Alec disappeared somewhere for a moment, and Gregory shuffled out to the middle of the rink, right at the center circle where the puck gets dropped, and lay flat, as if he were making snow angels. She and Ezra sat in silence, each of their arms still folded, on opposite ends of a bleacher bench, while he punched buttons on his phone and muttered goddammit.

Finally, he paused and said, “You know, I know you think you hate me, but I did nothing but try to do right by you.” He stopped and seemed to swallow a burp.

Frankie sighed, loud, annoyed. She wished she were as drunk as the rest of them, even though she didn’t really, because being clearheaded felt like a marvel right now. Why had she spent so many nights drunk like the rest of them? It wasn’t that she was having fun. But at least now she was in control of herself; at least she wasn’t mumbling about old wounds from ten years back.

After a minute she said, “You can think whatever you want about me, about doing right by me. Like I care.”

She waited for a response because, it turned out, maybe she did care, but Ezra just stood and stumbled down the steps and through the little door that swung open to the rink, and then he threw his body forward, as if he were sliding into home plate, his stomach on the ice, his hands pointed in front of him, toward Gregory. They howled at the hilarity of it. Then she heard Ezra yell, “Wait, I have a signal,” and then he tried to stand but slipped and so he pressed the phone to his ear while flat on his back on the ice.

Frankie didn’t see how this was getting them any closer to solving their clue and winning.

Just then, there was a rumbling from the back of the rink, and a mechanical door lurched open and a Zamboni emerged. Alec had found the keys. Overhead, the speakers blasted a piercing shot of feedback, and then the unmistakable opening riff to the Beastie Boys: You gotta fight, for your right, to party! Gregory let out a cheer and tried to stand but fell flat backward and splatted again. Ezra yelled over the din of the engine and the noise: “What? Shit, Mimi’s flight!” And then he let out a primal scream.

Well, Frankie was going to have to be the grown-up here, that much was clear. That Gregory was having so much fun didn’t really surprise her. He was always throwing parties in his room, always egging them on to get an early start at Lemonhead. But Ezra. Ezra was supposed to be the levelheaded one! What had happened in the span of ten years that this had changed?

Frankie considered that a lot had happened, including his mother dying, which could fundamentally shift everything about you, especially a soul like Ezra. Something about this moved her, there in the stands, watching her ex splayed on the ice, listening to his voicemail, seemingly crestfallen but also trying not to be distracted by the hilarity of Gregory. Ezra had always loved everyone so deeply, including her. For a long time after their fight outside Burton just before graduation, this had enraged her, that he had loved her so much.