Practice Makes Perfect

Damon

The buzz of my alarm jolted me awake at 5:30 a.m., a cruel reminder that game day prep started early. My hand slammed against the clock to silence it before I rolled out of bed, groaning slightly at the stiffness in my shoulders. Practice yesterday had been brutal, but I felt good—focused. Hockey wasn't just a sport; it was my escape, my rhythm, my everything.

Downstairs, the kitchen was already alive with the scent of coffee. Dad was at the counter, scrolling through his tablet with a mug in hand. He glanced up as I entered, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly.

"Finally awake," he said, his voice carrying its usual edge of dry humor.

"Barely," I muttered, grabbing a protein bar from the counter.

"Big game coming up," he continued, his tone shifting to something more serious. "This is your chance to prove you're not just skating by. You've got talent, Damon, but you've got to show it. Every time."

I nodded, too tired to argue. He wasn't wrong—Dad rarely was—but his high expectations felt like a weight I carried everywhere. He had been an actor his whole life, commanding every room he entered with the same intensity he brought to his roles. My mom was no different. Between the two of them, excellence wasn't a goal; it was the bare minimum.

"Don't worry. I've got this," I said, trying to sound confident.

"Good. And don't forget to mention the party to your teammates. Your mother's been planning it for weeks, and the guest list just keeps growing."

I groaned internally. "Right, the party. I'll remind them."

His eyes flickered with approval before he turned his attention back to his tablet.

***

By the time I made it to school, the day was already dragging. Practice wasn't until the evening, but the thought of it loomed in the back of my mind. At least it gave me something to look forward to. For now, I had to deal with study hall—and Rachel.

She was waiting in the library, her blonde hair tied back in a sleek ponytail, her posture as rigid as the stack of textbooks in front of her. As I approached, she didn't look up, her pen moving furiously across a notebook like she was solving equations that held the secrets of the universe.

"Finally," she said when I dropped into the chair across from her. She didn't even glance up, her tone carrying just enough sarcasm to make my eye twitch.

"I thought you'd flake."

"Can't risk my grade," I replied, pulling out my books and flipping them open. Rachel was sharp—too sharp for her own good sometimes—and annoyingly persistent. She had a way of making herself indispensable, like she thrived on being needed. It was probably why the teacher paired us for this project. Either she thought Rachel would keep me on track, or she wanted to make me suffer.

"Smart move," Rachel said, her pen still scratching against the page. "We don't have time for you to slack off."

The words stung made me want to roll my eyes, I focused on the assignment, letting the silence settle between us. The only sounds were the faint rustling of papers and the occasional scrape of a chair in the distance.

After a while, Rachel's pen stilled. She looked up, her expression unreadable, though there was a glint in her eye that immediately put me on edge.

"So," she began, her voice casual but probing, "have you talked to Valerie lately?"

My grip on the pen tightened involuntarily. I didn't look up, my eyes fixed on the diagram I was sketching. "Not really. Why?"

She shrugged, her tone too light to be genuine. "Just curious. You know, I saw her here yesterday. She looked... sad. Poor girl."

That got my attention. My gaze flicked up to meet hers, and sure enough, Rachel's lips curved into that smug little smile she was so good at. The one that said she was fishing for a reaction.

"Did she now? She's fine," I said flatly, turning back to my diagram.

"Is she?" Rachel leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I mean, it's none of my business, but she didn't seem fine. She looked... distracted. Like something was bothering her."

I didn't respond, keeping my focus on the diagram. I'd drawn the same line three times now, and it still wasn't right.

Rachel tilted her head, her voice turning thoughtful. "It's funny, though. You two used to be so close. It must be weird seeing her around and not... you know, talking."

My jaw tightened, but I forced myself to keep my tone even. "We're both busy."

"Mhm," Rachel murmured, drawing the sound out like she didn't believe me for a second. Her eyes glinted with amusement as she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table. "But don't you think it's kind of sad? I mean, I'm not saying you should do anything about it, but maybe she could use a friendly reminder that it's best to move on."

I glanced up at her, my patience wearing thin. "Why do you care?"

Rachel's smile widened, sharp and calculated, but there was no real warmth behind it. "I don't," she said simply, her tone making it clear she was lying. "Just trying to see exactly where you stand."

She went back to her notes, the conversation seemingly over, but her words lingered like an itch I couldn't scratch.

We worked in silence after that, but my focus was shot. No matter how hard I tried to force my attention on the diagrams and equations in front of me, Rachel's words played on a loop in my head.

