay pots were arranged on the front steps to await refilling in the summer. It was these little details Lacey tried to focus on in order not to let the feeling overtake her of being a doe at the business end of a hunting rifle. She drew her coat more tightly around her and rang the doorbell.

It wasn't long before the heavy door was opened and she was met by a smiling, ponytailed…

"Yvette?" Lacey's voice came out a little high. "Yvette Landon? From…"

The woman standing there seemed equally astonished. "... from the Autumn Bazaar in town, yes!" she beamed. "And you're Lacey, the girl I gave the San Francisco print to. Now I can put together why your name took me by surprise on the phone yesterday!"

Sure enough, the sweet and generous impressionist artist Lacey had met two months ago could only be… Adam's mom?! Phil Banks' wife? How had that last part ever happened, she wondered.

"Yeah! I… this is so strange," Lacey laughed a little in shock. "Am I to call you Ms. Landon, or Ms. Banks? I just had no idea…"

"Well," Yvette winked, "I'm Mrs. Banks officially, Ms. Landon in the art world, but Yvette to you. How fascinating to realize you're friends with Adam! Please, come in."

Lacey was swept inside still clutching the gift, trying to remind herself to be the very picture of polite, but she couldn't keep from staring all around her once she entered the Banks' foyer. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and the earth-toned decor lent an overall feel of elegance and class to the home. However, she quickly noticed that above the long mahogany table against the far wall hung a large, colorful painting of a peacock. It seemed slightly out of place, but at the same time, lightened up the atmosphere considerably.

"That's beautiful," Lacey commented, stepping closer to inspect it.

"Thank you! Adam makes fun of it, but he knows by now that it isn't going anywhere," she smiled. "Here's a rack for your coat and scarf. Then won't you come into the kitchen? I'll make some tea and we can chat."

"Sure," Lacey replied, mechanically taking off her coat while never once pausing her inspection of the gorgeously decorated house. The furniture was in pristine shape, the parquet floor brightened up by rugs of various colors, and the lighting warm, casting everything in a glorious glow. It was at once too beautiful to want to disrupt by making yourself at home, yet held just enough brightness and comfort - thanks to Yvette's touch, no doubt - to be inviting at the same time.

She followed Adam's mom into the gourmet kitchen, a wide open space with every kind of shiny appliance imaginable. Crystal clear hanging lamps hovered over a marble countertop under which sat diner-style red barstools. But something else, as whimsical as the peacock painting, caught Lacey's eye as Yvette busied herself putting on a kettle of hot water.

A beautiful, frost-covered Christmas spruce decorated from top to bottom with red birdhouses, cardinals, and berries.

"Wow, this tree is amazing," Lacey commented, hoping she wasn't overdoing the compliments.

"You think so?" Yvette looked over. "I love Christmas trees, and I have to confess, we've got several hanging out in various rooms. We get a real tree for the living room, but all the others are recycled from year to year. I think the red decor on that one compliments the kitchen colors well, don't you?" She turned to face Lacey, leaning against the counter next to the stove on which the red kettle was beginning to emit steam.

Looking at the woman, Lacey wondered how she ever could have missed the similarities: Yvette's eyes were wide and blue just like Adam's, and her nose sloped upward as did his. But what she couldn't get over the very most was still the knowledge that Yvette Landon was Adam's mother.

She wanted to fist-pump over the fact that this was a woman she already liked so much, but she instead brought her attention back to the present as Yvette was now asking her what type of tea she liked.

"Oh, um…" Lacey paused. "I don't have it very much, so I'll take whichever type you're having."

"How about Irish Breakfast, then?" Yvette went over to a set of canisters in the corner of the counter and opened one, pulling out two tea bags. "I typically drink loose leaf, but it's such a hassle sometimes. Now if you aren't a big tea drinker, would you like something else?" she flashed a smile at Lacey, who shook her head.

"No ma'am, tea is fine. And thank you."

Once the kettle whistled, the hot water poured into matching mugs, and the tea bags were steeping, Yvette brought the steaming cups over to the bar and sat down, gesturing for Lacey to do the same. "So tell me about you and Adam!" she inquired enthusiastically. "Do you go to Eden Hall?"

"No, ma'am," Lacey replied hesitantly. "I go to R.C. Driskell. In the Hopkins area."

"Oh okay," Yvette took a sip of her brew. "Do you play hockey for them? Adam meets about every friend he has on the ice. But I'm sorry for asking so many questions. I should just let you tell the story."

So Lacey gave a very abridged explanation of how she'd met Adam through a hockey-playing "mutual friend" - conveniently leaving out the part about the Percocets, the Max drama, and the doctor visit - and that they just enjoyed spending time together.

