Four

Reya

I tapped my pen anxiously against the edge of my desk as Professor Nolan strolled into the classroom, a thick stack of tests tucked under his arm. Midterms. Just great. I knew it. I could tell from how everyone else in the room sat up a little straighter like we were all preparing for judgment day.

"You'll have your midterms back shortly," Professor Nolan said in that slow, deliberate voice of his.

I leaned back in my seat, forcing my expression to remain calm, indifferent like I didn't care. But inside, my stomach twisted into knots. I knew the moment I'd handed in that test last week that I hadn't done well. Still, some part of me had been holding onto the thin thread of hope that I'd scraped by with a C. Just enough to keep Coach off my back.

The tension in the room spiked as he moved between rows, handing out papers. I forced myself to lean back in my chair, pretending not to care, but my stomach was in knots.

It's just a stupid test, I told myself. I didn't need math to skate or to win championships. I didn't need stupid derivatives to put pucks in the net and dominate on the ice.

"For some of you, this may serve as a reality check," Professor Nolan said as he finally made his way to my row.

I rolled my eyes. Professors loved making speeches about the value of academics like we couldn't hear the same thing from our coaches every day. "Keep your grades up if you want to stay on the team!" We'd all heard it a million times.

Professor Nolan finally dropped my test on my desk. I looked down and saw my grade in big red ink on the top.

51%.

I froze. My eyes darted over the red marks across the page, all those answers I'd been so sure about—wrong. My chest tightened. I flipped the paper over before anyone else could see it and slouched deeper into my chair.

Great. Just perfect.

The breath I'd been holding escaped in a sharp exhale. My heart dropped.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath.

Stevie, sitting two seats over, glanced over at me. She must've caught a glimpse of the grade because her eyes softened in that sympathetic way that only made my blood boil harder. I didn't need anyone's pity.

By the time I got to the rink, my mood had only gotten worse. I stomped through the doors, the blast of cold air hitting me like a slap. Usually, I loved that. The rink was my escape, my place to leave everything else behind. But not today. Today it was a reminder of the things that were in jeopardy. My captain title. My position. All because of a calculus grade.

Coach was waiting by the boards. His arms were crossed over his chest, his jaw tight. That was never a good sign.

"Reya! Over here," he barked as soon as he saw me. Shit.

I adjusted the strap on my gear bag and made my way over trying to act casual. "Yeah, Coach?"

"Take a seat," he said, motioning to the bench.

I didn't like this already. When Coach told you to sit, it wasn't because he wanted to talk about the weather.

I sat down, resting my elbows on my knees. I tried to sound casual and like I didn't just bomb my calculus test. "Look, if this is about practice on Sunday—"

He didn't beat around the bush and cut me off. "You failed your calculus test."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand, shutting me down before I even started.

"Nolan called me this morning after he graded them," Coach continued his voice firm. "You're lucky you're still on the team, Reya. That grade puts you on academic probation. You knew the rules and you didn't follow them. I told you if you didnt get it up, you'd be benched."

The words slammed into me like a freight train. "What? You can't—"

"I can," Coach interrupted sharply. "And I will. But for now, you're skating during practice. However..." He paused, and I didn't like the look in his eyes. "Zora's taking your spot at right wing for the first game next week."

The breath whooshed out of my lungs. "What? You're benching me for her?" I spat the word like it was poison.

"She earned it," Coach said simply. "Zora's been putting in the work—on and off the ice. Maybe you can learn something from her."

"That's bullsh—"

"Watch it, Reya," Coach warned. "I'm not asking for your opinion. On top of that, I've arranged for you to be tutored by Zora."

"Are you serious right now?" My voice rose, all the frustration boiling over. "Zora?"

"She knows her stuff. You don't. End of story. She is a tutor working at the Student Success Center. You're meeting with her before practice on Wednesday, and you'll keep meeting until your grade improves."

I stared at him. "Zora?" My voice came out sharp, incredulous. "Are you kidding me?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Coach snapped. "You're going to show up, you're going to listen, and you're going to pass that class. Understood?"