"She looked... sad."

It wasn't my problem. Valerie and I were over. I didn't owe her anything. But no matter how much I told myself that, I couldn't completely shrug off the knot forming in my chest.

Rachel's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Oh, yeah. Are you going to the end-of-the-year party next month?" she asked, her tone light but probing.

The party. Right. It was supposed to be some big event everyone would talk about for weeks. I hadn't thought much about it—I'd been too focused on hockey and keeping up with everything else.

"Probably," I replied, keeping my answer vague.

"Got a date?" she pressed, her tone casual, but I could feel her watching me closely.

"No," I said flatly, not looking up from my notes.

Rachel hummed thoughtfully. "Me either. Not yet, anyway. If you wanted, we could go together," she suggested, her voice smooth and confident.

Hard pass.

"I'm good," I said, keeping my tone even. "Besides, I don't even know if I'm going yet."

Rachel's expression didn't falter, but the air around us turned tense. She stayed silent, pretending to be engrossed in her work, but I could feel the shift in her demeanor.

I ignored it, focusing on finishing the assignment so I could get out of there. The minutes crawled by, and the atmosphere didn't improve.

Finally, we finished the project. I gathered my things, standing before Rachel could say anything else.

"See you in class," I said, before exiting the library.

---

Practice had finally arrived, and the rink was alive with energy. The sharp sound of blades cutting into the ice, the clatter of sticks, and the occasional shout from Coach echoed through the arena. He had us running drills relentlessly, barking orders like we were gearing up for the championship game. Every pass, every shot—it all felt right today. My movements were sharp, precise, and controlled. For the first time in a while, I felt like I was in my element, completely untouchable.

I was mid-water break, leaning on the bench when something caught my eye. A familiar figure sat in the stands, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the ice. It was Valerie.

What the hell was she doing here?

I grabbed my water bottle and skated toward the boards, hopping over them to approach her.

"Hey, Val," I called as I walked closer, trying to read her expression. "What're you doing here?"

Her eyes weren't even on me. Instead, they stayed glued to the rink. She finally glanced over, her face annoyingly calm.

"Watching practice, obviously," she replied, her tone flat but dismissive.

Yup, Rachel had to be wrong. Valerie didn't look sad at all. If anything, she looked like she was plotting something.

"Uh-huh," I said, narrowing my eyes. "What're you up to?"

Call me paranoid, but Valerie didn't just show up at places for no reason. She was definitely up to something.

"Relax, Damon," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not here for you. I'm here for a friend."

A friend? Who the hell did she even know here?

"Right," I muttered, unconvinced. "Well, whatever. I gotta get back to practice."

I skated away, my mind racing with questions. Who could she possibly be here for? And why?

I forced myself to block her out and refocus on the ice. The drills were intense, and my teammates weren't exactly holding back. But I was in the zone, firing on all cylinders. No distractions. No, Valerie.

At least, that was the plan.

---

After practice, the guys and I lingered near the locker room, cooling off and chatting about the session. I turned to Alex, my closest friend on the team.

"You're never gonna believe who showed up today," I said, pulling off my gloves.

"Who?" Alex asked, tilting his head.

"Valerie. She was just sitting there in the stands," I said, trying to sound casual, even though my irritation was obvious.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Val? Huh. She was probably here for Johnson."

I scoffed, the idea almost laughable. "Johnson? Seriously? Nobody in their right mind would want that arrogant prick. Besides, he's not her type."

Alex smirked knowingly. "And you know her type, huh?"

"Of course I do," I said without missing a beat. "Tall, a nice smile, green eyes, black curly hair—you know, the works."

Alex burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Wow. And Johnson's the arrogant one? You just described yourself, man."

"Well, if the shoe fits," I shot back, though I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. "Besides, she hates guys with those oversized, obsessive gym builds. Doesn't make sense."

Alex shrugged, still grinning. "Maybe I'm wrong. But I heard from Jess that the two of them have been studying together. Like, a lot."

Studying? Her and Johnson? That didn't bother me. Nope, not at all. Still, I couldn't help but wonder why him. The guy was all brawn and no brain. No ambition, no real future.

I packed up my gear, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I tried to shake the whole thing off. The more I thought about it, the more amused I felt. Whatever game Valerie was playing, she wasn't subtle about it.

"Good luck with that one," Alex said as we headed out of the locker room.

She was probably trying to just get under my skin, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

Besides, the big game was coming up and I couldn't afford any distractions.