Edges Of Us

“You wanna say that s**t again?” Mason Reid didn't even wait for him to finish. His fist was already bunched in soke skater kid's collar. the cafeteria went dead silent until a plastic tray ckattred behind me, breaking it. Brighten High school was the type that never get quiet. Yoy would always the students in group arguing about sports, bullying the weak ones, the rich kids forming classy and the golden boy Mason, Hockey player that the girls can't just stop drooling over. went to the general changing dress room, changed to my uniform and was about going. Well, I should’ve kept walking, grabbed my protein shake, head down, earbuds in, same as every other day when I heard the hockey meatheads decided to running their mouths. But then Mason kept going. “Figure skating isn’t a real sport, and every dude doing it is just—” “Just what?” Before I knew it, I was halfway to the drinks cooler. I slammed my tray down hard enough to make the forks bounced. "Say it, Reid. Out loud. Don't hide behind your boys." Mason’s head snapped toward me. For half a heartbeat something raw flashed across his face, not the usual cocky bullshit. Then it vanished, locked down tight behind that smirk he wore like second skin. “Ezra f*****g Cole.” He let the skater drop. The kid scrambled away like his ass was on fire. “Didn’t know you cared so much about what I thought.” “I never cared.” I stepped right into his space, heart hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it. “But keep my name and my sport out your mouth when you’re trying to look hard for your brain-dead fan club.” His teammates exploded with chairs screeching, guys yelling that I was “too pretty to be talking that much shit.” Mason’s jaw ticked once. That was the only warning. He was already in my face the next breath, close enough I could see the fresh cut on his cheek from last night’s game and smell that stupidly good cologne he always wore. The one that made my stomach flip even when I wanted to punch him. “You got a problem with me, princess?” “Yeah.” My voice came out lower than I imagined. “You *are* my problem.” Wrong thing to say, or maybe the exact right one. Suddenly we were shoving, grabbing jackets, and then some i***t threw a punch that wasn’t even aimed at me but still caught my shoulder. The cafeteria detonated. Hockey players swinging like it was the Stanley Cup finals, figure skaters throwing hands with way more violence than anyone expected. I ducked under a flying arm, came up swinging, and caught Mason taking a hit meant for one of his guys. He didn’t even flinch — just turned and dropped the dude clean. Our eyes locked through the chaos. He wasn’t smiling or pissed. He was just… staring at me like he was seeing me for the first time. Then Principal Gage’s voice cut through the noise like a knife. “STOP. NOW.” Everyone froze. Mason had blood on his knuckles. My jacket was ripped at the shoulder. The cafeteria looked like a war zone. Gage stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking like she was two seconds from expelling all of us on the spot. “To my office. Cole and Reid. Right now.” ***** The walk to her office felt like the longest program of my life. Mason stayed three steps ahead the whole time, shoulders tight, left hand opening and closing like he still wanted to hit something. He never once looked back. Gage didn’t waste time. She stayed standing. So did we. “You two are supposed to be leaders,” she said, voice flat. “Hockey captain. State-ranked figure skater. And you turned my cafeteria into a goddamn battlefield over *what* exactly? Ego?” “He—” Mason started. “I don’t care.” She cut him off instantly. “Here’s what’s happening. Both of you are benched until further notice.” My stomach bottomed out. “You can’t—” I tried. “I can and that's what I'm doing right now.” Gage’s eyes were ice. “Unless… you train together. Every morning for six weeks. Mason, you need balance and edge work for that idiotic figure skating segment the hockey team decided to add to the spring showcase. Ezra, you need a strong partner for pairs since Alec transferred.” The room tilted. “No,” I said at the same time Mason growled, “Absolutely f*****g not.” Gage smiled. It wasn’t nice. “Then enjoy sitting out the rest of the season. Paperwork will be ready tomorrow.” Mason’s hand flexed again. I could feel the rage rolling off him in waves. “You have until midnight to decide,” she added. “But if you agree and I even *smell* another fight, you’re both gone. Expelled. Understood?” “Crystal, clear ma'am ” I muttered. Mason didn’t say s**t. Just turned and walked out. I followed because I didn’t trust what might come out of my mouth if I stayed. The hallway was empty. He was already halfway to the exit when I caught up. “This is insane,” I said to his back. He stopped. Didn’t turn around. “Then quit.” “I’m not quitting.” “Neither am I.” When he finally faced me, his expression was locked down tight. Blank and controlled. “Guess we’re stuck with each other.” I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove that idea, but he stepped closer. I had to tilt my head up. And I hated how good he smelled even after a fight, and the way my pulse jumped. “5 AM,” he said, voice low. “Rink 2. Don’t be late.” Then he was gone, leaving me standing there with my heart doing some type of s**t I didn’t want to name. My phone buzzed later that night while I was staring at the ceiling. Unknown number. *Don’t overthink it. Just show up.* I stared at the screen for way too long thinking of who it might be before typing back. *Who the hell is this?* *You know who.* *How did you get my number?* *Doesn’t matter. See you at 5.* He went offline. I threw the phone across the room. It bounced off the wall and landed on my hoodie. Jun kept snoring above me like nothing in the world was wrong. 5 AM. Empty rink. Just me and Mason Reid. The guy who’d spent three years making my life hell, whose stupid perfect face I couldn’t get out of my head even when I tried. I was so f****d. And the worst part? Some sick little piece of me was already counting down the hours.