I didn't reply. Instead, I stared at him, trying to wrap my head around it. Zora. Of all people. Not only was she taking my spot, but now she was supposed to help me? I could already see the smug look she'd have when she showed up at tutoring, acting like she was better than me.

"You got something to say, Reya?" Coach asked, raising an eyebrow.

I swallowed my pride, though it burned like acid. "No, Coach."

"Good. Now get your head on straight and take this energy to the ice."

I stomped to the locker room, fuming. Zora. Of all people. I'd seen the way she carried herself like she had something to prove. She was fast on the ice, yeah, but she still skated like the rookie she was, trying too hard to impress. And now she was going to be tutoring me? Like she was smarter than me? I could already see the smug look on her face.

By the time we hit the ice, my frustration had turned into something hotter and more dangerous. I was ready to explode. I couldn't shake the image of Zora stepping into my spot on the line. She wasn't ready for it. She wasn't ready to play with the veterans on the first line, to handle that pressure. And Coach knew it. At least I thought. And if not, I would just have to show him.

Zora skated a few paces ahead of me during drills, quick and efficient as always. Every time she passed, I could feel the frustration boil higher.

"Reya, focus!" Coach barked from the sidelines.

I snapped my head around, gripping my stick tighter. I wasn't the only one Coach yelled at during practice, but today it felt personal.

We split into scrimmage teams, I was on one line, and of course, Zora was on the other. I stared her down as she lined up across from me for the faceoff, crouched low and focused. She met my gaze, her expression cool and unreadable.

"Try to keep up, Reya," she muttered.

Something snapped.

The whistle blew, and I charged forward, stick clashing against Zora's as the puck dropped. She was faster than I expected, swiping the puck cleanly and skating off down the rink.

I chased her, my heart pounding, every bit of anger fueling my speed. She weaved around Stevie and shot toward the goal. Just as she raised her stick to take the shot, I skated full force into her, slamming my shoulder into hers.

The impact sent Zora sprawling onto the ice. She hit the ground hard, her helmet bouncing with a sickening thud.

The whistle shrieked, echoing across the rink.

"What the hell, Reya?" Zora spat as she scrambled to her feet, eyes blazing behind her cage. "That was a cheap shot!"

"Maybe you should keep your head up," I snapped, skating toward her.

Zora took a step forward, closing the distance. "You hit me on purpose."

"So what if I did?" I shot back, my voice rising. "You think you're better than me because you're Coach's little math genius? You don't know anything about this team."

"And you think you're the team, Reya?" Zora fired back. "You're just a jealous, insecure bully. You know what? Fuck you. All you care about is yourself. Do you even care about this team or just your stats?"

"I–" I started before she cut me off.

"I can answer that. You only care about yourself. At the party, you asked why I came to UVM. You knew why. My fucking parents and sister just died, but you just wanted to prove that you were better–" Zora continued before Coach cut her off and I had a chance to respond.

"Enough!" Coach's voice boomed across the rink.

Both of us turned as Coach stormed onto the ice, his face red with anger.

Coach's voice boomed across the rink as he stormed onto the ice. "That's enough! Both of you!"

We broke apart, still glaring daggers at each other. Zora looked like she was full of anger but also on the brink of tears.

Coach stopped in front of us, his face still red with fury. "You two want to fight? Fine. You can take that energy somewhere productive. Starting tomorrow, you're both volunteering to coach the Little League. Maybe teaching little kids how to play hockey will remind you what teamwork means."

"What?" I blurted, my anger flashing to disbelief. "Coach—"

"I don't want to hear it, Reya," Coach snapped. "This isn't optional. You'll do it, or you're off the ice for good."

Zora and I both stood there, stunned into silence.

"Now get off my ice before you embarrass yourselves any further," Coach growled.

I glared at Zora as we skated to the bench. She didn't look any happier about the punishment, but she held her head high, refusing to back down.

I skated toward the bench, still seething. Zora followed close behind. She untied her skates and left the rink, not changing out of her gear, without saying a word.

