It's Pucking Complicated

ISADORA I didn't plan on attending the first hockey game of the season, mostly because of how chaotic they usually were, but my roommate got us front-row tickets, and on top of that, I heard that my half-brother, Justin, was giving the team a hard time during practice, so I had to show up to witness his humiliation firsthand. And boy, is he messing things up. I shake my head right when everyone in the crowd boos. He's just missed another goal and the other team is way ahead. He's costing everyone the game, and honestly? I'm not mad at all. Screw him. He deserves to lose and be humiliated in front of the entire student body. Hell, I won't even mention the guests and the reporters. He puts me through hell for much less. Rodonia, my roommate, hits my arms softly with her elbow and says, "Your brother kinda sucks. The other guys definitely weren't lying about that." I laugh. Why's he still on the team if he's this bad? "Yeah, I guess so." Rodonia gives me a weird look that makes me wonder what I did wrong, and asks me, "Shouldn't you feel bad for him or something?" I press my lips together and look away. Rodonia doesn't know anything about our relationship, so of course she finds it strange that I laughed when I should be feeling awful. And the truth? Justin and I can't stand each other. I get it—he doesn't have to like me. We're the same age because our jerk of a father went ahead and had an affair with the family's babysitter, my mom, and got her pregnant with me. And according to Justin, I'm the stain of the Halvick name. The one dirty secret that follows them wherever they go and reminds the world that nobody's perfect, not even the wealthiest old-money family in our town. But that doesn't mean that he needs to make me pay for that every single day, does it? For as long as I can remember, Justin has been my tormentor. Our older siblings never really minded me, but then again, they weren't forced to spend time with me the way Justin was. Sometimes, I wonder why I didn't just tell Dad about the whole thing. Maybe he would've done something to stop it. I guess it's hard to rationalize when you're a kid and scared, but I don't want to get into that too much. After Rodonia's question, nothing else is said for a while. I keep thinking of something to break the awkward silence, but nothing comes to mind. "Hey," she says, slamming her elbow into me again, "are you seeing this?" "What?" "Knox Mohrelian? The captain?" I turn my attention to the rink and finally spot him. I only know what he looks like because I've seen posters of his face around campus. Whenever he's in a public space, he's hounded by fans, so I've never taken a proper look at him up close. I ask her, "What about him?" "He hasn't stopped looking this way since the match started!" she says excitedly while straightening her spine. "I knew all I had to do was find a way for him to notice me!" I look again, searching for that famous number 8 jersey, and sure enough, we make brief eye contact before he averts his gaze. Something inside of me flutters and I'm not sure why. Oh, he's looking this way, alright. "Did you see that?" "Yeah." Rodonia squeals and grips my fingers tightly. Her long, perfectly manicured fingernails dig into my skin a little, but I don't mind. She's the first friend I've made in a long time. Back in high school, nobody paid any attention to me. I was villainized because of who I am, and no one wanted to be around the girl whose public life had been so exposed from a young age. They saw me as a stain, too. Just like Justin did. Things could've been kept quiet if Justin's mother hadn't tried divorcing my father after the affair. She let the whole world know that he was a cheating scumbag, then got back together with him the same year. Not that it's any of my business. What I mean to say is that I've had a hard time making friends. Rodonia doesn't seem to mind who I am, though. She knows exactly who I am. But she doesn't belong to the same circle the Halvicks do, so things are a bit different. She's new money. Her mother's in tech. "Do you think he'll come talk to me after the game?" I shrug. "Probably. I mean, he's still looking." In fact, every time I look his way, he's looking this way, so that has to mean something, right? "You won't have to wait that long to figure it out. The game's almost over." And something almost miraculous happens during those last minutes. Knox Mohrelian steps in and takes the lead of the game. No more pucks are passed to Justin. They skate with a speed that gives me whiplash, and Rodonia can't stop screaming along with the crowd. Even I feel excited and I've never been much of an ice hockey fan. Our team, the Black Reapers, scores the winning goal in the last two seconds. The crowd erupts, and I let out the breath I've been holding. That was tense, and as for Justin...I can see how red his face is as he skates toward the center of the ice, where Knox is being swamped by the other players in celebration. This time, it's Justin who makes eye contact with me, and I look away quickly before standing up. Rodonia's brimming with excitement, and I try to share it with her as much as possible, but I can't get Justin's dirty look out of my mind. What the hell was that about? Usually, in public, he acts like I don't exist. He's never looked at me directly before, much less in a place where so many people could be watching us. "You're still coming with me to that sports bar, right?" I turn my attention to her and push my half-brother out of my mind. "Uh...Yeah. Sure. I mean, that was the plan, wasn't it?" "Just checking. We need to get there quickly before the other fans arrive and flood the place. Do you have an outfit picked out already?" I planned on going with jeans, a cute top, and sneakers, but only because sports bars are way too casual for a dress. Plus, the weather's chilly. Rodonia clearly has other plans, though. When we get to our room, she throws on a mini skirt, a crop top, and a leather jacket over it that reaches her mid-thigh. She gives my outfit a very clear judgmental look. "What?" "That's not it, Isadora." "Why not? It's getting pretty cold, you know?" "That doesn't mean you need to dress that way. Here, let me help you out." She rummages through my things and picks out a medium-length black dress with a flared skirt and one of my pairs of high-heeled boots. "Throw this on quickly. You can drape that sweater over your shoulders. Come on, Isadora. Please. It's a better choice, trust me. Look, we can't be late, okay?" I do as she says, mostly because I don't want to be stubborn about this. She's pretty excited and, in all fairness, I don't want to lose the only friend I ever made, so I put on the dress and we leave before I even have a chance to fix my hair. I resort to running my fingers through the unruly waves and follow her downstairs. We're taking her car. It's a fifteen-minute drive. "Oh no..." she laments, slamming her hands against the steering wheel angrily. I kind of feel bad, but I don't think the extra six minutes I took changing my outfit would make much of a difference. Some people probably came straight here after the game. She turns to me. "Why don't you go inside and see if you can find us a table while I search for a parking spot?" "Okay. See you in a few." I grab my bag and my sweater in one hand before getting out. The cold night air hits my bare skin like a whip. I hurry across the road to reach the sidewalk. The bar is just a few steps away. There are tons of people ahead, and at this point, I think even getting in will be an issue. But all of these little worries flee my mind when someone grabs me from behind and roughly drags me toward the alleyway right next to the bar. I don't even have a chance to scream. Justin. I recognize his perfume. He slams me against the rough wall before releasing me. I whirl around to face him and he shoves a finger in my chest while hissing, "You did that on purpose, didn't you? You showed up just to make sure I wouldn't win!" I scoff. "What're you—" He grabs my right forearm and squeezes hard. "The other team made fun of me the whole night because of you! I couldn't even f*****g focus!" "You lost because you suck, Justin, not because I was there! Let me go!" "You should've never come to Hartwell!" he spits. "Out of all the other universities, you just had to come here, right? The one place where you think you'll be relevant because you're a Halvick. Am I right?" His iron grip is making my eyes water and I feel a twinge of pain in my elbow. He starts twisting my arm and I cry out. This i***t's going to break my arm again. "You're hurting me!" "Hurting you?" he grits out. "I want to f*****g kill you!" Before I can retort, someone appears in the alleyway, casting shadows over both of us. "We got a problem here, Halvick?" Justin releases me in a flash and steps back so quickly that he nearly hits the dumpster behind him. I rub my sore arm, then turn my attention to my savior. It's Knox Mohrelian.