"He's just, you know, a nice guy," Lacey concluded lamely with a shy smile, taking a sip of her tea and trying not to grimace. If only this was coffee.

"He is definitely a nice guy. But of course I'm very biased," Yvette giggled, crossing her legs and leaning on the counter. "It's good to hear you're not necessarily tied to hockey yourself. Adam needs more interaction away from the rink, you know? He's just so obsessed with the game, and…" she sighed. "As good of a player as he is, I really don't feel he needs to put all his eggs in the NHL basket. But he's determined, and Phil doesn't help things in that department," she rolled her eyes. "But, he is going to NYU next year, which is a place with lots of varied interests, so that's something. Anyway,!" she sat up straighter. "My point is, I'm glad he's making new friends and doing other things."

Lacey thought about what to say to all this, then finally just went with what came to her. "I know what you mean about the NHL dream. I think he's good enough to make it, but I understand why you say he shouldn't count on it. Things can happen, and," she paused, thinking about Adam's rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis, "it's good to have other interests and a plan just in case. Do you get to go to many of his games?"

Yvette grimaced. "Actually, I don't go to any of them. I know, judge away," she took another sip of her tea. "The reason for that is, as silly as it sounds, I can't stand to see him get hurt." She chuckled. "Such a hockey mom thing to say. I guess it's because when he was little - just starting out at six or so - he was smaller than the other kids, and was constantly coming away from practices and games with bruises and cuts, and I realized one day that it upset me so much to see him getting creamed out there on the ice and gave me so much anxiety that I had to just stop. As long as Phil goes and he has someone there to cheer for him, I'm happy enough to stay away. Although of course he knows I'm proud of him, and am trying to support him," she added quickly. "I just can't do the games."

Lacey nodded. "Hockey's a violent sport for sure. But he holds his own really well out there. As a matter of fact," she set her mug down after she'd drunk enough of the tea to be polite, and bent down to pick up the gift box she'd set on the floor beside the bar stool, "I know he's injured right now and probably doesn't want to be bothered, but I brought him something. It isn't much, but maybe it'll be helpful to him. I made it in sewing class." She passed the box over to Yvette.

"You sewed something for him? Oh I'm sure that'll mean a lot!" the woman beamed, fingering the bow. "Adam has a soft spot for little touches like these. He's my sensitive one. Travis is my sledgehammer." Yvette stood. "Would you like to go up and take it to him yourself?"

"Oh no, that's okay," Lacey stood quickly. "We talked on the phone yesterday, and I think he's pretty keen on riding this out by himself. So I just wanted to bring by something to let him know I'm thinking of him, and hope he gets well very soon."

Yvette held the package and studied Lacey for a minute, causing her to want to squirm. Had she said the wrong thing?

But finally Yvette broke into her bright smile again. "I like you, Lacey. I can tell you're a promising girl for so many reasons. And please know you can come around here as often as you like."

Lacey returned the smile, if a little uncomfortable. She was unused to moms who gushed their feelings so readily. "Thank you, I… I like being h-here," she stammered out a suitable reply.

"Come on with me, I want to show you just one more thing before I take this up to Adam." Yvette gestured for Lacey to follow her. On the far side of the living room and down another hall, the two of them emerged into a high-ceilinged, bright room with large windows and a picturesque view of the neighborhood. Paintings of all subjects, sizes and colors nearly covered the white-painted walls, and there were at least three easels in sight with three different half-finished paintings resting on them.

"This is my studio. It's my room," Yvette emphasized as she set the package down on a low table. "I told Phil I was fine with the rest of the house being suitably gloomy for his business dinner guests, but this place is all mine," she held her arms out. "In the summer, those windows are open all the time. And since you seem to enjoy art so much, I wanted to show you what I'm working on right now."

Yvette crossed over to one of the walls, indicating a row of three paintings, all of various dresses on hangers. Lacey took in a quick breath, walking over to stare at the details and beauty of each - one a red cocktail dress, one a sweeping white, floral-print sundress, and then one that looked like a 1950's style chiffon dress.

"These are gorgeous! Is it a new series?"

"It is. And I'm trying a bit of a different painting style, one that's a little more linear. I had to do sketches beforehand to keep me focused on where I'm going. I'm thinking the next one should be a wedding dress. Either that or a blue ballgown. What do you think?"

"The ballgown," Lacey replied immediately. "I'd love to see you do all those flowing creases. I mean, you could do that with the wedding dress too, but I bet it would be so pretty to see the different shades of blue."

"Ballgown it is, then," Yvette smiled. "You were the swing vote."

Lacey knew she shouldn't wear out her welcome, and was about to walk back toward the studio entrance to leave, when she paused. "Is Adam creative?"