As I sat on the bench, I let out a frustrated breath. Volunteering with Zora? Coaching little kids? On top of her taking my spot at right wing and tutoring me like she's my savior?

On the drive home, I was thinking about what Zora said to me.

"I can answer that. You only care about yourself. At the party, you asked why I came to UVM. You knew why. My fucking parents and sister just died, but you just wanted to prove that you were better," she had said.

I genuinely didn't know her family had died, but she knew nothing about me. She doesn't know how much hockey means to me. Or that I would bend over backward for this team. And maybe, just maybe our time coaching together would show that.

When I got home, I stomped into the apartment, slamming the door harder than necessary. My gear bag thudded to the floor, and I kicked it aside, still fuming. I could barely think straight after the disaster that was practice. The scene with Zora replayed over and over in my mind like some humiliating highlight reel.

Genevieve poked her head out of the kitchen, holding a half-empty bag of chips. "What's with the dramatic entrance? What did I miss at practice today?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't start," I snapped, collapsing onto the couch.

"Whoa, someone's in a mood," Genevieve said, plopping down on the armrest. She peered at me with a smirk. "Let me guess: it's about Zora."

My glare must've said it all because she burst into laughter.

"Oh, this is going to be good. What happened?" she asked, leaning closer like she was settling in for a story.

"Nothing," I muttered, crossing my arms.

"Uh-huh. Sure. Nothing," Genevieve said, crunching on a chip. "You've got that 'I'm about to kill someone' look. Spill it."

I groaned, leaning my head back against the couch. "Fine. Coach benched me for the first game next week. He's putting Zora at right wing."

Genevieve's eyes widened. "No way. Zora? I mean, she's good, but..."

"She's not that good," I cut in, my frustration boiling over again. "She's fast, but she doesn't know how to handle the pressure of being on the first line. She's not ready."

Genevieve whistled low. "And I'm guessing you didn't take it well."

I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek. "I might've... hit her during practice."

Genevieve choked on her chip. "You what?"

"It wasn't that bad!" I said quickly, though the memory of Zora sprawled on the ice said otherwise. "She was being smug, and I was mad, and—"

Genevieve held up a hand, cutting me off. "Reya, tell me you didn't full-on body check her during a scrimmage."

I stayed silent.

"Oh my God," Genevieve said, shaking her head. "Coach must've lost it."

"He did," I admitted. "Now we're both stuck volunteering to coach the Little League team as punishment."

Genevieve blinked, then burst out laughing. "You? Coaching kids? Oh, this is too good."

"It's not funny," I snapped, throwing a pillow at her.

"It's a little funny," she said, dodging the pillow. "So let me get this straight. Zora's tutoring you, taking your spot on the ice, and now you two have to spend even more time together coaching?"

"Don't remind me," I groaned.

Genevieve smirked, clearly enjoying my misery. "You must really hate her."

"I don't hate her," I said quickly. "She's just... insufferable. She thinks she's better than everyone. And she's so bossy."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Genevieve quipped.

"Don't," I warned, glaring at her.

"Relax," she said, grinning. "But seriously, Reya. Maybe this whole coaching thing will be good for you. Might give you two a chance to actually get along."

"I don't want to get along with her," I muttered, pulling a pillow over my face. "I just want her to stay out of my way."

Genevieve leaned over, tapping the pillow. "You know, you're spending an awful lot of time thinking about Zora for someone who claims they don't care."

I yanked the pillow away and glared at her. "She's taking my spot. Of course I'm thinking about her."

"Uh-huh," Genevieve said, her smirk returning. "Just don't be surprised if this whole rivalry thing turns into something else."

"It won't," I said firmly.

"Sure," she said, standing up and tossing the empty chip bag in the trash. "But for what it's worth? She's not the worst person to be stuck with. You might even learn something from her."

I didn't respond. Genevieve didn't know Zora like I did—or at least, like I thought I did. All I knew was that this was shaping up to be the most frustrating season of my life.