The Dare That Changed Everything

A Very Bad Plan

CHAPTER THREE

Emilia woke up with three goals: survive class, avoid Ashley, avoid Nate Walker. Life ignored all three with impressive efficiency.

She opened her door and found Ashley sitting on the floor outside holding a coffee and smiling. Never a good sign. The coffee was even in one of those reusable cups Ashley only used when she planned to stay a while.

“Go away.”

Ashley stood. “No.”

Emilia tried to shut the door. Ashley stuck her foot in it with the casual skill of someone who had done this before. “You can’t hide forever.”

“I can try.”

“You have hockey practice today.”

Emilia went still. “What?”

Ashley held up a sheet of paper with the Gazette logo at the top. Emilia’s stomach dropped before she finished reading the bold header.

Sports Feature Assignment

Reporter: Emilia Hart

Team: Redwood Wolves Hockey

She looked at Ashley. “How?”

“Harris announced it yesterday. You weren’t there.” Ashley looked far too pleased. “Exactly. I may have suggested you would be perfect for it. You know. Fresh perspective. Objectivity. All that journalistic integrity stuff.”

Emilia walked back into her room without another word. Screaming would not have helped. Throwing something might have, but she valued her lamp.

By noon she was in the Gazette office staring at the assignment on her screen and seriously considering throwing the laptop. The newsroom was its usual controlled chaos—phones ringing, printers humming, people moving between desks with half-finished coffee and even less finished sentences. Professor Harris appeared beside her desk like he’d been waiting for the exact moment her despair peaked.

“Problem?”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “Excellent.”

“Why do problems make you happy?”

“They make good stories.” He tapped the screen once. “Practice starts at four. Be there. Notes. Quotes. The usual. And try not to look like you’re being held hostage.”

Emilia sighed. “I know.”

“Good.” He left. Emilia put her head down on the desk and didn’t move for a solid minute.

She got to the ice arena a little after three-thirty. Stood outside for a full minute just listening to the pucks hit the boards—sharp, rhythmic, almost hypnotic—then fixed her bag strap, told herself it was only an assignment, and went in.

The cold hit her first. Under it was the usual mix of ice, old popcorn, and the faint chemical smell of fresh paint from whatever section they’d recently touched up. Bright lights flooded the rink. Players moved faster than seemed reasonable, shouting, cutting hard, passing with a precision that looked effortless until you actually watched the footwork. It was different from anything she’d covered before, and—annoyingly—kind of impressive.

“Well, well.”

Andrew Hayes skated over, already grinning. One of Nate’s teammates. Dave, Barry, and Mike followed close behind. Suddenly she was surrounded by pads and curiosity.

“Coach actually got her here.”

“I thought she’d quit.”

“I would’ve.”

Barry pointed at her notebook. “Maybe she’s secretly a hockey fan.”

“I’m not.”

They laughed like that was the funniest thing they’d heard all day. Then another voice cut in from behind them, low and dry.

“What are you idiots doing?”

The group moved aside. Nate stood behind them with his helmet under one arm. His hair was still damp from the warm-up, sticking a little at the temples. No one said anything for a second. The air felt different with him there.

Andrew, of course, ruined it. “Your girlfriend’s here.”

The arena laughed. Emilia nearly choked on air. Nate rolled his eyes like this was a recurring problem.

“Ignore him,” he said, voice directed at her.

“I plan to.”

Andrew made an offended noise. The others kept laughing. Even Emilia had to fight a smile. Nate noticed and almost smiled back—just a flicker at the corner of his mouth—and something inconvenient happened in her chest. She decided, firmly, to ignore that.

Practice went on. Emilia sat in the front row and took notes, or tried to. Most of her attention kept going to the ice. To Nate, specifically. Not because she wanted it to. Because he was hard to ignore. On the ice he was different—focused, sharp, the kind of player the others followed without thinking about it. The Nate she’d built up in her head for five years didn’t match this one at all. That bothered her more than she liked.

Nearly two hours later practice ended. Players headed for the locker rooms in a loose, loud group. The arena got quieter, the echo of skates fading. Emilia picked up her notes and noticed a folded piece of paper sitting next to them. She didn’t think she’d put it there.

She opened it.

Three words: *Ask Logan Pierce.*

Nothing else. No name. Just the name of someone she hadn’t thought about in years—one of the people connected to the old scandal. A cold feeling settled low in her spine.

“Everything okay?”

She jumped. Nate was standing beside the seats, looking concerned in a way that felt too genuine. She folded the paper fast, but not fast enough. His eyes caught the name. The concern disappeared, replaced by something much more serious.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.”

Something in the way he said her name made the back of her neck go tight. “Where did you get that?”

“It was on my seat.”

His face darkened. “Was anyone near it? Did anyone see you open it?”

“Nate. What is going on?”

He looked away first. That scared her more than the questions. People who were sure of themselves didn’t avoid eye contact.