"He isn't especially creative I don't think," Yvette answered as she continued to survey her work. "But he does take his passion after me. Phil's a pretty no-nonsense guy, but Adam and I can be completely consumed by things. For me it's my painting, and for him right now it's hockey. We pour everything we have into our art, whatever its form. And…I have to admit, another thing he takes after me is that we love big." Yvette's eyes met Lacey's again. "Adam loves his friends with his whole heart. It was hard for him to leave the kids he'd grown up with on his old hockey team, the Hawks, and embrace a completely different set of people as a Duck. Especially as most of them are from a very different background. But he did. He accepted them into his heart and has been devoted to them ever since. I think Phil worries he could be taken advantage of because of that, but," she shrugged. "I think we've got to trust him enough to let him learn some of his own lessons. And besides, aren't people worth the trouble of loving, if anything is?"

Lacey considered the poignancy of that last question for herself.

"But you're probably tired of hearing my rambling." Yvette's eyes crinkled in the corners. "Let me show you back to the foyer."

Lacey thought of the things Yvette said and how she'd talked about Adam. She'd never quite thought of him that way before, but Adam had definitely shown loyalty to and fondness for his teammates, some of which certainly didn't fit the stereotype of the "rich kid's" buddies. Maybe that's why he didn't seem to judge her, either.

After saying goodbye to his mom and leaving the gift box in her care, Lacey walked back to the car, smiling thoughtfully. She'd spent a good amount of time at the Banks's home and hadn't even once seen Adam. But she felt she could listen to Yvette talk for hours. How cool had the visit turned out to be after she'd spent all day worrying about it?

It was Friday evening, when Lacey assumed Adam would be at a game, that a knock came at the door.

Lacey was lying on the couch, wrapped up in one of her mom's afghans and reading The Invisible Man for English, while Stuart was enlisting the girls in the kitchen to help him with baked spaghetti. Darlene was the one left to answer the door.

"Hi," she heard her mom greet the knocker with a guarded voice. "Come on in. Lacey, you have company!"

Lacey sat up quickly, tossing off the afghan and setting the book on the coffee table. She just stood up when Adam stepped into the living room, holding two coffees and something under his arm.

He looked a little worn down, but smiled. "Hi. I, um, brought coffee."

"I see that," Lacey chuckled, coming over to take the cups from him. "That's a lot to carry and knock on the door at the same time."

"Yeah, it was tricky."

She set each cup on a coaster, then looked back at him, frowning. "Wait, didn't you have a game tonight?"

Adam hesitated, then gave a little shrug. "Yeah, I was benched for the week. Coach feels like I needed a break til this flare is over. And I didn't really want to just sit still in a cold ice rink, so..."

Lacey raised her eyebrows. "Coach? Wait, did you talk to him about this?"

Adam took a deep breath, then nodded. "Yeah."

"You did?" Lacey smiled. "Adam, that's really great. I mean I know you didn't want to, but you did it anyway, and I'm so proud of you for it."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely. So, did it go as badly as you were afraid it might?"

"Not really," he took a deep breath, as though still reeling a bit from the stress of it all. "Coach Orion is a pretty straight-faced guy. It's not usually easy to tell what he's thinking. But he seemed to take it in stride, I mean, he asked me a few questions about what the doctor said, and I think he was legitimately concerned. But all he said was, 'We might have to make some adjustments, but I think that can happen.' There I was worried he was going to tell me I was too much of a liability, especially with the playoffs coming up."

"Not possible," Lacey stared at him incredulously. "You're the best player on the whole team, even on your worst day."

She detected a slight flush rise on Adam's cheeks. "Yeah, well…I want it to stay that way, and I guess Coach does too, because he went on for a while about taking care of myself so I can be at my best. Even if that means skipping a game or two if things are really bad. He also wants me to tell the team, which I'm putting off for as long as I can."

"Why not get it over with?" Lacey asked, tilting her head.

"I don't know, I'm just private," he shifted. "It's hard for me to tell my business to a whole room full of people, even if they are my best friends."

"Well, one thing at a time, right? And it was a big deal you talked to Coach Orion." She smiled reassuringly. Not wanting to continue putting Adam on the spot, however, she turned her attention to the other item he had carried in, which looked like a video. "So what's this? Jerry Maguire?"

"No, actually. It's…" he held up the movie.

Pretty Woman.

Lacey beamed.

"You said this was your favorite, right?"

"It is! And you'd watch it with me?!"

"Guess so," Adam gave a lopsided smile. "I mean, it's the least I can do for a girl who came to my house and listened to my mom talk for a whole hour just to bring me a handmade heating pad complete with a Weezer reference."

Lacey bit her lip. "I'd hug you. But you're still hurting, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am. But, well… if you want to, then-"

And it took nothing more or Lacey to jump forward and throw her arms around him.