Chapter 1

~ Marlowe's POV ~

I was still holding the clipboard when I decided, for the hundredth time today, that I hated Rhett Calloway.

"Ashworth. You gonna call the drill or just stand there?" Coach Iverson didn't even look up from his phone.

I tightened my fist on the clipboard. "Calling it now." I blew the whistle, and the boys broke into lines.

Rhett skated past me close enough that his spray hit my jacket. He was tall, built like a wall with legs, dark blond hair stuck damp to his forehead, and a smirk that looked like it had been carved onto his face at birth.

"You're in the drop zone again, Coach Barbie," he said, not even slowing down. "Move before someone runs you over." He snorted.

"Just do your drill," I said, flatly, and stepped back exactly half a foot and not an inch more. Giving him enough room to pass by and not bother me.

He grinned like he'd won anyway and rejoined the drill.

I had stopped asking myself why he hated me back in September. Maybe it was because I had never played a shift of hockey in my life and here I was, telling him what to do. Or maybe it was the scholarship thing… Everyone here could smell that on me like it was a stain. Or maybe he just needed someone smaller to step on, and I was easy prey. 

"Don't mind him. He's an idiot," a voice said next to me.

I turned immediately because I recognised the voice to see August Whitfield leaning on the boards, helmet under one arm, hair damp and stuck to his forehead in the way that looked terrible on everyone else and somehow worked on him. 

He was the golden boy, and easy on the eyes, the kind of handsome that got him recognized off campus too that he was the face of our campus. 

Rhett was also the face too…but it doesn't matter.

"Language! don't say cuss words to your teammates." I said, trying to sound strict and hide the blush that was slowly creeping into my cheeks. 

"Sorry, Coach." He didn't sound sorry at all. "Want me to say something to him?" He nudged my shoulder lightly. 

"No need." It came out faster than I meant. I sighed as I slumped my shoulders. "I can handle Calloway."

"I know you can." He smiled, and my stomach did the thing it always did around him, the thing I would never admit out loud. 

"Doesn't mean you should have to keep accommodating his bullshit." He leaned closer again. 

I looked away immediately and didn't give an answer. I just watched the ice, because looking at him too long was dangerous, and I already had enough dangerous things going on in my head.

“So…see you later coach,” he bumped my shoulder and skated away. 

I sighed deeply as I watched him. “He's so perfect.” I squealed inwardly, then my gaze landed on Rhett who just dropped his stick mid strike. 

“Ugh! Where's his head at.” I hissed annoyed as I blew the whistle again. He's always so distracted lately. 

Practice went on as usual, demanding, stressful, annoying, but at least…I got to watch August play, so it was worth it. 

~~~~

"You're doing the face again," Priya said at lunch, as she stared at me intently, her half eaten sandwich still in hand.

"What face?" 

"The one where your jaw goes tight like you're mad and about to punch someone,” she shrugged and took a bite. “Is this about Calloway?"

"It's always about Calloway." I rolled my eyes. 

Priya laughed heartily. “That boy is such a nightmare.” She pointed out and I nodded in agreement, poking my fork at my salad. 

"One day I'm tripping him during a drill. Everyone will think it's an accident." I hit my fork forcefully on a stray lettuce. 

"You'd get fired."

"Worth it." I snorted.

She took a bite, then pointed the rest of the sandwich at me as she grinned knowingly. "August talked to you again?”

My face went warm instantly. "He talks to everyone." I looked away and shoved the salad in my mouth. 

"He doesn't lean on the boards for everyone." She made a mischievous face. 

"Priya." I called out. 

"I'm just saying,” she snickered. “You could tell him, that you…."

"Absolutely not." I kept my voice down. "I coach his team and you know there's a rule,” I whispered and she rolled her eyes. 

“To hell with that damn rule.”

“I need this job, I need Iverson's recommendation, and I am not throwing any of that away because of a crush I write about in a diary like I'm twelve."

"Didn't say act on it. I only said tell him." Priya shrugged. "It's not the same thing as doing something stupid. At least if he rejects you, you'll stop being miserable."

"Good thing I don't follow your advice, you give shitty advice by the way."

She snorted. "Oh please," she said. "I give the best life changing advice."

We both started laughing and making fun of each other. 

Maybe she was right and I should tell him, but I know he wouldn't even like me that way. 

But for one second I let myself think about a version of my life where August Whitfield would actually like someone like me, the poor scholarship kid.

“Hah, impossible.” I shook my head and continued eating. 

