Ryan’s number is the only thing Dante thinks about as he skates. The slip of paper is in the inside pocket of his jacket to keep it safe, the same place where the rent money was yesterday, but he doesn’t need it—he’s already memorized the seven digits. He wanted to call last night when he got home from the skate shop, but it was late and he thought it might be awkward, explaining how he got the number. What would Ryan think if he knew that Dante looked it up in the phone book? Or that, as he ate dinner before going to bed, he stared at the phone in the kitchen, the one that hangs on the wall by the fridge, and mentally dialed it over and over again? He knows he needs to focus on his skating and when he arrived at the rink this morning at seven, he should’ve put on his blades and taken a fe
