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As we all head to the front of the room as requested, I spot an annoyed-looking Aaron in the crowd and move to his side.
“You okay?” I ask quietly as we take a seat in the front row.
“Yep.”
It doesn’t take a genius to know he isn’t in a great mood, but this feels directed at me, not at Skinner. “You sure?”
His lips are pulled in a tight line, and he hasn’t looked at me yet. “Yep.”
Skinner steps out from behind his podium and pushes his hands into his suit pants pockets, his tired, sunken eyes scanning those of us left. “I’ll make this quick. Following what can only be labeled as a colossal shit show, Arena Two is out of action for the foreseeable future.”
Oh God.
“An investigation is underway into how the extensive damage was caused, but I’m told there will be significant delays when it comes to repairs, due to a shortage of parts for our particular equipment.”
The realization doesn’t wash over me, it fucking drowns me. The hockey team is known for causing trouble with rival teams, and each other usually. The spoiled, rich boy to hockey team pipeline thrives at this school, and I’d put money on someone causing trouble.
“What this means for you,” Skinner continues, “is you will need to share a rink for the foreseeable future, and I expect you all to work together to make this situation work.”
Clearly knowing the number of questions about to come his way, Skinner proves he doesn’t actually care about us, and immediately dips. He’s not even off the stage before I’m storming over to Coach Brady.
“We have regionals infiveweeks!”
“I’m well aware of your competition schedule, Anastasia,” Coach Brady drawls, waving off some of the underclassmen when they attempt to crowd around when I’m very close to having a meltdown. “We have no other option, so it isn’t worth getting upset over.”
Is she for real?“How are we going to qualify if we can’t practice?”
Ten feet away, Coach Faulkner is flanked by his own team, I would imagine fending off the same concerns. Not like I care, they obviously caused this mess, and now we’re the ones who are going to suffer.
I’m trying to not catastrophize, to not blow this out of proportion in my head. I’m concentrating on breathing in and out, and not bawling uncontrollably in front of strangers, while I listen to my teammates voice the same concerns. When I let my eyes drift back over to the hockey team, most of them have gone. There’s one guy talking to Faulkner, and he must feel me watching him, because his eyes meet mine. He’s looking at me with a weird expression on his face, a forced pity grimace, I think.
Frankly, he can take his fake sympathy and shove it up his ass.
“We’ll talk about this at practice, Stassie,” Brady says, offering a rare—almost borderline friendly—smile. “Enjoy a Friday evening off for once. I’ll see you both on Monday.”
After another small protest, I finally listen to Brady’s pleas for me to leave her alone, and head toward the exit. I’m trailing behind Aaron, dragging my feet, and feeling sorry for myself, when I hear a “Hey” and feel a hand land on my bicep.
It’s Mr. Sympathy, still sporting—you guessed it—a pity pout. “Listen, I’m sorry. I know this sucks for all of us. I’m going to do what I can to make this as easy as possible.”
He lets go of my arm and takes a step back, giving me the chance to look at him up close for the first time. He towers over me by at least a foot, broad shoulders, thick muscles straining against the sleeves of his Henley. Even beneath a dusting of stubble, you can see the sharpness of his jawline. I’m trying to work out if I’ve ever met him before when he starts talking again.
“I know you’re probably feeling stressed, but we’re having a party tonight if you want to come.”
“And you are?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound calm. I can’t ignore the twinge of satisfaction I get when his eyebrows shoot up for a split second.
He gains his composure just as quickly, amusement lighting up his deep brown eyes. “Nate Hawkins. I’m captain of the hockey team.” He holds out a hand for me to shake, but I look at it, then back up at his face, folding my arms across my chest.
“Were you not listening? Party time is over according to Skinner.”
He shrugs and reaches round to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “People will show up regardless, even if I tried to stop it. Look, come over, bring friends or whatever. It’d be good if we could all get on, and I swear, we have good tequila. Do you have a name?”
I refuse to be charmed by a pretty face. Not even one with little dimples and nice cheekbones. This is still a disaster. “Do you meet a lot of people who don’t have names?”
To my surprise, he starts laughing. A heavy, rich noise that makes my cheeks flush. “Okay, you’ve got me there.”
His eyes flick behind me as an arm lands across my shoulders. I look up, expecting to find Ryan, but instead find Aaron. I shrug off his embrace, since stuff like this is what makes people assume we’re dating, when I’d honestly rather eat my skates. “Are you coming?” he snaps.
Nodding, I take one last look at my new rinkfriend. He doesn’t bother introducing himself to Aaron, instead he mouths,Remember the partyto me.
