Chap.4
1163 Words
SONG OF THE CHAPTER: JENEVAH BY TAYC
JADE'S POV:
If there’s one thing boys are better at than hockey, it’s gossip.
By the next morning, the entire school knows I scored on Dominic Vance during scrimmage and from the way their heads whip as I walk down the hall, you’d think I’d murdered the Pope.
“She smoked him.”
“Did you see the look on his face?”
“She’s a girl, bro. That doesn’t count.”
“Bet he’s still crying in the locker room.”
I keep my chin high, my skates slung over my shoulder, pretending the whispers don’t cling to me like static. The truth is, they fuel me. Every stare, every whisper is proof I did what they didn’t expect.
But there’s venom in the mix, too.
“She doesn’t belong here.”
“She’s ruining the team.”
“Coach will kick her out any day now.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper. I won’t let them see it bothers me.
The worst part? Teachers are just as split. One congratulated me with a tight smile like he’d just swallowed something sour. Another pulled me aside and said, "You’ve got talent, Hayes, don’t waste it proving yourself to people who’ll never accept you.""
Helpful. Really.
Practice is literally a nightmare. Every drill feels like walking into a firing squad. Half the team ignores me, the other half goes out of their way to “accidentally” slam me into the boards. Dominic doesn’t even bother with subtlety.
“You’re slowing us down,” he mutters during passing drills.
“Funny,” I shoot back, skating circles around him. “Pretty sure I lapped you twice.”
He growls, jaw tight. The others snicker, which only pisses him off more.
By the end of practice, the ice feels more like a battlefield than a rink. The tension between me and Dominic could cut steel, and everyone knows it.
~~~
If there’s one upside to being the campus freak show, it’s Noah.
He walks with me through the halls like we’re in our own little sitcom, throwing out one-liners that make even the bullies hesitate.
“Careful,” he says as a group of guys shoulder past us. “They travel in packs. Don’t make sudden movements or they’ll sense weakness.”
I laugh, and the tension in my chest eases. “Thanks, National Geographic.”
“Anytime,” he says with a wink.
Noah doesn’t care what people say. He doesn’t care if the whole school thinks I’m poison. He claims me anyway, like I’m his pet project. And honestly? I’m grateful.
~~
That night, after another brutal day of side-eyes and whispers, I’m sprawled on my bed staring at the ceiling when there’s a knock at the window.
I jolt upright. Caleb grins at me from outside, perched on the fire escape like he does this every night.
“What are you-” I hiss, scrambling to open it.
“Shh.” He climbs in with the ease of someone who’s practiced. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your death-glare at dinner said otherwise,” he teases. “Come on. I’ve got a better cure than sulking.”
Minutes later, I’m sneaking across campus with him. The rink looms ahead, empty and silent under the floodlights. Caleb unlocks the side door like it’s nothing.
“Are you seriously breaking into the rink?” I whisper.
He smirks. “Breaking in is such a harsh term. I prefer… aggressively borrowing.”
The cold air hits us as we step inside. The ice glistens under the lights, perfect and untouched. Caleb tosses me a puck.
“Show me how you embarrassed Vance.”
I laugh, tension easing from my shoulders as I glide onto the ice. The familiar rhythm of my blades cutting across the surface feels like home. Caleb joins me, skating backward with practiced ease.
For an hour, we skate in easy silence, sometimes laughing, sometimes racing, sometimes just coasting side by side. For once, there are no whispers, no stares. Just me, the ice, and the sound of blades.
When we finally collapse onto the bench, cheeks flushed, Caleb nudges me with his shoulder. “You don’t have to prove anything to them, Jade. You already did.”
I swallow hard, the sincerity in his voice disarming. “Yeah, well. Try telling that to Vance.”
He grins. “Don’t worry. You’ll get under his skin so much, he’ll combust. It’ll be glorious.”
~~
The next week becomes a battlefield. Dominic and I clash in every possible way.
On the ice:
“You missed the pass,” he snaps.
“No, you missed catching it,” I fire back.
In the hall:
“You’re in my way.”
“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing.”
Even in class, where he makes a point of rolling his eyes whenever I answer a question.
Then come the pranks. My skates mysteriously go missing before practice (Noah “borrows” Dominic’s water bottle in retaliation). Someone writes Go back to ballet, princess on my locker in permanent marker (I cover it with a neon-pink Nice try sign).
It’s exhausting. It’s infuriating. And secretly? It’s addictive because for every shove, every glare, every sarcastic jab, there’s this current under the surface. A spark I don’t want to name.
It happens on a Tuesday afternoon. The hallway is crowded, noisy, bodies jostling as everyone rushes to class. I round the corner at full speed, my books clutched to my chest just as Dominic does the same.
We collide. Hard.
My books scatter across the floor, his water bottle rolling down the hall. For a second, the world tilts. His chest is solid against mine, his hands grabbing my arms instinctively to steady me. Our faces are inches apart, his dark eyes burning into mine.
The hallway noise fades. My pulse slams against my ribs. His breath ghosts across my cheek, and something electric crackles between us.
Too close. Way too close.
I jerk back, cheeks burning. “Watch where you’re going, Vance.”
His jaw tightens, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. “Stay out of my way, Hayes.”
He storms off, and the noise of the hallway crashes back in.
I exhale shakily, trying to ignore the heat still prickling under my skin. What was that?
**
That night, Noah flops onto my bed, grinning like the devil. “So. You and Vance, huh?”
I throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”
But even as we laugh, I can’t get the image out of my head. Dominic’s hands gripping my arms. The way the world seemed to still when our eyes locked.
It’s nothing. It has to be nothing because if it’s something… I’m in more trouble than I ever imagined.
- Writer
