Page 17 of Enemy Games

“Which ones are you picking?” Chris asked.

“The animal shelter and park thing.” I finished the message and sent it, hoping that would mean I would end up with one of those.

“Yeah, me too.” She grabbed her phone and typed quickly. “I wish they wouldn't just spring stuff like this on us. It’s hard enough developing a schedule at a new school when we know what’s coming up, but throwing things like service projects into the mix makes it impossible.”

I grabbed my planner, class syllabi, and our game schedule so I could coordinate everything.

“What’s that?” She pointed at the pink, sparkling, spiral notebook on my bed.

“It’s my planner.”

Her brows shot up. “Don’t you have a phone or laptop for that?”

“No way. I have to have everything written down for me to remember it.”

“Old school.”

I stuck out my tongue, and she giggled. “It works for me.”

She was right, though—not about my paper planner, but about how hard it was to come up with a semi-manageable schedule. The only constants were my classes and practice. Although, I had to factor in additional training sessions, tests, and projects that would occur outside of those designated times.

I grabbed my pack of colored markers and started with my first class, advanced communications. By the time I worked through each syllabus, I couldn’t imagine where I would fit in anything hockey related. I laid out the game schedule and added each onto my planner.

“Oh no.” I groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re playing my old school at the end of the month.” I knew it was coming eventually, but I was hoping it would be at the end of the season.

“Green Lake, right?” she asked, and I nodded. “Is that going to be weird?”

“Yeah. I mean, I left on good terms with my teammates, but it’s going back to my hometown that I’m not looking forward to.”

She dropped her pencil in her workbook. “Why?”

I shrugged. “I got some hate for leaving. Some of the die-hards thought I was betraying my home.”

“Like the other students?”

“And people in the community.” Like my friends’ parents. Old teachers. Random adults on the street.

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll have your back.”

“Thanks.” I continued adding the games to my planner. Our door burst open, and Steph, a tall brunette with glistening brown eyes, barreled in, looking near tears.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, dropping what I was doing so I could go to her. “What happened?”

I didn’t know her very well. In fact, I wasn’t sure we’d even spoken to each other yet, but I couldn’t help but want to comfort her.

“Did you guys know?” Her chin trembled.

Chris and I shared a look of confusion, and she shut the door behind her and moved to sit on my bed.

I shifted my papers over. “What are you talking about?”

“Me and some of the other sophomores were talking about this weekend and where the best parties are going to be.” She paused to sniff. “Briana said she heard about one of the frat houses from a girl in her bio class. Apparently, they throw the best parties, and everyone goes.”

Where was this going? Had one of the girls gotten hurt at a party? Did something happen to one of them?