~~~~

Practice ran long, so I didn't get to eat again until after, standing by the equipment rack while the boys filtered toward the showers.

Rhett brushed past me on purpose. “Ouch!” I hissed. 

“Are your eyes for decoration?” He snickered and the other boys laughed. “Don't stand in the way next time, Barbie.” He said that last part like it was some bitter insult. 

I frowned and I really wanted to punch him, even if it was just once. 

August walked towards me, water bottle in hand,

"Ignore him," he said. "Rhett's just Rhett. Don't let it get to you."

"I'm not offended," I said, which was mostly a lie. I was very annoyed. 

"Good. You shouldn't be. He's like that with everyone..." 

He was still talking, when Delphine Voss walked up behind him and slid her arm through his, “Baby!” She cooed.

She was pale blonde, perfect posture, the kind of pretty that came with a personal trainer and a family name. Then she glanced at me and gave me a look like I was some filth under her shoe. 

"There you are," she said to August, sweetly. "I brought you water." She smiled. 

"I've already gotten water though," August said, lifting his bottle, a little awkwardly.

"I know. I just like taking care of you." She smiled. 

“Thanks babe.” He said then grabbed the bottle from her. 

She turned to me then gave that fake smile she only gives me when August is around. "No offense, Ashworth. I'm sure you're very busy with... equipment."

"None taken," I said calmly, trying to mask the anger flaring in my chest as I offered a polite smile back.

“Oh, then we'll go now. We have a date.” She echoed and gave me a condescending look before pulling August away by the arm, already talking about dinner, and he threw me one small look over his shoulder, before he disappeared toward the parking lot.

I stood there with my clipboard against my chest and felt something in my chest twist.

"That," Priya said, appearing out of nowhere and I was scared out of my mind for a brief second, "was painful to watch." She snickered. 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." She bumped my shoulder with hers. "For what it's worth, she's awful. Nobody actually likes her."

"August seems to." I muttered more to myself than to her. 

"August's been dating her since they were fourteen because their parents are friends. That's not the same as liking someone." Priya said it like it was obvious. "Anyway….” She yawned. “Forget them.” Her eyes suddenly lit up. “I heard the new Captain's vote is in two weeks. Everyone thinks it's Whitfield."

"Should be. He's the only one on this team who isn't a nightmare."

"Careful," Priya said, grinning. "Someone might hear you being nice about him." She teased. 

“Let's just go.” I pulled her along to go grab my remaining stuff. 

I was halfway through packing up when I realised something was missing. I frowned as my hand hit the bottom of the bag. Then the sides, then the bottom again.

I looked up. "I think I left something in the locker room," I told Priya, already standing.

"What? Can't you get it tomorrow?"

“It's my diary.” I said and she was shocked as well. I always had it with me. 

"Go. I'll wait." She waved me off and I headed straight to the locker room. 

“It's fine,” I told myself. “It must be under a bench.” 

Maybe it dropped from my bag when I was moving stuff. But then I paused when I noticed that the locker room door was open. Everyone should have left, so why was the door opened?

I heard him before I saw him. Rhett Calloway was sitting on the bench, elbows on his knees, my notebook open in his hands, reading a page I could have recited in my sleep.

He looked up before I could say anything, and smiled, that slow, delighted and probably the worst smile I had ever seen.

"Well, well," he said. "Look what we have here.”