Crossing The Blue Line

003: Mandatory

~Noah's POV~

"You're one more strike away from sitting the whole season out. Do you understand me?"

That's how my morning started. Coach Reyes standing over his desk, arms crossed, staring at me like I was about to argue with him. I wasn't. I never argued. I just stood there and took it, like I always did.

"I understand," I said.

"Do you think so?" he said. "Because failing two classes and missing half your assignments doesn't look like understanding to me, Calloway. It looks like a kid who thinks the ice is going to save him from everything."

I didn't say anything to that. What was I supposed to say? He wasn't wrong. I did think that, most days. Hockey was the only place nobody watched me like I was about to mess something up. On the ice, nobody cared who my father was. They just cared if I could skate.

Everywhere else, I had to be careful. Every word, every face I made. Every single second.

I thought about last week for a second, standing behind my dad at that campaign event, that stiff blue suit itching my neck, smiling for cameras I didn't even want pointed at me. After it was over, he pulled me aside, hand tight on my shoulder, voice low so nobody else could hear.

"You represent this family every time you step outside," he'd said. "Don't ever forget that."

That wasn't a father talking to his son. That was a warning. It always was.

"Calloway," Coach Reyes said, snapping me back. "Are you even listening?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Because starting today, tutoring is mandatory. Non-negotiable. The athletic department already assigned you someone."

I almost laughed at that. Almos. "Let me guess. Some sophomore who's going to spend the whole hour trying to get a selfie for their group chat."

"Lena Hart," he said, ignoring my comment completely.

The name hit me weird, like I already knew it from somewhere before my brain even placed it. Then it clicked. The hallway. The video everyone on the team had been passing around, laughing about it between drills like it was the funniest thing that ever happened at North Ridge.

"Her?" I said, before I could stop myself.

"You know her?"

"Not really," I said. "Everyone's just been talking about the whole thing from yesterday."

Coach Reyes shrugged, uninterested. "Don't care what happened yesterday. I care about you passing your classes. Study hall, four o'clock. Don't be late."

I walked out annoyed, mostly because this was one more thing on top of practice, on top of everything else I already had piled on my plate. But there was something else sitting under the annoyance too, something I didn't really want to look at too closely. I kept thinking about her face in that hallway. Not the drama, not the crowd going crazy around us. Just her face, right after we crashed into each other. She didn't look like someone trying to trap me for attention. She looked scared. Genuinely scared, like she didn't understand what was even happening to her.

I told myself it didn't matter. I had enough to deal with without adding guilt about a stranger to the list.

By four o'clock, I walked into the study hall by the equipment room, and she was already there. Sitting straight, arms crossed, a notebook open in front of her like she'd already decided this was going to be a fight before I even said a word.

"You're late," she said, not even looking up.

"Actually, I'm just two minutes late. And so?”

"Two minutes I don't have to waste," she said, finally lifting her eyes to me.

I dropped into the seat across from her and gave her the smile. The one that worked on every teacher, every reporter, every stranger who ever wanted something from me. "Rough day already? I heard about the whole…"

"Don't," she said, cutting me off flat. "We're not talking about that. We're here to study. That's it."

I leaned back in my chair. "Fine by me."

She slid a worksheet across the table. "This is what you missed last week. I already looked at your grades. You're failing because you're not even trying, not because you don't understand it."

"Wow. You did your research."

"I did my job," she said. "Which is more than I can say for you showing up to class."

I raised an eyebrow at that. Nobody talked to me like that. Not students, not teachers, not even some of the coaches. She said it so plain, like she wasn't even a little bit intimidated by who I was.

"You know who I am, right?" I said, half joking, half testing her.

"You're Noah Calloway," she said, unbothered. "Hockey captain. Failing two classes. That's literally all I need to know right now."

"That's cold."

"You want warm, go find someone else to tutor you. I'm not here to be impressed by you. I'm here to do a job."

I studied her for a second. Most people either worshipped me or hated me because of my last name. She didn't seem to care about either one. That threw me off more than I wanted to admit.

"Fine," I said, picking up the pen. "Ask me something then."

She did. And I gave her a sarcastic answer on purpose, just to see what she'd do.

She didn't even blink. "Try again. And this time actually answer the question instead of showing off."

"I wasn't showing off."

"You were," she said. "It's fine. I get it. You're used to people laughing at your jokes because of who you are. I'm not laughing. Answer the question."

Something about the way she said it made me actually try. I don't know why. Maybe because for once, someone wasn't handing me an easy way out.

We went back and forth like that for almost the whole hour. Her correcting me, me pushing back just to see if she'd back down. She never did. Not once. It was almost funny how unimpressed she stayed the entire time, like my whole reputation meant absolutely nothing sitting across from her at that table.

By the end of the session, the air between us had cooled off a little, but it was still stiff. She started packing up her things fast, like she couldn't wait to leave.

"Same time tomorrow?" I asked.

"If I have to," she said, not looking at me.

I don't know what made me say the next part. It just came out before I could stop it.

"Hey," I said. "Are you okay? After yesterday, I mean."

She froze for a second, her hand stopping halfway into her bag. She looked up at me, and for one second, something in her face actually softened, like she wasn't expecting anyone to ask her that. Not even me. Especially not me.

"I…" she started, her voice quieter now. "It wasn't…"

Her phone buzzed on the table before she could finish.

She looked down at it, and I watched her whole face change in half a second. All the color just drained straight out of it.

"What?" I asked. "What is it?"

She didn't answer me. She just kept staring at the screen, her hand starting to shake around the phone.

She didn't answer me. Instead, she dropped her phone on the table to pack the rest of the things she needed to pack. But while her phone was on the table, with the screen still on, I could see what was on the screen, I saw what she was actually reading.

Somebody had posted her dorm room number. Publicly. On some anonymous account that half the campus probably followed. Right under it, the caption read like a dare, daring somebody to go give "the scholarship girl a welcome she deserves."

"Lena," I said, my voice sharper now. "Are you going to tell me what's the problem or just remain silent??"

She didn't answer. She just kept staring at the screen like she couldn't move at all.