In love with four hot hockey players

I should’ve known something was up the second Mandy Sparks strutted into the cafeteria like it was the Met Gala and not lunchtime in suburban hell. The moment her stilettos clicked against the linoleum floor, every student turned to look. Mandy was the kind of girl who could sneeze and still trend on school gossip forums. And right now, she had a look in her eyes that screamed: someone’s about to suffer. Spoiler alert: that someone was me. I was minding my business, hunched over a grilled cheese sandwich and a half-finished calculus worksheet, when Mandy marched straight to my table. Her minions flanked her like dollar-store Kardashians, lips curled in practiced sneers. “Oops,” Mandy chirped sweetly, and before I could even blink, a freezing strawberry smoothie was dripping down my hair, my hoodie, and into places smoothies were never meant to go. Gasps. Laughter. A phone camera or two. I stared up at her, drenched and shaking. Not from the cold—no. From pure humiliation. “What the hell, Mandy?!” I turned to Flynn—my boyfriend, who had been sitting just across from me the whole time. The guy I helped cram for History exams. The one I baked brownies for. The one I thought might actually like me for my brain and not just because I let him copy my homework. He didn’t even look angry. Or shocked. Or even slightly uncomfortable. He was sipping his Coke like we were watching a reality show and not living one. “Mandy,” I said, standing up, my voice cracking, “apologize. Right now.” Flynn rolled his eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck in the back of his head. “God, Arielle, can you not be so dramatic for once? It’s just a smoothie. Chill.” “Are you serious?!” “Yeah, I am,” he said, standing up, towering over me like he hadn’t just watched his cheerleader side-chick humiliate his girlfriend. “This is why I’m done. You’re such a crybaby. And honestly? You’re no fun. You’re boring. You’re a loser. All you ever care about is books and grades and—God—it’s exhausting.” The words hit harder than the smoothie. Then he grabbed Mandy’s hand—her freaking hand—and stormed off, leaving me standing there with a cafeteria full of stares and a face full of berry-scented shame. Three Weeks Later The world moved on. My dignity? Not so much. I didn’t return any texts. I avoided all school notifications. And I definitely didn’t check social media because I knew the video of my cafeteria humiliation had already made the rounds. My parents didn’t ask. They were too busy. Mom worked 12-hour shifts at the ER and barely had time to finish her coffee, let alone notice her daughter was falling apart. Dad was always jetting off to Silicon Valley, playing CEO and saving the tech world one board meeting at a time. Breakfasts were quick, dinners even quicker. After that, it was me, my room, and Nanny Claire checking in with a warm smile and a plate of cookies like that could fix anything. It couldn’t. But I still ate the cookies. By week four, I had no choice. Attendance was mandatory and apparently, “moping over a jerk” wasn’t a valid excuse. I walked into school expecting whispers and stares—and I got them. But I also got something else. Four of them, to be specific. Ryder and Ryker Madden—hockey twins with smirks sharp enough to cut glass. And Jack and Jake Adams—identical rebels with matching eyebrow piercings and rumors that followed them like shadows. They cornered me near my locker, the air practically humming with chaotic energy. “You’re Arielle, right?” Ryker asked, leaning casually against the lockers like a walking Pinterest board titled trouble. “No, I’m the ghost of her dignity,” I deadpanned. Ryder snorted. “Perfect. You’ve got bite.” Jake grinned. “We like bite.” Jack added, “We need a tutor. And we heard you’re the best.” I raised an eyebrow. “Is this the part where I get lured into a van and never seen again?” “Not quite,” Ryker said. “Here’s the deal. You help us survive this semester—keep our GPA high enough to stay on the ice—and we’ll help you with something in return.” “Like what?” “Revenge,” Jake said, his grin feral. “On Flynn.” They all shared a knowing look. I blinked. “Wait...you want to help me get back at my ex?” “More like we need an excuse to make his life hell,” Ryder shrugged. “You just happen to be the best one.” Jack leaned in, voice low. “So, what do you say, Nerd Queen? You in?” And just like that, I realized something. This might be the best bad decision I ever made.